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#poems

with you by my side,

I could conquer the world

and I just hope,

for the life of me,

that you never want

to let go of my hand

-nereum // feb.25.21

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‘There are no two strangers like a woman and her womb. It never feels like part of your body. It is property of the world; your stomach is never safe from the stroking of other’s greasy fingers, their insistence that you accept their role as host. How am I supposed to feel?— not like this, that much I know.’

'strangers,’ - Megan’s Poetry #1130

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Cada noche miro al cielo,

y te veo reflejada

en esa estrella en particular

que es más grande,

más brillante y titilante,

haciendo del cielo

un hermoso espectáculo;

esa magnífica estrella

sobresaliente a las demás

y que aquí en la tierra

la admiran para ser inspirados

a crear poemas en su nombre.

Te veo en esa estrella

porque así eras tú

cuando estabas en este mundo.

Siempre serás recordada, querida abuela; Euphoria.

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i think the moon‘s songs turn into hummingbirds

and the stars want me to listen to them exploding

i think the quiet will fill me up finally when most go to bed

and the buzz will go and i will finally feel empty

i think the night is full of inspiration like no other time

and that is why i’m sleep deprived.

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Drink in the water,

The wind, the chill in your bones.

Let time be still here.


Drink in the platform,

Wood and study, or rocky.

Solace is right here.


Drink in the culture,

Of times forgotten and still.

There is more here than


Sight. Touch, smell, the life 

People once had is still here.

I can hear the call.


We took this land from 

The ones who love it.

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‘She’ - James McInerney. Poet & Author of ‘Bloom’, ‘In between the lines’, ‘Red’, ‘The Pieces that Collide’ & ‘Everything I Write is About You’ OUT NOW on Amazon/Kindle.

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I am shaking again;

Do you think that’s okay?

I didn’t think before jumping,

And damn that’s a shame.

I find myself struggling,

And fighting for air

Cause the world that I lost

Was something that cared.

Or maybe it didn’t,

And I imagined it all.

I let myself go.

Maybe I let myself fall?

Who here can say

That they really know truth,

Or why I decided

That I would love you?

Sometimes I’m crazy,

Delusional - mad.

That’s how I found you,

And you made me glad.

It wasn’t good or nice

Like I’d like to believe.

It was my mind playing tricks,

And my heart was deceived.

I imagined a place

Where we were meant to be.

So when you showed your true colors,

It only hurt me.

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The Students


She hangs the banners upeveryday around the dining hall,where everyone enjoys what they haveworked for.

The sad truth that isn’t really sadis that they’re must be painexchanged for what’s important.

For everyone that’s never had a sayI hate to break it to you,but it’s been you that’s never let goof that choice.

A kind of vocal nodethat closes off the voiceand makes it easier to followwhat’s…


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Michelangelo Buonarroti, Poems and Letters: Selections, with the 1550 Vasari Life

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I’m looking for the words to describe it,
but maybe you had to be standing next to me,
to bear witness—to testify.

There was an angel who renounced his wings,
a thousand thousands of statues without faces,
a room where your breath came out like smoke,
a thing that looked like a human,
but with a gun where its mouth should have been.

If you had been there, you would have seen the marsh
with shifting sands and glittering gold,
a heron whose beak could cut through skulls,
a trickster who promised deliverance
if I cut out my eyes with my own fingernails.

I saw the Earth crash into the edge of the universe,
a white-hot fungus breathing down my neck,
a breakneck train charging track-tied hostages,
and I reached my hands into the fault lines
and deep inside felt the world convulse.

No one tells me how to to spend my money,
and they get to decide how I die.
This is freedom.

meg pendergast

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The Healing Garden and Other Poems

The Healing Garden and Other Poems

By Rachel Fenton

The Healing Garden

The healing garden is a circle 
within circles – raised flower  
beds surround a sculpture 
from the Rotary Club, gears  
worn smooth, a clockwork cog. 
An apology walks on two legs 
between the unturned 
earth; our PM lays out  
peach for the dead. 
Among all that is senseless, 
feathers suspended in webs  
resemble hammocks 
for the imagination to…

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In here, the sounds are so big

They make waves and sea graves

   In the time when you’re gone


The plan wasn’t a concern

Watching the corner dry

With wet tears of elation -

Pain wasn’t it

The right now wasn’t it

  Let the sax play -


It bears repeating, the feel of needing

Someone or something

So simple, and yet

  Precise as a raindrop on

       that singular freckle on a Tuesday in May


As they say, don’t throw

glass at a rock house

  because shattered glass can

Fuck yo’ eye up.

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It’s been a few months since we created this writeblr but it came to us that we never really introduced ourselves to the community - a mistake, we’ve realised, because there’s so many writers and content creators we still haven’t read the works of!

Starting off, we’re Lady Lazarus and Calypso, teenagers from India who never learnt how to read how to shut up. And this love for spewing nonsense made us realize how we love words that give happiness and comfort to ourselves, and possibly the rest of the world too.

Lady L loves pastel, the sound of chirping birds, journaling, sketching, calligraphy, floral tea and smoothie bowls, poetry by Sylvia Plath, french and indian music and taylor swift’s love story. She prefers roadtrips over hiking and loves the smell of new books.

Calypso loves vanilla scented candles, the sound of kalimbas, the works of Oscar Wilde, milk with a spoonful of honey, music of all genres, the sunrise of a summer morning and seventeen’s fallin’ flower. She’s the type of person who prefers mountains over beaches and the smell of the earth after a thunderstorm.

On this blog, you are likely to find a lot of poetry based on the musings of our lives and a few short stories (and a lot. of. memes.) But worry not! for we have two WIPs under worldbuilding. Both unnamed, both a secret. The first is based of a prompt from a friend, and the second is a Broadway Theatre based series. We wish to be as inclusive as possible and in order to not offend anyone, we’re making sure it’s well-researched and thought out.

Here’s a link to the masterpost of all the work we’ve ever written so far if you’d like to check them out!

The few months over here have been wonderful and opened a new horizon of opinions and lives of people. It also made us realize that we’ve not seen it all either, what we’ve done is merely nothing. We’d love to meet and support a lot of people, and it’d be great if you could boost this up!

(also note that we’re terribly awkward and can barely hold conversations sometimes)

~ Lady L and Calypso

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Heart aches are rain storms, unavoidable to your daily struggle


But it has to happen, to make the grass green; to signal affection

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the fallen victim

intros of serendipity


cast iron dreams

sinking in the cement


places out of time

caught in its own blood


no more breaks

only full fracture


- serendipity

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O içten gülüşünü, bir gün dudağından çalıp, gözlerinin önünde, yüreğimin ortasına koyup, öpeceğim..

~Ahmet Telli~

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