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Riley Nov 2014
Write because you need to. Because something must be said. Write because you have no way of speaking what’s in your head. Write because no one can feel the way that you feel — no one can see the world like you. Write because perspective is important and there are too few perspectives in the world. Write because there’s not enough time in the day. Write because you don’t know who to talk to. Write because your head and your heart know you better than any person ever will. Write because there are people out there that don’t have to opportunity to write. Because there’s not much going on. Write because you forget what it’s like to feel something. Write because you feel too much of everything. Write solely for the purpose of appreciating the beauty of words. Write because someday you won’t remember how anymore. Write because there’s not much to say, but there’s so much to be written. Write because you’re full of original thought, or because you’ve never had one in your life. Write because the best world comes from the type of people who put their ideas on paper. Write because you sometimes are scared of the way that you think, but you’ve never been scared of a computer screen. Write because feeling something is RIGHT, and putting words to it is beautiful. Because there’s not enough people in the world taking advantage of this opportunity. Write because there’s nothing in the world that you love more. Write because you’re good at it and you’re bad at it, and sometimes you’re everything in between. Write because the spaghetti that is your brain just can’t sort itself out anymore. Write because you care about something. Write because there are important and poignant things in your life, and you need to appreciate them. Write because one day you will not be the same person and this will reflect on who you have become. Write because there are so many beautiful people in the world and not enough of them have been documented. Write because there is so much of you, so overwhelmingly much, that you can’t keep it in anymore. Write because ideas will get buried. Write because emotion is more powerful than anything in the world. Write because your intentions are so different than every other human being. Write because music has moved you. Write because there’s no guarantee of tomorrow. Write because who you are is so much of what you think, and so often what you neglect to say. Write because there are days when you won’t know who you are anymore and this might give you a slim idea. Write because, no matter what happens to you, no one can take away your brain. Write because spilling your guts to people just isn’t practical. Write because you have a purpose. Write because you DON’T have everything figured out, and you won’t any time soon. Write because there is such a need in this great big world for people who aren’t afraid to write.

Write because you need to, more than anything in the world. Write.
Elizabeth Burns Jun 2016
Write about that empty feeling in your heart, my love
Write until the ink is dry
Write until your fingers burn
Write until you feel the numbness within wither into nothingness
Write until your thumbs bleed
Write until that desire burning in your soul is quenched with the taste of fresh ink
Write for those who don't have words
Write for those who cannot speak
Write for those you have lost
Write for those who cannot hear your words
Write for those who deafen themselves from your spoken words in this world
Write for those who hide in the dark
Write for all your forgotten dreams
Write that song that sits in your heart as you sit behind that **** desk
Write because you have something to say
Write about passion
Write about him
Write for those you do not want to forget


And don't you dare stop

ER Oct 2015
If I Could Write Anger into Poetry

If I could write anger into poetry I'd write about how five months with someone has led me to almost 6 months of insanity

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how he said he was depressed his sophomore year but I knew "was" wasn't the right tense of the word and I didn't say anything more

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how ******* him didn't change the way he treated me (not that I ever imagined we'd be here)

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about all the times he swore he wasn't talking to her

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how I begged him to stay

If I would write anger into poetry I would write about my headache from screaming so loud the night I found out he was talking to her

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about the time they walked by me in the hallway and all of a sudden it all became too real; I was nothing.

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about the pit in my stomach and the tears in my eyes as I watched them wear matching colors at prom

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about watching the girl who called me " the ****** ex" take a snipe of me and send it to him as if I am blind to other teenage girls

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how I swear I can still smell his cologne in the passenger seat of my car

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how he broke up with me when all I wanted was him and he didn't break up with her when she cheated on him and how that makes me feel like every atom of my being is nothing

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how I dreamt of literally trying to strangle an apology out of him and he kept saying "no, no, no"
If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how that doesn't compare to the dreams where he kisses my neck and tells me he still loves me

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about suddenly waking up at 5:00 am because my blood is boiling about the time almost a year ago we were waiting in line for popcorn and he said that his parents wouldn't care if he died and I didn't say anything more

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how I watched him laugh with his friends in school about how he ripped me apart vein by vein and months later he tries to tell me he is sorry

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how socially embarrassing it is to confide in the one person who betrayed you

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how he's gotten worse and there's nothing I can say, nothing I can do. I am meaningless now.

If I could write anger into poetry, I would.
Gwyn Biliran Nov 2016
I will write about you tonight in hopes to have the right words to describe the day we first met
When you walked up to me and introduced yourself, when I first looked at your eyes and my world changed forever
I will write about you tonight and how you brought colors to my world of black and white
I will write about your smile and how your touch sent chills down my spine
I will write about you tonight and how I felt like you were an answered prayer, a prayer I’ve been making for a long time
I will write about you tonight and how you came into my life all of a sudden and ended my longing, my lonely, my hopeless
I will write about you tonight and how you made me feel like a child being in love for the first time, innocent, naïve, carefree

I will write about you tonight and how it felt like heaven in your arms
I will write about your voice and how it always gave comfort in the middle of all the noise
I will write about the way you made me feel safe despite the storm, how you felt like the calm, the peace, the rest I needed when the world was being too scary or tiring
I will write about how you felt like home in a new city, a familiar face in a crowded town full of strangers
I will write about how you would hold me and tell me you love me and the world doesn’t seem so chaotic anymore
I will write about that time when we were laughing and I looked at you and I realized I wanted to grow old with you, I wanted to be the one to hold your hand for the rest of our lives
I will write about how we promised to stay together no matter what happens, how we would conquer things life will throw at us
I will write about how we planned on getting married, have kids, and live a happy life
I will write about the love we shared – the love that made everyone else jealous
I will write about how it felt like it was going to last forever – but didn’t

I will write about you tonight
I will write about how everything turned blurry all of a sudden
I will write about the time when everything got confusing, exhausting, boring, lame
When the lively, colorful world began shaking and the colors started to fade
I will write about that time when the sparks died, when we got too comfortable, and took the little things for granted
I will write about that time when we no longer have a clear picture of what we were fighting for, and when there were way too many times when we didn’t know what we were fighting about
I will write about that time when there were more “I’m sorry I can’t make it” rather than “I will find a way”
The times when there were more “I miss you” rather than “I’m on my way to see you”
I will write about that time when we had arguments after arguments and how they didn’t seem to end
I will write about that time when we would only say “I love you” out of habit
I will write about that time when the sun has already set on us
I will write about you tonight because tonight…
I am drowning in this ocean of missing you

