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by on January 7, 2020
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. What is love? Baby don’t hurt me? That’s all it’s gonna be-you’ll see Whether this relationship ends at fifteen or thirty Everyone crawls out broken and dirty. Why are you so cynical? My pessimism is warranted, my depression clinical. The people that I saw proclaim love Only stuck together because of the Almighty above. Over twenty years of ...
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by on October 24, 2019
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 ...
46 views 2 likes
by on August 17, 2019
You won't remember me. "Of course I will!" You say that today. "I won't be the friend that walks away!" I know the drill. Just wait and see. "They hurt you before-but I'm different!" Of course you are. I wouldn't be so mean as to imply otherwise. But deceiving yourself is the easiest of lies. And I haven't come this far To be a politician about every portent. "You're living in the past, that was then, let it go!" Oh so those who won't learn from history aren't doomed to repe...
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by on October 11, 2018
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? I walk the streets, a mantle on my shoulder A mask on my face, my heart no colder Shoes tied, how different from a body that does molder? While my own may not change, my soul yet grows older. Stories of the Ages, Tomes of Old Books full of pages of beings once bold Taught to play fearless, yet forced to fold Our great champions the mos...
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by on October 11, 2018
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 that will never come out, for there are no ears in which to confide ears that will listen, that will hear, and not judge or ridicule; instead, a single pair of ears hears a miniscule whimper, as the h...
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by on October 11, 2018
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, a silently spoken tale, it calls a promise of a future yet to be fulfilled- but still-crying wordlessly louder, the walls. The walls that remember each word that was said, that bore silent witness to the longing within; the longing for something beyond those walls, yet refusal to the blinds-to...
105 views 2 likes