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#poetry story
ktheqw · 5 months
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Between green and grey you dance when no one is looking feeling the lush wetness of moss, grass moving within the rain beckoning wind rolling about as grass gets into your hair
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writingsbynh · 2 years
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But they’re only words…
It’s just words
Just something someone said
Words you’ve trusted
Words you’ve held onto
But they aren’t meant for you
No, you’ve got to let them go
They’re pulling you down
and away
From every good thing
You’ve had to say
- 𝑵𝑯
𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑎 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟? 𝙍𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙛𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩! 🖤
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annadeusxoxo · 2 years
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He has given us the free will, To live our lives the way we desire, His gift of freedom is the greatest, It is within the entire blueprint of His will.
I wasn't higher, I know I also came from the gray dust, But He doesn't require, "These and those", Because He is just.
Let's free ourselves.
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I find the most peace
In the arms
Of a lover
But he doesn’t have a name.
They come one by one,
Another and then another.
I’m so sick of feeling like this.
Do I just wait for one to stay?
Written by M.S. ~ 05.01.2022
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poetrylovebitch · 2 years
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People move on, and they forget me. But it’s okay because I’m stuck in the past.
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skellydun · 10 months
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absolutely love reading such a well-written story and falling a bit in love with the author based solely on the way they write. like baby the way you italicize words makes my heartbeat quicken.
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”oh so how did you get into writing?-“ no, writing got into me. Actually it infiltrated my brain, starting with the slow takeover of my room with books to the extremely fast claiming of my notes app and now there’s no way to stop it and no way for me to stop.
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flintpunks-mind · 1 year
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A co-worker of mine was standing outside with me during a break from customers to share a cigarette with me, and told me about how he had lost his brother that he was close with some years ago. He told me about how they used to be in a band together with some friends, and how ever since he'd died, he hadn't played any music because he'd been too scared and anxious. I told him about how I'd lost my brother to suicide some years ago.
I went home and pulled out an old tiny wooden box my brother had given me before he'd died. I'd been using it to store guitar picks I'd collected over the years, including one guitar pick that used to be his. I haven't played the guitar since he'd died, my hands are too small to play some of the chords, so I play bass and piano instead.
I went to work the next day and gifted my brothers old guitar pick to my co-worker. I told him that it'd been sitting in a box for ten years unused, and would probably sit there for longer if I kept it there. Told him that I thought he deserved to have it, because I bet he could put it to better use than I ever would. Told him I didn't feel like it was coincidence that me and him would cross paths with each other in our lives, and that it seemed suiting that we had these similar experiences but split in two halves. That somehow, I felt like he was meant to have the guitar pick. I told him that I knew he'd not played guitar since his brother died, but that if he ever decided to play again one of these days, maybe he'd be able to honor both of our brothers by using that guitar pick.
He almost cried. He thanked me. Then he went home that night and for the first time in years he played the guitar.
I don't know what the meaning of life is or what my purpose is, but I do believe that love and human connection is one of the most important things in life. It's finding ways to tell strangers you love them and share experiences with others. I think it's all just about love.
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flowerytale · 7 months
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Anaïs Nin, from the short story “Elena”, Delta of Venus (published posthumously in 1977)
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ktheqw · 5 months
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My Living Ghost
Between scents of wood you come to me as a living ghost speaking to me, yet close
to the unconsciousness of death and all that they desire for the quota must be met
I dream of you tonight caught within the ghostly fireflies lighting the fiery darkness
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writingsbynh · 2 years
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The ups and downs
Birds eye view
They see from so high
They see all the ups
They see the horizon
They see everything in the skies
But don’t you remember?
The birds also walk along the ground
And see all the things that happen on earth too
They see the ups and the downs
The ground and the sky
They see in a way we forget
That there is not only one way
To see the toils of life
Or the joys of blessings
For there will always be both
- 𝑵𝑯
𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑎 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟? 𝐿𝑖𝑘𝑒, 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔! 💌
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and-corn · 8 months
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annadeusxoxo · 2 years
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Maybe I've gone mad, I want all that she is, Her lust she's giving you, That you're enjoying.
I want to taste her, I'm sure you share that too. I want to be under her skin Even if I suffocate.
I want her bronzed skin, The way your hands slide on it. Maybe when I do everything with her I would understand why it has always been her.
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myfakeplasticlove13 · 6 months
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You know I didn’t want to, have to haunt you, but what a ghostly scene
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solsticat · 1 month
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around a year ago I had an incredibly realistic dream where I was hiking and stumbled off a cliff. I managed to grab into a ledge, but I was hyper aware that eventually I would lose hold of it and fall to my death. I just sat there holding the ledge for a while thinking about everything I was never able to do, the conversations I never had, and how badly I wanted to live. Eventually I came to terms with my untimely death and accepted that there was nothing I could change, and it wasn't really okay, but it would have to be okay, and I'd had a good life. If nothing else, I was glad for the life I had been able to have. I wanted my last thoughts to be peaceful. I was about ready to let go when my family came along and rescued me. Some other stuff happened after that. Then I woke up and let me tell you I had a Bad Day. How are you even supposed to act normal after that.
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mournfulroses · 29 days
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Margaret Atwood, from True Stories: Poems; "Postcard," originally published in 1981
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