We had a love that burned so bright, a love that ignited a fire so big but quickly burned out
We had the kind of love that took away all fears, the love that watered the dead plants in my chest, and grew a garden inside my broken soul
The same love drowned out all of my energy, the life in me
I’d love to think that our love was too good to be true and so it had to end
The ocean of love that I was swimming into, with you holding my hand, is the same ocean that tried to drown both of us, struggling to get out of it, to swim to the surface, we had to let go
You drifted too far from me, too far that I can no longer see you, I can no longer feel you
That was when we realized love wasn’t always enough for something to remain the same
Thinking about it, I realized I can reminisce the things we did all I want, but I have already forgotten the joy of being in love and being loved in return

And that is why, tonight, I will write about you
I will write about you tonight
As if it can take us back to the time when love was enough
I will write about you tonight
As if it can take away all the pain, heal the wounds we gave each other
I will write about you tonight
As if it can stop you from drifting too far and bring you back to my arms
I will write about you tonight
As if it can ease the pain of missing you
I will write about you tonight
Like what I always do
I will write about you tonight
Because I know someday, I will no longer write about you
And you will be just another poem, another metaphor, another story
But that isn’t today
So tonight,
I will write about you.
Inspired by Pablo Neruda's "Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines"

I wrote this for my World Literature class back in 3rd year college
Haley Lorish Sep 2014
You mustn’t forget
If you don’t you’ll regret
I'm afraid I'm obsessed
Or slightly possessed
You must do it with order
Or the words will get stuck
To make the voices stop
I have to get them out
Afraid of my own thoughts
I am prisoner to my mind



Please someone help me
Allen Wilbert Apr 2014
I Write About
I write about money,
I write about fame,
I write cause I'm funny,
I write about my shame.
I write about dreams,
I write about drugs,
I write about screams,
I write about thugs.
I write about you,
I write about me,
I write about poo,
I write about ***.
I write about blood,
I write about satin,
I write about mud,
I write about hating.
I write about ****,
I write about pain,
I write about escape,
I write about strain.
I write about ****,
I write about death,
I write about unborn,
I write about breath.
I write about devil,
I write about god,
I write about mental,
I write about fraud.
I will write about anything,
a girlfriend or a fling.
****** and molesting,
greed and possessing.
I write about anything I want,
I'm so good, I often flaunt..
Blunt spirit with moss lost serene.
The flames dying serene.
The soft sparkle.
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Fade: lost breeze mermaid;
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With falling I desiring.
Your your spirit the flat decline.
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With sharp is soft flat pink lost velvet desiring shines swim lost a;
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Fade: fade: the arises falling the a sits serene spirit shore fade: shining decline.
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Eyes your the
islam Dec 2014
And I write.
I write about everything I did and regret,
I write about everything I lost and missed,
I write about a darkness that's lurking in my head.
And I write.
I write about stars, space and bliss,
I write about the nights I spent sleepless,
I write about the internal extraterrestrial intelligence.
And I write.
I write about stolen kisses and awkward hugs,
I write about sharing a bed and drugs,
I write about drunken *** and whisky jugs.
And I write.
I write about literature and poetry,
I write about Sexton making out with Bukowski,
I write about Akhmatova painting Dostoevesky.
And I write.
I write about music and lovely symphonies,
I write about Tchaikovsky waltzing with Vivaldi,
I write about a world where we dance as we please.
And I write.
I write about childhood lost not forgotten,
I write about battered women and abused children,
I write about you and them. I write me every now and then.
And I write.
david badgerow Jan 2016
write at midnight. edit in the morning.
write on a mountain. edit on a beach.
write inside a dream. edit & exist in reality.
write in a fever pitch as starlight kisses your cheekbones.
edit in the cold dawn light without excuses.
write loudly with Bjork screaming into the curtains.
edit in silence.

write as the clouds gather around the gibbous moon.
edit as the sun crests the hill & burns away the fog.
write inside, cozy under a blanket.
edit naked, cold on the front porch.
write asking questions.
edit demanding answers.

write blindfolded with your fingers waltzing across the qwerty.
edit bespectacled or with a monocle.
write like a mass ******. edit like a suicide.
or better yet
write like a homicide. edit like a detective.

write toward the open sky with your legs outstretched before you.
edit facing a clean white wall with your knees against your chest.
write because you are innocent. edit because you are guilty.
write during a fit of hyperventilation.
edit during mammoth exhalation.
write with complexity. edit into simplicity.

write, as Hemingway did, drunk.
edit, not sober, but hungover.
see your flaws in the sharp mirror of a headache.

write during sloppy explosion. edit during precise implosion.
write with your head in the clouds gnawing at the cumulus.
edit with your feet firmly planted in the ground.
write during violent collision.
edit during calm separation.

write with a pencil on soggy paper in a hot shower.
edit with a red pen sitting in tepid murky bathwater.
write among raucous laughter & banging skillets.
edit in secret while the kids are asleep.
write like a sadomasochist.
edit like a psychiatrist.

write while running on your tip-toes.
edit while lying flat on your back.
write in several languages with abandon.
edit beside a translator dictionary.
write as you are engulfed in fire.
edit with an extinguisher.

write with careless fluidity.
edit without assistance from amphetamine or coffee.
write with a full bladder,
standing up,
squeezing the tip of your *****
squirm & trickle
your ideas onto
the porcelain page.
expanded thoughts on the misquoted author's advice.
I write poetry to help me
I write poetry as I drink tea
I write poetry that makes me titter
I write poetry cause im bitter
I write poetry cause im good
I write poetry cause im misunderstood
I write poetry for money
I write poetry when it’s sunny
I write poetry through the rain
I write poetry to help my brain
I write poetry when I feel down
I write poetry to my friends in town
I write poetry cause it fulfils my soul
I write poetry dark as coal
I write poetry under a blanket of stars
I write poetry whilst cleaning ***** cars
I write poetry about the silver moon
I write poetry to make lovers swoon
I write poetry cause it makes believe
I write poetry to explain what I perceive
I write poetry that makes me cry
I write poetry and I don’t know why
I write poetry cause it makes me feel free
I write poetry because that’s just me
Iva McCarty Jun 2014
I'll never write about how much I miss you.

I'll never write about how often I think about you.

I'll never write about how I think about you when I am alone in bed at night.

I’ll never write about how I like to think that you are watching me in daily life.

I’ll never write about how I much I miss being called your girl.

I’ll never write about how I still and always will think of you when I walk down that isle in the grocery store when you first held my hand in public and told me that this is how it would be from now on.

I’ll never write about how I still get butterflies in my stomach when I have a voice mail from you.

I’ll never write about how I turn into a girl trying to decide what to wear when we sneak out together.

