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#wnq-writers
wnq-writers · 21 days ago
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You'll meet a hundred different people who will describe you in a hundred different ways, don't dwell too much on the kind of impression you make. Remember, there are a thousand paintings of the sun, but only one that rises and sets each day.
Ekta Somera
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therendingflame · 28 days ago
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I run backward,
Tumbling over.
In a white frock,
there lie my child!
Weeping my heart out,
I hold her in my arms.
Bangs I cut on her,
adorn her sweet face
Red patches all over,
she lays still.
Caressing her face,
I call her out,
over and over,
she lays still.
Bursting into tears,
I look at her face.
Lips so red,
not from her red lipstick.
Soaked in blood,
there lie my child.
Yelling and shrieking,
I let go off her.
Wanting to hear her
again,
Wanting to feel her hugs
again,
I scream,
wake up for once,
my child, my love!
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maxwelldpoetry · a month ago
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The sun is shining, the world is bright, and you are napping. That should be all there is to it. To you, that is all there is to it, but there is so much more. Art comes in many forms, after all. So, I do my part and admire it. I admire you. The weight of the world has risen off of your shoulders, replaced by a gentle warmth unmatched in its purity. Your breathing is rhythmic and even, unbothered by life’s trials and tribulations. You are simply at rest. Though I hunger for the song of your voice and laughter, this moment has a beauty all of its own. Now and again, your eyes flicker. I see the hint of a smile forming, your lips curving ever so slightly. I wonder, what do you find yourself dreaming about? Am I with you, even now? Are you elsewhere, living a life of fantasy? Perhaps you are royalty. Though you may not be on a throne in the real world, you are royalty to me. You shift, and for a moment, I worry that you will wake up to me smiling at you. However, you just turn over. I trace a finger gently down the length of your spine, a smile growing on my face. My eyes run down the length of your body, every curve and crease and fold. How blessed am I? Blooming roses and blue skies, sunsets and sunrises — your beauty eclipses them all. As all moments do, this one will end, and that is okay. You are a living, breathing museum, and I cannot wait to see what other masterpieces you have in store.
maxwelldpoetry // Free Write #3
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luna-rav · 6 months ago
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when there were no photographs
how precious each memory could have been
your life flashing before your eyes
every moment ending before it could begin
— "I really don't know if capturing memories is good or bad for me, not when all photographs I have of us reminds me of the greatest love I have lost."
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fireandsteelofangels · 10 months ago
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all my roots have been ripped up  and I'm clinging to my last one  but I might have to dig it up  and pack it away  because life doesn't stop going forward and I'll find better things ahead  but there's spite and sadness and restlessness  that doesn't go away  maybe I can grasp the light better maybe my roots are scattered so I know how to plant them stronger I can hear the sounds and see the bare trees this December so much clearer than I did before  so maybe I closed my fist around myself  but thank god, I didn't shatter it
the clouds are out but I have made myself warm by Abby S
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iamvandalholic · 3 months ago
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i wrote about sad
discarded parts of me
and call it art
when the truth is
it’s just blood
it’s just blood
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poetdreamerfool · 7 months ago
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still, I blossom🌹🥀🌹
my ancestors scars on my back, my brothers and sisters scars on my front; memory blank: a wizard spell in the blunt; fear-- my good luck charm; Midas fingers, death for arms; going akimbo with pocket lint crawl out the cradle, get to the grave in a sprint.
everything is bent. sword-like crucifixes affixed to heart and minds; used like eucalyptus, panacea, ambrosia;
Pangea-- run that back; you can be whole. if you sell your soul and buy all the hate you can-- lighter skin, better man? show me who I’m better than.
I've been playing musical chairs With my seat of consciousness, onyx words on brown-bronze skin; cuff scarred wrists; destiny on an exodus-- I need it all-- no less for this; fuck it, hand in my face I’ll still hit the bucket; ruckus-- too black to know what luck is, no safety net, no crutches-- still I blossom.
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hldlrs · 11 months ago
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there are two types of crying
one that sets you free
and the other that suffocates
one that relieves
and the other that chokes
the one that tastes sugar
the other tastes paint
one that builds you
and the other destroys
but one thing is for sure
you can't run away from the pain
as it will run faster and grab you
it will encapsulate you
and leave you in pieces
so always choose to cry
write about your pain
and let it all out—crying speaks
you are only human, after all.
—hl.dlrs
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therendingflame · 4 months ago
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Her
“Wear a long skirt”, said my mom,
looks like this has always been the social norm.
Midnight- walk down the street,
never offer us serotonin as a treat.
Brushing away your dirt ; so dense,
I’ll rise with resilience.
“Shut your mouth”, said the society.
If I don’t, I’d be a trapped fly.
Unleashing the fire in my eyes,
I’ll rise from the phoenix of ashes.
You may keep me tied down.
But I’ll break free before dawn.
Tearing down the veil of injustice,
here comes your menace.
I’m a woman, not yours to touch.
I’m a woman, also a part of mankind.
- @therendingflame
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luna-rav · 6 months ago
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We can be each other's homes
but when we wound each other,
where do we go?
— Luna Raven (s.a.) "I used to think you were my home, but this home has burnt into ashes and I got nowhere else to go"
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fireandsteelofangels · a year ago
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you brought me joy in the fleeting moments  when I felt like I could touch the sky  a height that has been covered by clouds  a map that has been scribbled out  I know, I know, I know the terrors seem dark and the monsters near  but the world has only seen a glimpse of what we can do  and oh, how great it was, how glorious  I find myself aching for you  for something we brushed past, just out reach  but my heart has swallowed pieces of your soul  and your soul has found color from my bleeding heart  in this moment of shadow, of dusk and dawn at once I have faith that my trembling fingers will find yours  and what they once claimed was weakness  they'll realize, as the gold beams in, was always strength
11:11, make a wish by Abby S
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iamvandalholic · 4 months ago
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inside here
is a
void
no one
can fill in
inside here
is a
coffin
filled with
dead
flowers
inside here
is a
sob
inside here
is
someone
you claimed
to love
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poetdreamerfool · 7 months ago
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what’s left? 👈🏿😵
me as an inanimate object:
when you’re the shit everything is a toilet; when cops come with their villainous plots you foil it; eyes closed wide nose sniff it in I’m the shit-- smell that? you only got one soul could you really sell that? why? when you could be me-- the shit; the one you almost don’t want to flush- on why toilets are people: this culture would rather see something clean and empty than something fulfilling its purpose.
me as my future self: dear future future self, there are something I’ve always wanted to say: we’re the same you and I and if we were pi I’d be the single number on the left side of the dot and you’d be all those goofy numbers on the right-- I’m those three big things and you’re just a bunch of little ones lined up neat going on forever. what has more value those treasured few special things that have already happened or an infinite amount of things that could?
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