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#Poetry
rileyjddanvers · 3 minutes ago
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Blackout Poetry - “Art of Making and Decor
Blackout Poetry – “Art of Making and Decor
“Art of Making and Decor” – RJDD
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whosthisnerd · 5 minutes ago
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In these moments of quiet and loneliness, there's a kind of mild despair. Everything is perfect and right, and I can't help but miss the artistry of that chaos.
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lifeinpoetry · 6 minutes ago
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I could tell you about the men,             their hands, their laughter —but only if you promise to believe me.             I could tell you about not being believed,             though I’d rather not. 
I could give up and throw             some big keywords at you. War. Migration. Diaspora.             Don’t all the traumas of my blood begin there? But if they’re too heavy             for your heart, let me go back to the birds: 
their flutter a fury inside my chest,             ribcaged flight fighting to be freed. My panic is no more             than their song-turned-screech, what happens when a free and fragile thing             is forced to survive.
— Janel Pineda, from “The Assessment Form Asks About My Anxiety,” Lineage Of Rain
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birdgirl1772 · 10 minutes ago
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My phone is a graveyard
Of contacts from the past
From coworkers who have moved onto better places
To "I'll never get tired of you, I promise" friends
Who disappear without a trace
Is this why I can't find love?
Why I'm somehow both Too Much, and Not Enough,
And in the meantime never truly satisfied?
What am I supposed to do, make the first move?
In the past, I was told I was annoying for reaching out every day
"Obsessive", they called me
Am I just supposed to wait around until someone thinks of me
And cares enough to reach out?
Help me understand
Why people come and go as they please
Am I not supposed to get attached to you?
If we talk everyday and say we are friends, do you not think of me when you're gone, too?
Won't someone help me figure out
Why
My life is a graveyard
@ethereal-enthusiast inspired me with her creative ways <3
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thedesire · 11 minutes ago
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How beautiful to find a heart that loves you, without asking you for anything, but to be okay.
Khalil Gibran
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questionthebox · 12 minutes ago
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My lips are tasted on permissible
3
Story
Buildings
Which at the top
House
My mother decaying on a throne
Situated
By
Flies
& a blanket,
While the street is buzzing,
I exit
Through the fire escape,
Fighting off
Goons willing to keep me in my place,
I’ll charm them though
Asking if I should venture out into
NYC,
Otherwise it’s time to wake up
Now or Never.
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uaimaumau · 12 minutes ago
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Tem dias que sou como a noite escura sem luar.
Em outros pareço uma supernova,
querendo te amar...
M.Paulo
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wildpoeticwizard · 13 minutes ago
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4/21/21
At one time I was king of the land.
More than 60 years ago I was born into this small compassionate clan.
Now I walk alone, I'm old, my legs are so weak, I can barely stand.
Predators stalk me day and night, I'm not dead let them try to take a bite if they think they can.
I will squash their little heads like a empty tin can.
For now I don't worry I eat, sleep, drink, just sticking to the plan right here under my favorite shade tree i stand ,wait and anticipate feeling her vibrations coming through the sand.
Her bulky body has a sturdy base, long strong legs and a stern face. She is the eldest female in my natural born clan.
Now she is the one who feeds, leads, and protects them. They follow her because she has proven herself they know she can.
If Elephants could talk i would tell no lies.
I would say to her- remember when your walking by you are going to be a goddess in someone's eyes.
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delafilpoetry · 16 minutes ago
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Laid my hopes in you
like they used to lay children into the Euphrates.
Most times they drowned
and got lost before they were even close to their destination.
How will I ever mourn and move on?
When I will always be uncertain
about them reaching the riverside.
—Delafil
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writelikefools2021 · 16 minutes ago
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Untitled - David Joseph Ostrowski - day 20
the workday is a hard beak, a wide beak, and a tall one too.  tops for getting it right
on your first try, for being browner than the sun and happier than its shine.  when
you get your feet wet, i worry you’ll get hard, like the beak of the day, or like the
sun does to leather.  i worry you’ll wear out like a pair of green mowing shoes.  i
worry you’ll turn to paste, having to conform to the whiteness of the brownness of your
weathering.  but i don’t want you to go away. don’t turn to rain and wash out your
shining sun.  don’t pale.  don’t do what’s required of you to persevere.  change
what’s perseverance in order to require. can you see that your sun is brighter
than all the others?  can you see the brown of the other leathers?  that’s the whiteness
of their paste drowning in your shine. it is up to you now to heal them back to light.
the beck will peck and gouge and snip at you.  turn the beak to a kiss.  lift up your
beautiful brown working hands.  wage the war of everlasting kindness.  you can take the bus.
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babblinglo · 16 minutes ago
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A pose in few clothes
Somehow she still glows
But what’s hiding in those eyes
Behind the disguise
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screennamealreadyused · 16 minutes ago
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There’s a method to my madness.  My first priority was keeping myself from getting hurt again,  So I put up a wall between myself and everything else. 
Eventually, those walls got so high that I couldn’t see over them anymore.  Keeping my heart locked up close to me meant that it never beat,  but it never broke either. 
And I was okay with that,  I really was. 
Until you walked in.  You made it really hard to keep those walls up.  You didn’t care about my trauma, about the baggage that came with being human. 
You tore down my walls one stone at a time.  I let you because the serenity of being with you was louder than the alarm bells going off in the back of my head saying ‘Stop! He’s going to hurt you! He’s going to leave just like everyone else!’ 
But you didn’t. Even when I gave you every reason to go, you stayed.  I didn’t realize someone could do that.
taglist: @pricetagofficial @bikoncon @river-bottom-nightmare @birdy-bat-writes @woahjaybird @catxsnow
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weusetobegiants · 16 minutes ago
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it bleeds secretly. Nobody knows its name.
Mary Oliver, from Dream Work
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candymagicaldiary218 · 17 minutes ago
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(🍬) Candy's Diary ♡
Map Of The Soul On:e Concept Photobook Route Ver (EGO)
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soulwr1ter · 17 minutes ago
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Tears
Tears to me
Are the way
We let go
Of pain
That we can no
Longer hold inside
It is the way
We are able
To remove
The heaviest parts
Of our sadness
To lighten ourselves
And accept
So that we are able
To move forward
It is not a sign
Of weakness
But a sign of healing
A sign of strength
-J.Wool
All writing belongs to me.
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recoveringproblemchild13 · 17 minutes ago
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I’ve said it before,
I’m an addict,
but it’s not just to writing.
Maybe you can tell
from the things I write,
Is there a difference
between masochism
and being addicted to pain?
I’m addicted to pain,
but it’s not sexual.
I’m addicted to blood,
the way it flows,
keeping us alive,
until it becomes still
or drips from our veins.
I’m addicted to the peace
and silence
when the slide guitar plays
and I can watch my own blood
drip down from my fingertips
like it did hers.
I’m addicted to music
for the same reason,
for the peace
and quiet,
but it’s not the same...
I'm addicted to mythology,
religion, demonology,
and all things macabre;
'a deadly fascination'
my mother calls it,
'a damnable offense'.
She doesn't get it,
it scares her
and that's all that matters,
but to me,
the things that make my blood run cold,
are the things I can't avoid,
the things that make me feel alive.
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thoucanstquoteme · 18 minutes ago
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“Laughter is the language of the soul.” ― Pablo Neruda
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chasing-your-echoes · 18 minutes ago
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//
I didn’t mean for it
To cut that deep.
— Bathroom Breakdowns
//
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