I’ll never write about how I wish we didn't have to sneak.

I’ll never write about how much it hurt when we ended it.

I’ll never write about how much it hurt again when you made it clear there was no future for us, ever.

I’ll never write about how I hope and pray that someday that will turn out to be a lie.

I’ll never write about how I worry that if that does become a lie, will we survive past the “honeymoon stage”.

I’ll never write about how I would hate to lose our friendship.

I’ll never write about how much I love you.

I’ll never write about how much I wish I knew what that meant.

I’ll never write about how I wish you lived back in town.

I’ll never write about how I cherish our outings, whatever they may be made up of.

I’ll never write about how I go back and relive the best and worst days we have shared.

I’ll never write about how much I long for them back.

I’ll never write about how I wonder where we would be if I had made a different decision all those years ago.

I’ll never write about how much I still hurt over how I hurt you.

I’ll never write about you, because if I do, I may never stop, and I may realize all of the things that I have loved and lost and I may realize that I may never be whole again, and I may realize that I will never again be that happy smiling, confident, loved, crazy girl that you loved I may never recover.

© Misty Bishop-Martiss
Macy Opsima Jun 2016
I am a writer, a ****** of words. I am a pen that's skipping ink but I still continue to write despite the broken lines because that's what I'm made for in the first place. Maybe the reason why I get hurt so much is that I fall in love with words a lot. I'm in love with people who is in love with literature. These poems and letters may not be made for you or because of you but their main purpose of being written is to move you. I want you to do something about that girl who works in your favorite book shop because I don't want you commiting the same regrets as I did. I want you to raise your voice and write about the oppression or the wage gap. I want you to write about something from the deepest part of your chest. I want you to write about something I cannot write about.

But some days, I feel nothing. I could write about being in love and about the color of their eyes but nowadays, their eyes look exactly the same. I could write about sadness but sadness itself is what hinders me to grab a pen. Now, I could write about happiness. But I rarely feel this way and when I feel this way, ******* I feel this way. I could gather these words about being filled with the color yellow but happiness will say that those words are not enough to fathom the euphoria I feel in me. Maybe one day, I could explore enough dictionaries to find the perfect words on what I have to say.

You don't have to be the greatest writer there is to make someone feel something through your words. Write about everything, every emotion, and every person who finds their way to your heart. When you can't write anymore, get outside and get your heart broken. Go outside and experience an experience that you never thought you would experience. Soon enough, you will write the words you never thought you would ever write. Don't hold anything other than offensive and oppressive thoughts back. Let the poetry run through your veins and drip down your fingertips. Write, write, and write until you can't write anymore. When you can't write anymore, seek a perhaps to write about then write, write, and write until you can't anymore. Even when the poem is below my satisfaction, I continue to share it anyway because being stoic and still would lead me to madness.

I am a writer, a ****** of words. I am a pen that's skipping ink and even though my lines are broken and unappealing, I continue to write anyway and because that is what I am made for in the first place.
Shannon Lee Rohn Jan 2017
Writers Hand~
Let me write without struggle,
Give me strength without pain,
Let the words embrace freedom,
And endure courage without shame,
Let me be guided by wisdom the words of perfect, while signing my name,
With masterpiece and skill,
Let me write into words of what I feel,
Let me write with hands ready to deal,
Let me write with words so that people can heal,
Let me write with words that calm the insane,
Let me write with words that help the crazy maintain,
Let me write through visions of someone else's eyes,
Let me write with courage to break the barrier of those who hide,
Let me write with tears of those who cry,
Let me write for those who are no longer alive,
Let me write for those struggling to survive,
Let me write without prejudice and fear,
Let me write with a mind that is clear,
Let me write to help decisions be made for those who can't decide,
Let me write with embrace to the writers who have already tried,
Let me give truth to the words that have been lied,
Let the writer within me empower the emotion in my book,
Let me write with knowledge without a second look,

Let my goals become real,
Let my words break you down to the part you'd never thought you'd feel,
Let my words capture your thoughts and everything real,
Let me be guided to write from the eyes of those who hurt,
Let me be guided to write from the eyes of people treated like dirt,
Let me be one with my eyes closed of a perfect poem,
Let it be seen by the eyes of the unknown,
Don't let time pass me bye without a blink,
Don't let the pages of my life be written without ink,
Let me grow in poetic wisdom through a channel of the unknown,
Let me be the writer who inspires others to know they're not alone,
Don't let me be the writer who signs author unknown,
Let me be guided by the Lord that my pen tends to write,
Who gives me courage to write without light,
Lord give me strength to write to inspire those who are lost,
Let me write without a penny of any cost,
Let me write to bare fruit for my family to eat,
Let me write to give faith and empower defeat,
Let me be the writer you created me to be,
Let me be one with my pen, paper, and ink,
Let me be the writer that writes better than I think,
Let me write with your hand,
And let me follow the life for me you have planned.

