Topic: poetry

I can feel a string pulling me in a display case someone built for me. I'm youthful here forever and with that comes beauty and impurity. Dancing in my heart a clock ticks to the same beat. Each beat is a second on the clock and every second the clock beats faster. I dance in excitement over this clock echoeing in my vacant head. Everything had moved from my limbs, all the blood pumping to and back to my heart. The repeated rhythm goes faster. And for that, a heart becomes fragile. Smother it ...

. I want it all I want your love to fill my heart I want your soul to devour My discontent if you refuse ...

Here lies...my befallen angel Wings of black and green Her scent of rain-watered roses Her doll eyes of eternal beauty ...

A dark sky void of stars blinded me in my natural appeal I've seen this show a thousand times in a different light some time before The repetition is unnerving Finding itself inside of me yet again ...

After releasing all her anger, Mina had been left with a heart of sadness, she uses this as inspiration to write a second poem, following a first about rain, hoping a more playful tone would help her to feel better. One day I had a pet storm cloud It was dark and thundery and really loud I've been crying all day Because my storm cloud just wouldn't go away ...

Ya’ll gonna fall apart. Like at the seams. You live on hopes, and dreams Is this your last resort? Life is a storm, we’ll seek any port. ...

Mina lays across her bed. Peacefully fallen asleep. Her quill rested onto the paper in the little pink book in which she wrote out her thoughts: Imagination is my bestie! Silly string makes a mess everywhere It's sticky and gooey and gets in my hair We did dress up and dancing and other fun things ...

Though it's universally believed that the mare has a childish and absent mind, Mina's new hobby says otherwise. She finds that writting them down in the form of poetry a great way to release her own thoughts; those too personal for her to write in a journal. Even if no one quite understands the meanings, Mina still picks up her quill. Onto paper the colour of snow, in a cute little pink book, the mare found sometime to be alone, so she could confess her feelings as shown: A brave little kitten ...

You won't remember me. "Of course I will!" You say that today. "I won't be the friend that walks away!" ...

What is an identity? Is it what I am, or what others see of me? Do I truly get to define what I want to be Or am I born marked by a man’s theory? ...

Like a blank answer sheet, sitting unanswered, unused the feelings inside emptied, misdirected, confused poured out, they are dripping now, but in the literal sense; the crimson flow, it beads from each empty line, creating an intense silent cry, yet perfectly representing the scream inside ...

Talking to a wall is nice-it will listen, and it certainly won’t talk back but what makes blinds so different? they’ve a story to tell though a tongue they lack. Behind their odd corrugation, ...