Big Virge Dec 2019
Sometimes I Write Right Through The Night ... !!!    
Until SUNLIGHT ... Retires My Mind ...  
I Guess The Darkness Suits My Rhymes ... ?    
And The Times I Like To Write ...      
I Guess That's Why My Wordplay RILES ... !!!    
Because Most FEAR The ... "Cover of NIGHT" ... !!!    
But Without The Dark Intertwined With The Light  ...    
We'd Have A Pretty ... BORING LIFE ...    
Thus When I Write My Pen IGNITES ... !!!!!    
And Sometimes Gives People A FRIGHT ... !!!!!!!    
My Writing Style's A DIFFERENT Type ... !!!    
And Has SO MANY Word Designs ... !!!    
You Could Say PLENTY ... ALWAYS RIPE ...    
Awaiting The Return of ... THOSE Jedi ... !!!!!    
My Views Are Shrewd Like ... " Mace Windu " ... !!!    
And Write With The FORCE So My Saber ENSURES ... !!!  
That The Emperor's Coup Is Thrown ...... OFF Course ..... !!!!!    
When I Write It's CLEAR That ... " I " ...    
REFUSE To Abide To The ... DARK SIDE ... !!!!!  
Because I Am A ... GOOD JEDI  ... !!!!!    
But Jokes Aside My Pen And I ...    
ENJOY The Ride When We Choose To Write ...    
ESPECIALLY In ... " The Shroud of Night " ... !!!
When I Write Sometimes I Find A Place of ... " Calm " ...    
NO Guns In Palms or Nuclear Arms ... !!!    
NO EVIL Thoughts Or False Awards ...    
Or Need To Hear ... Applause Or Cheers ...    
NO Visions of Those Who Choose To Ignore ...    
My Use of Prose When My Wordplay SOARS ... !!!!!    
WAY ABOVE Their ... " Inane Stuff " ...    
When I Write I Feel GOD Touched ... !!!!!    
And See The LIGHT Within My Rhymes ...    
And Nowadays ... CAN'T GET ENOUGH ... !!!!!    
ENOUGH of YES This Form of Love ...    
Sometimes When I Write ...    
I FEEL My Mum ...........................................................  
As If Her Death Has Bred NEW LIFE ...    
Inside My Heart And In My Mind ...    
I Guess That's Why I Love To Write ... !!!!    
When I Write ... Our Love Still SHINES ... !!!!!  
That's Why The Night Suits Me Just Fine ...    
To Be The Time I Search My Mind ...    
For Written Designs of Simple Prose And Heartfelt Rhymes ... !!!    
Rhymes of MANY DIFFERENT Kinds ...    
As I Said Before PLENTY ... More and MORE ... !!!    
I Write SO MUCH My Hands Get SORE ... !!!!!    
I Write Poetry When People ............ sleep ...........    
And When Most Watch ... TV Repeats ... !!!    
I'd Rather Write Than Feed My Eyes ...    
To TV Shows ... That Are A JOKE ... !!!!!    
But That's Just ME ...    
My Words Now Paint Pictures I See ...    
Pictures of PEACE And UNITY ...    
And Places Where I'd Rather Be ... !!!!!!!!!!    
My Words FEED ME ..... " TRANQUILITY " .....    
And Help REMOVE My ... " Darker Moods " ...    
This Helps Me BREATHE More EASILY .................    
And Helps Me Write This Poetry ...    
See When I Write It Sets Me FREE .................................................    
To See Beauty And Find Energies ...    
That Quell The Anger ... DEEP In Me ... !!!    
At Times Like This When Writing Scripts ...    
My Use of Words Through Simple Verse ...    
As If I'm With ... THAT SPECIAL Girl ... !!!!!    
Who'll LOVE ME In This CRAZY World ... !!!!!    
That's What It's Like When I Sit And Write ...    
In The Day ... Or ... Late At Night ...    
It's Like The Page ...  
Becomes A Place Where I Feel SAFE ...    
A Place WITHOUT ... " Hate " ... !!!    
A Place WITHOUT ... " Rage " ... !!!    
A Place Where I Have PEACE of MIND ...    
NO POINTLESS Fights Or WICKED Crimes ... !!!    
That's What It's Like When I Sit And Write ...    
No Need To Recite At Open Mic Nights ... !!!    
Or Need To IMPRESS Like SO MANY POETS ...    
At ..... " PRETENTIOUS EVENTS " ..... !!!!!!    
NO Disrespect Meant But It's Got To Be Said ... !!!!    
GREAT Poets REJECT This NEED For ... " Pretence " ...    
And DON'T Indulge In .... " ARROGANCE " .... !!!    
This Simple Piece of Poetic Prose Just Goes To Show ...    
How Much I LOVE To Write This Stuff ... !!!!!!!!!!    
I Don't Write Prose To Be WELL KNOWN ... !!!    
I Write It Now To CALM Me Down ...    
And For The LOVE ... " How does that sound ? " ...    
Well That Sounds Pretty Good To Me ... !!!    
I'd Rather Have THAT Than Write For GREED ... !!!    
My Poetry Now ... Means MORE To Me ...    
Than ANY AMOUNT of Cash Money ... !!!!!    
It Seems Sometimes Most Now Live Life ...    
For Money Drugs And ... POINTLESS Fights ... ?!?    
I'm Not Sure If That's ... Wrong Or Right ... ?!?    
But Poetry NOW ... UPLIFTS My Life ... !!!    
Whether In SUNLIGHT or In ... " The Shroud of Night " ...    
It Feels Just Right Now ...  
... " When I Write " ... !!!
As the poem states, it's a feeling beyond words, but here's a few to show you how it affects me ......
Stephan Jul 2016

A poem on writing
for that’s what I do
I write out a poem
to share it with you

I write about love
and I write about wishes
Cool summer nights
and warm tender kisses

I write about things
that are close to my heart
Just like my last poem
“I’m ready to start”
(Shameless plug)

I write about tears
and heart broken sorrow
A sunset tonight
and the sunrise tomorrow

Sometimes they are funny,
sometimes they are sad
And sometimes I lean
very close to the bad

I write about flowers
and gardens and trees
Hummingbirds, butterflies,
a soft flowing breeze

I write about stars
and the moon in the sky
The sun and the clouds
every day passing by

I write about snow
and I write about rain
A couple of times
I have written of pain

I write about oceans,
the waves and the shore
Sandcastles, seashells,
footprints and more

I write about music
on violin strings
Guitars and pianos
and melodic things

I write about hope
and I write about dreams
Walks out in nature
near slow moving streams

Won’t write about hate,
don’t like to cause trouble
I run from the subject
real fast, on the double

At times I am goofy
and act like a fool
But never use cuss words
to make me look cool

I don’t write in anger
or feature religion
Well, maybe sometimes,
perhaps just a smidgeon

But mostly I write
as thoughts do occur
And always those thoughts
seem to linger on her

I write so she smiles,
I write so she knows
That I’ll always love her
no matter what goes

I write my affection
so she has to see
That there is no other,
no other for me

I write from the heart
in hopes she will feel
This love that I send
and know it is real

For she is my angel,
my every desire
All I’d ever want
and all I require

So there now you have it
the things that I write
I hope you enjoy what
I’ve shared here tonight

And one final thing,
just a little note
Real soon I'll stop by
and read what you wrote
Mischa Ledder Oct 2019
I write because I like watching my handwriting change.
It starts with straight, thin, symmetrical lines
like a Chinese calligrapher
like a ballerina twirling in a rhythmic pattern to a script
to a beat
to a song, to life.

Effortless, purposeful movements
Then it jolts as my mind ignites and fingers can’t keep the pace.
Letters turns into illegible nonsense
As spelling deteriorates into an abstract art

I write because every once and awhile I capture a moment
or emotion with precision
and find great pride in feeling it later.

I write because I believe God gave me this gift.
A gift to lift the weight of depression off my back.
A gift that makes me feel a little less alone in the darkness
and though I haven’t found written words to describe the beast
that claims me as his home,
I write to tell him he hasn’t yet won.

I write to find solitude and yet to not be alone.

I write because for so many years my voice was silenced,
and I had no one to listen, but these pages.

I write to apologize to the world and to myself
for the pain I’ve caused
and for the injustices I’ve committed
as I’ve matured along this path
To let people know I felt their pain
and it wasn’t right to let my insecurities cascaded off of me
and onto them.

I write to remember the tangible reality I stand in
because sometimes I get too lost within my mind.
The tangible pressure of the pen against paper
helps me find my way back.  

I write even when I don’t want to
because there is nothing quite like the high an artist gets
when they look at their watch and realize hours have passed.
(The two times this occurs out of the one hundred is worth it).

I write because I walk out my door every morning
and am overly excited about the mundane
that many fail to see
because they don’t take the time to stop,
to slow down,
to breathe.

Let me help you breathe.

I write
so I don’t have to be the only one
who knows some of the days I’ve lived.

I write because one day I want to be published
and one day I’d like to make a little cash off of it.

I write because there’s nothing quite as terrifying as permanence and never being able to reverse a stroke.
I don’t write at times for this very reason.
If only we spoke with such intentionality as we wrote.

I write because of my dysfunctional family and weak social skills

I write to give little pieces of my soul away
to connect with humanity
and share my truths and joys

I write to find solitude.

I write because the fine ball point black pen
against thin lined paper is visually appealing

I write to avoid people and to understand them
to both engage with the world and disengage

I write better after a glass of wine

I think I write even better after a bottle

I write because...
I wrote you a poem, about why I'd write a poem for you. You caught me one time trying to tame my mind with lines of rhyme, when I told you it was about a woman we both knew you said, next time... why don't you write about me? I said because you don't inspire me. The easiest excuse for writers block... I need to be inspired. I need to be hotwired into a matrix of men and women who are driven by every feeling they are giving. I need rhythm and words. The pen is a decipherer and the page a treasure map where we will write our way to gold. We sold ourselves on the belief that we could... write smiles onto people...

So we write. Muster our might and write light into the dark times. Stitch beauty into the scars of the harmed,  arm ourselves to the teeth against those who act beneath what is considered humane. With ink in our veins we write like we fight. Unafraid of a broken bones because the next blow we throw will be through our throats. We are mouthy poets, and the most powerful weapon in arsenal is our battle cry. And should one of us die on the field we'll uproar, we'll outcry, we'll encore and we'll breathe life into what remains of our fallen and give them the best ******* send off ever.

And when we finally reach home after our time together ... We'll keep writing. We'll write worlds out of words. Write instructions to the sky and orders to the ground will write love notes to sound and have this all down before the next sun swings around, with metaphors abounding and similes astounding we don't clown around with the words we've found.

We write in skin grafts. We talk the hollow into wholesome entice oppressed into the inspired and paint the lonely as lovely. We fill in the gaps. We are the ifs the ands and the buts following the 1 word answers to the big questions. Do you love me? What are you angry about? How do you feel?
And we'd say, yes! If I was terminally ill and have the doctor prescribe me you, because you make me feel more alive than I've ever felt!
We'd say, everything. Sometimes I just feel trapped in my own skin like the society that we live in has made jail cells out of my skin cells!
We'd say... Okay. I feel like his smile told me, he'd catch me if I should fall. We write so we can say it all.
We write in passion and love, we write an apology, we write in admiration, and affection. We write in absolution as much as uncertainty. We write in purpose as much as apathy.
We don't write because we should. We write because we can and It's everything we are and everything I am.

This!.. Is why we write.
Slam poem.
21 | 31 Poems for August

Write to write, write to save your life.
The loved ones who’ve passed on, who’ll tell their story but you?
I’ve felt the sincerity of your words from Ostracized to August Blue.
Write to save your sanity, write for the sake of clarity.
Write until there’s nothing left for you to write.
Write away all the burdens of an untold story.
Write the world into a new existence whether it’s grimy or gory.
Write apologies in the form of love letters for all the times you couldn’t say sorry.
People should often see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently.
You pour your heart and soul into all these words and you bleed so effortlessly.
Many people still haven’t realized that you’re not always this quiet.
I’m intrigued by how your mind is as loud and busy as a protest march or riot.
It’s fascinating how you effortlessly create poetry out of silence.
You are so incredibly good with words, people still wonder what your hands can do.
Write to save your sanity, write for the sake of clarity.
Write to write, write to save your life.
Write ‘til it feels good
Write about nothing
Write to learn something
Write to teach something
Write to yourself
Write to a stranger
Write to a friend
Write to get something off your chest
Write what would freak people out if you said it out loud
Write what you want to say out loud
Write about the universe
Write about yourself
Write ‘til you hate it
Write to get the hate out
Write like you’re not afraid someone will read it
Write like you’re keeping a secret
Write like you mean it
Write like it’s worthless
ZM Jul 2010
Go ahead, write.
It wont bite.
Heartbreak will hurt a slight,
pain and suffering might,
but when you write?
Oh it wont hurt, alright?

No no no, don't think I want to fight.
I just want to write, write, write!
It's fine! It's right!
Pick up your pen and write.

When I write,
I feel like I might...
Get up and dance tonight...
Or maybe howl with with wolves,
or maybe fight?
Well, in my head I might.
As long as after and before, I write, write, write.

You have sorrow? You have fright?
Go ahead! Write, write, write!
The words will flow, and hey! You just might,
Flow and grow with the things in spite,
Of all the reckless things that make you bite.

You know your reasons,
and you know your might.
You know your hallow,
and you know your fright.
Do you know whats waiting?
Do you know tonight?
All the dreams you've been dreaming can come to life!
What's that? I'm crazy? Thats quite alright.
Pick up your pen, and tell me why!
Just as long as your right, write, right!
Sean Fitzpatrick Dec 2013
Write till your itchy fingers fall off
When the party's over, write some more
Write into the mist, write from the veil
Hand your heart to readers and write while they feel your pulse
Write like you're being chased by dogs
And when they ask "who's side are you on?"
Write like you mean it to their faces
When they're leading you to the noose
Ask for one final request: pen and pape
And write down a moody poem and draw a picture too
Write upside down, write on a rail
Then build yourself a glider with your writing and write while you fall
Write in a wooden house, write poems for louse
Write, write, write, write, write in spite (if you have to)
All in all, no further explanation required
Just write, alright?
Elizabeth Apr 2014
I wanna write drunk,
I wanna write high,
I wanna write sideways on Acid
I wanna write dangling upside down, making music with my feet
I wanna write frantic, unbidden declarations of love for a person who doesn't exist yet.
I wanna write poems
I wanna write love, strength, anger, pain, fear, joy and restlessness
I wanna write more than I have ever experienced.
I wanna write without crying.
I wanna write without reference to 'him' 'you' or 'we'
I wanna write better
I wanna write freer
I wanna write words that aren't real
I wanna write lost up a mountain with a girl by my side

I want to fall in love with a lesbian.

I wanna write in green ink.
Slytherin Pride, baby.

I wanna write on the moon.
I want to go there,
actually go there,
and put ink to paper.

I wanna write haphazard with unbending certainty that
I can write whatever I want
Laurent Nov 2015
Sur mes cahiers d’écolier
Sur mon pupitre et les arbres
Sur le sable sur la neige
J’écris ton nom

Sur toutes les pages lues
Sur toutes les pages blanches
Pierre sang papier ou cendre
J’écris ton nom

Sur les images dorées
Sur les armes des guerriers
Sur la couronne des rois
J’écris ton nom

Sur la jungle et le désert
Sur les nids sur les genêts
Sur l’écho de mon enfance
J’écris ton nom

Sur les merveilles des nuits
Sur le pain blanc des journées
Sur les saisons fiancées
J’écris ton nom

Sur tous mes chiffons d’azur
Sur l’étang soleil moisi
Sur le lac lune vivante
J’écris ton nom

Sur les champs sur l’horizon
Sur les ailes des oiseaux
Et sur le moulin des ombres
J’écris ton nom

Sur chaque bouffée d’aurore
Sur la mer sur les bateaux
Sur la montagne démente
J’écris ton nom

Sur la mousse des nuages
Sur les sueurs de l’orage
Sur la pluie épaisse et fade
J’écris ton nom

Sur les formes scintillantes
Sur les cloches des couleurs
Sur la vérité physique
J’écris ton nom

Sur les sentiers éveillés
Sur les routes déployées
Sur les places qui débordent
J’écris ton nom

Sur la lampe qui s’allume
Sur la lampe qui s’éteint
Sur mes maisons réunies
J’écris ton nom

Sur le fruit coupé en deux
Du miroir et de ma chambre
Sur mon lit coquille vide
J’écris ton nom

Sur mon chien gourmand et tendre
Sur ses oreilles dressées
Sur sa patte maladroite
J’écris ton nom

Sur le tremplin de ma porte
Sur les objets familiers
Sur le flot du feu béni
J’écris ton nom

Sur toute chair accordée
Sur le front de mes amis
Sur chaque main qui se tend
J’écris ton nom

Sur la vitre des surprises
Sur les lèvres attentives
Bien au-dessus du silence
J’écris ton nom

Sur mes refuges détruits
Sur mes phares écroulés
Sur les murs de mon ennui
J’écris ton nom

Sur l’absence sans désir
Sur la solitude nue
Sur les marches de la mort
J’écris ton nom

Sur la santé revenue
Sur le risque disparu
Sur l’espoir sans souvenir
J’écris ton nom

Et par le pouvoir d’un mot
Je recommence ma vie
Je suis né pour te connaître
Pour te nommer


In English:

On my school notebooks
On my school desk and the trees
On the sand on the snow
I write your name

On all the pages read
On all the blank pages
Stone blood paper or ash
I write your name

On the golden images
On the warriors’ arms
On the kings’ crown
I write your name

On the jungle and the desert
On the nests on the brooms
On the echo of my childhood
I write your name

On the wonders of the nights
On the white bread of the days
On the engaged seasons
I write your name

On all my rags of azure
On the pond mildewed sun
On the lake moon alive
I write your name

On the fields on the horizon
On the birds’ wings
And on shadows’ mill
I write your name

On every puff of dawn
On the sea on the boats
On the insane mountain
I write your name

On the foam of the clouds
On the sweat of the storm
On the thick and dull rain
I write your name

On the scintillating figures
On the colors’ bells
On the physical truth
I write your name

On the awake paths
On the unfurled roads
On the overflowing squares
I write your name

On the lamp that comes alight
On the lamp that dies out
On my combined houses
I write your name

On the fruit cut in halves
Of the mirror and of my room
On my empty shell bed
I write your name

On my gourmand and tender dog
On his pricked up ears
On his clumsy paw
I write your name

On the springboard of my door
On the familiar objects
On the flood of the blessed fire
I write your name

On any granted flesh
On my friends’ forehead
On every hand held out
I write your name

On the window of the surprises
On the attentive lips
Well above the silence
I write your name

On my destroyed shelters
On my crumbled beacons
On the walls of my boredom
I write your name

On the absence without desire
On the bare solitude
On the steps of death
I write your name

On the health returned
On the risk disappeared
On hope without remembrance
I write your name

And by the power of a word
I start my life again
I was born to know you
To name you

Nathan Squiers Jul 2014
Look, I was gonna go easy on you not to hurt your feelings, but I’m only going to get this one chance!
Something’s wrong… I can feel it.
Just a feeling I got, like something’s about to happen… but I don’t know what.
If that means what I think it means, we’re in trouble—big trouble—and if he’s as bananas as you say I’m not taking any chances!

(You are just what the doc ordered)

I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They said I write like a monster, so call me scribe-star,
But for me to write like a beast means I’m a demon at least;
I got a devil kept in my pocket,
On my shoulder’s when I rock it.
Talkin’ of killin’ and of thrillin’; won’t stop it!
Write a demon doorway, now knock on it!
Ever since the dark days when I’d just lost it,
Way back when the world would pace and chant “Nutcase!”
I’m a ******, but I’m charming;
Yes, a crude, rude dude, but I’m still disarming.
Using syllables to **** ‘em all with this
empowering empire of powerful vampires.
The writer-type clackin’ back with typewriters, like way back, right?
Rockin’ stack after stack, clackin’ out more attacks,
Ideas tacked out while hacks hack out their crap (but ******* spew **** all the time),
so I perform written parkour tricks so you’re not bored; strike a chord.
Show you Stryker’s tortured life of suicide ‘n strife turnin’
to strength and a fiery passion burnin’ while readers’ guts are churnin’—
teary eyes all burnin’.
Their fears are returnin’ from a story I turned out when I got turned on
to my own life.
Now I drop F-bombs;
exploding real-life scenes—
these ain’t your G-rated dreams, so take your outdated themes—
It’s the **** I’ve seen; don’t make me obscene.
I’m mean, I mean, it’s my means to screen a scene between a matte sheen.

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They ask me to thaw out these oily blocks called ink-wads, ink-wads.
There’s a body in everybody , but not all bodies have a brain that makes them feel sane.
Like a train—just the same—
Might be runnin’ but we still cast blame,
The loading docks of our thoughts; they’re locked-up in a box,
And they’re stackin’ up like blocks
That turn the stacks to empty tracks (****!)
Trainees blame their brainees when it’s not easy training brains, see?
But the boarding isn’t boring—training brains; not trading pains—
Remember: the station’s self-exploration!
Me? I’m a hodgepodge! From train station to abandoned lodge;
Bully dodgin’, fully locked-in when I freaked out, fattened-up and then I geeked out,
Told “keep it down” but then peaked when I peeked deep down.
Creepin’ up, now, and keepin’ up (WOW!)
I swear it up and tear it up scribbled swords,
And now I wear awards for slingin’ words;
Offered praise; a chance to forget about the craze that once darkened all my days,
But I write that way—say “that’s okay ‘cuz it helps me write this way—each and every day!
And hacks think I act this way just to seem this way, ‘til come the day when the cray-cray takes the doubt away.
Demon obsessed? I’m possessed! Can’t own what you don’t possess!
“Hey, devil-lookin’ boy!”
So ***** for my honey I’m rockin’ horns, look here boy!
A Literary Dark Mass-acre,
Like the devil laid waste to a church on the page, looker boy!
They got a gold star, and a high five,
Felt so alive to see their own scribes make it to Momma’s fridge, ****** boy!
Hey, schnook-ah boy, looky here, looker boy,
I’m held up by The Legion, book-it boy!
Had to push for every word—every page—had to swallow all the rage,
Now you want out of your cage, schnook-ah boy?
I’m legendary—literary—and you’re literally just a *****, little boy!
So sell out while I’m bought out, ******-boy!

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
The way I’m burnin’ through these pages, call me Dark Lord, Dark Lord!
But they’d rather burn my books, so start a fire war, fire war!
Can’t get it through your head? Words are more than Edward! He’s dead! WORD!
Let me drag you off to meet Dracula; take you back to the dawn of the dark lord, yea?
Fast forward to the foreword where the F-word’s “fangs” (you’re welcome);
This is my Hell, come! Be free!
Part Morningstar; part Morpheus! I throw up a kiss and jot down the kills like they’re red-apple pills.
Go ask Alice back at my palace what you should read to feed your head.
Sentence structure so smooth they call me FE-line, and my cat’s got better plot lines,
That the hacks will all call “sublime” (it’s “sub-fine”)
But me?
My **** scenes are brutal,
And my romance? Not frugal. I don’t saturate—I arrogate—
But I don’t condemn my characters to *******!
I wanna make readers care—if readers dare—
To connect and feel and follow where they can find some hope and power there.
While also giving them a place somewhere that isn’t here—though filled with fear—
A place where they don’t feel jeered or feel weird.
Horror ain’t just movie monsters, or gore-****** scopin’ sponsors!
You speak French? C’est de la merde, monsieur!
You look unsure! But I have the cure in the written word!
And though you once were achin’ for a rockstar author cravin’ bacon,
The role has since been taken by your man, Squiers.
And like a pair of pliers, I can reach into readers’ brains and cross all sorts of wires!
I’m settin’ cranial fires behind the eyes of all my buyers!
And while I’m growing Ghost Riders—ridin’ shotgun on the bullet-train ‘tween the pages—
There’s a horde of haters harboring growing rages
With a narrow gaze of who scribes pages.
They say I can’t write ‘cuz of my tattoos or my gauges
So allow me to assuage this: y’all can’t cage this!
If you don’t like it, let me show you where the grave is!
You’re well-aged, but I’m ageless!
Like the undead through the ages!
And like Shakespeare took to stages you can find me where the page is:
I’m hip to a script, I’m at home with a poem and feeling groovy writin’ movies; and I’ll be EZ on your TV.
You write normal? **** being normal!
What a novel theory! So very dreary!
Why the **** are they so leery, they say “Writing fear? We don’t want to hurt no feelings.”
Feelings? Setting up ceilings! Just more limits! It’s life! Live it!
Set the roof on fire!
Plot is getting hotter than a 24/7 squatter on a ***** channel!
So what if some **** gets a hair up ‘er ****? Don’t make it ****!
They wanna say “Hey you, we’re here to stifle!”
‘Cuz I mentioned rifles? Do they really want to trifle?
So I say:
“Better bring a sweater ‘cuz this thriller’s gonna chill ya—sure hope it doesn’t **** ya—and ya gonna get’a fill o’ all the ***** that I don’t give, ‘cuz I don’t live to let ******* quip or give me lip about my lit.
I’m entertaining and elating and also demonstrating how devastating a stream of escalating scenes can be so penetrating—although frustrating—to a mind that’s celebrating what it means to be vacationing between the pages; wading through the stages of a war that forever wages; meditating through the escalations now that they know what TRUE rage is!
“Oh, he’s too ******!”
That’s right! Ain’t right. That’s life: not nice; it’s strife.
It’s not just me; it’s we.
I just found a better way to show it:
Monsters that aren’t monsters;
Abuse put to good use; bred virtues!
“I don’t know how to plot plots like that;
I don’t know what words to use.”
Did it really never occur to them that to read a book—just to take a look—and THEN take up the pen?
You read King if you want to be king, strictly speaking.
A writing mind that isn’t a reading mind is a weakling; a weak link.
I’m a scholar—not a bawler—so I’m a flyer where there’s fallers;
Raised on Goosebumps and Creepy Crawlers so I’d Stine while others whined.
Got a dark side, but that’s The Dark Side on my side; counter haters with my Vader:
“I would be your father… but your dog beat me over the fence.”
No offense. Pretense: incorporate comedy and film; common sense.
Suicide pushed aside, though I still burn inside. **** myself on
the page each day so my readers can feel what it’s like to be alive.
It’s okay to hide.
Only your own devil knows what’s inside.
I own mine; he’s my co-pilot when I write. My demonic side; my demonic scribe.
Flipping my words to the birds—‘cuz, you see, that’s how I wing it—and flipping the bird while I throw down and sing it:
“Tiger, Tiger, burning bright,
My words are my roar and tonight I write!”
The fights are in your sights like you were seated inside a movie theater;
You’d see Xander and Estella—wouldn’t you want to meet her—
Have a front row to the creatures in a feature presentation…
But ‘til then
Eat some Rice An’ read a piece by a man who
Had an “Interview with a Vampire”—
I’m a fiction author, why would I lie to ya?
Prince of lies? I ain’t Satan!
Close friends, but I’m Nathan.
Judged for appraisal—I’m priceless—I’m  nice: no; charming: yes.
Got a razor-sharp and Shining wit like a crown left
on a King… but not.
Why be a left king, when I’m a write god.
So I did a lyrical re-write of Eminem's "Just Lose It" that wound up being pretty popular, so when I heard "Rap God" for the first time I knew I had to do the same. While I hope it's entertaining on its own, I think those who have heard the song will enjoy that I remained true to the source material in terms of flow, rhythm, and syllable count (Marshall Mathers is really quite an astounding wordsmith in his lyrical writings).

Hope you enjoy ^_^
Pieter Gouvart Oct 2017
I don't write poems for some likes
Maybe I write poems to conquer the love of my life
I don't write poems that sound nice
They’re just some basic rhymes on feelings that run so wild

I don't write poems when I feel all right
I write them when I'm missing someone by my side
I don't write poems for my pride
I write poems ‘cause it's more a necessity
Than a way to fill some leisure time

I don't write poems to get famous
I write them because they tell my truth not because they're fabulous
I don't write poems to be popular
I just wanna be recognized by one, my one and only muse, my guiding star

I don't write poems to get rich
I write poems because I'm sick
I don't write poems for the men at the top of the pyramid
I write them for the sensitive ones, the crazy ones, the ones banished from society

I don't write poems to change the world
It's hard enough for me to change myself
I don't write poems to bring peace to this globe
I write them to find peace of mind

I write poems because just for a moment in time
I’d forget this empty place where I have to hide
I torture my mind with rhymes, easy ones, not too hard to find
Simple words I try to combine
Because it’s the only way to acquire meaning for a man who finds it hard to combine
The certainties of his heart with all the doubts in his mind
I wrote this poem as an introduction of my published collections of poems.
Janie Elizabeth Oct 2017
i write for who you are
i write for what you've done
i write for your beauty
i write for your perfections
i write for your mistakes
i write for who you were
i write for who you've become
i write for who you are not
i write for you
i do not writ for who i am
i do not write for what i've done
i do not write for my beauty
i do not write for my perfections
i do not write for my mistakes
i do not write for who i was
i do not write fo who i've become
i do not write for who i am not
i do not write for me
i write for you
Dea Sep 2018
How to start writing
How to keep writing
Write, write, write

Pick a subject for writing
Make sure you reference your writing
Write, write, write
Keep writing

This amount of words for writing
Plus or minus 100 word max leeway for writing
Write, write, write
Still writing

Quotes in your writing
Punctuation for writing
Write, write, write

Title for writing
Page numbers for writing
Underline, paragraph, CAPITALISE
Your writing

Margin your writing
Spell check your writing
Re write, research, rephrase
Your writing

Is this your writing?  
Question your writing

***** up
Start again
Your writing

Check your writing
Get a friend to check your writing
Panic, stress, just write
Your writing

****** writing

This will do, writing

Print, bind, hand in
Your writing

Write some more as you sign off your writing

Feel sick

Wait, wait, wait
Wait for someone to read your writing

Judge your writing
Mark your writing
Wait, wait, wait

Receive your writing

Read another's writing about your writing

Their writing, writing about your writing

To write whether the words in your writing are good writing
Therefore RIGHT writing


Infact writing that ought not to have been written in the first place.

Now tell me

From this writing
And writing
And writing
And more writing

How do you write the words that you now want to be written?
Kaka Dec 2017
I heard writing helps.
I heard people say just write
"write about what hurts"

write about the gruesome pain
write about the mental never ending rain
write about those secret tears you shed
write about the storms in your head
write about the 2 am thoughts that dont let you sleep
write about the dark memories you keep
write about those scars you daily hide
write about the reasons for your puffy eyes
write about that strange addictive ache
write about your forced smiles, just for their sake
write about those fading, yet haunting dreams
write about your quiet 3 am screams...

Just write, Just write
They said
But little do they know
For me, what lays ahead.

Every time I put my pen to the fresh sheet of paper
These fingers only trace our name together
On the second line, they still want to write....
forever and ever.
Patricia Arches Oct 2015
write as if you have something to say
because you do

write as if the sky wasn't blue and every day is as upside down as the next
write in colors then write in black and white

write to me
write to those who need it the most, even if they won't admit it

write about your dreams and hopes for the future
and watch them come alive before your very eyes

as you write whatever thought comes out of your head
though it may sound like gibberish

write because you can
it is your freedom

write novels that span pages upon pages bound together by leather or
some short words

write as if he didn't break your heart
and then write as if he did to piece it back together

write to unlock doors and open minds
write to make others and, more importantly, yourself aware

write because you will see
you will see your ideas trickle down into your fingertips and out your pen

onto a tangible and real medium that you may look back on one day
and remember why you started writing in the first place

write to make sense of what doesn't
in hopes that, one day, it'll be more than just in writing

write and fold it into a creaseless paper plane
let it fly and, boy, enjoy seeing where it takes you

then write to: home on one of those rectangular postcards
document every day and its little details

write it all down
and then live it all out
note to self
Unknown Apr 2015
To write, or not to write.

That is my question.
My question to myself.

Do I write and keep hurting myself with memories?
Or do I sit tight and hope for the best…
Do I write and risk making things worse?
Or do I stop fearing being further misunderstood…
Do I write about the things I’m at fault for?
Or do I write about the things I’m not…
Do I write about why I did the things I did?
Or do I write about why they did the things they did…
Do I write in an attempt to make amends?
Or do I write to finally end it all…

But then again…

Why would I write?
What would be the point?

Would it be to try ending things amicably?
Or to somehow try to stay friends…
Would it be to try explaining my point of view?
Or to somehow try understanding theirs…
Would it be to point out the things I was trying to avoid?
Or to point out how they've ignorantly walked us all into them…
Would it be to understand why they blame me for certain things?
Or to explain why I blame them for certain things…
Would it be to point out how and why I broke for so long?
Or would they just simply not even care…
Would it be to remind them how they too have been stuck in a rut before?
Or would they just be callous and say that it’s different…
Would it be to try understanding if I was used?
Or would I just end up realizing for how long…
Would it be to find answers for all of the unanswered questions?
Or would I just be left with even more questions than answers…
Would it be to convince myself they’re a decent person?
Or would it be to realize they’re a heartless animal…
Would it be to understand what traps I’ve pushed them into?
Or to write about the ones they’ve pushed both me and themselves into…
Would it be to explain the soul crushing dreams that have been vividly etched into my memory?
Or to explain the countless sleepless nights for months, drenched in cold sweat, shifting from bed to couch to floor in my own home...
Would it even be worth it at this point?
Or should I just realize there is no way to ever trust them again regardless of all of the above…

Would it be to try and write a concrete poem?
Or to forget the rhythm halfway through and just get my thoughts out…

To right, or not to right...

I guess I’ll just write about maybe writing…
Moving on, but never forgetting... (slowly... lol...)

— The End —