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Literature Text
does your poetry consist of
feelings nestled in ribcages
silent cries inside of a marrow
and the dull thunk of your heart
against my barely beating bones?
or is your poetry nestled in galaxies
shooting across well-kept fingertips
like comets lighting a dull sky
stardust of my hip bone wishes
literature universe coming to an end?
can your poetry play imagination
like a clever twist in a dream
where you kiss my shadows away
and teach me how to caress you
with love that burns passion away?
oh dear
are you smitten enough to
run away with me
or are you yet to be blanketed
by these heavy arms of mine?
do my words weigh you down?
i havent met one so easily drowned
by the vast sea of my sunkissed letters
but as your velvet lips whispered,
always is there a first.
feelings nestled in ribcages
silent cries inside of a marrow
and the dull thunk of your heart
against my barely beating bones?
or is your poetry nestled in galaxies
shooting across well-kept fingertips
like comets lighting a dull sky
stardust of my hip bone wishes
literature universe coming to an end?
can your poetry play imagination
like a clever twist in a dream
where you kiss my shadows away
and teach me how to caress you
with love that burns passion away?
oh dear
are you smitten enough to
run away with me
or are you yet to be blanketed
by these heavy arms of mine?
do my words weigh you down?
i havent met one so easily drowned
by the vast sea of my sunkissed letters
but as your velvet lips whispered,
always is there a first.
Literature
dreamergirl
The Last Time I saw you,
you were down in the dirt,
[literally] on hands and knees,
looking for the bit of magic
your father had promised was toiling
just underneath the surface.
You feel it, you whispered in
a cotton hush like the vibrancy
of your voice would intimidate the
dreams you scraped at beneath the
faultlines. Daddy never told a lie
[excluding the usual good things
come to those who wait, and 'tis better
to have loved and lost, and every end
is a new beginning]. You feel it,
you whispered, trembling at the hands
the same way you did for the Pills
that couldn't quite fix the Problem.
.
I never really understood all the ways
you
Literature
A Relationship
"Why are you so angry at me!?"
"You should know."
Literature
despotism
she is a bird sitting, teetering on
a power line because
one way or another, she figures
the best way to end
a story
is a big bang.
He is a fish swimming, traversing along,
Against the crashing tide because
He figures he can defy the law one or way or another,
And the best way to begin
Is to finish the end
Before he's stuck in her talons.
though she is made of feathers
and bones and she is still weightless enough
to take to the currents of air,
she is powerless
against the waves his actions
make, and she is so easily swept away that
she thinks her body might as well
be made of stones.
He could tell she was astounded by his ocean,
By the place
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i think i got carried away on fast moving winds
but this was entirely written using the most cliche terms i could find
aka words that are often used when writing poetry
which is not bad as all
i think it's overused because it sounds really nice
but it's really cool when you stumble upon poetry that either uses these words in a new way, combines them with some other term that just makes you think wow, or just uses new words altogether to bring new imagery to mind.
i dunno dudes
just write what tickles your fancy
but this was entirely written using the most cliche terms i could find
aka words that are often used when writing poetry
which is not bad as all
i think it's overused because it sounds really nice
but it's really cool when you stumble upon poetry that either uses these words in a new way, combines them with some other term that just makes you think wow, or just uses new words altogether to bring new imagery to mind.
i dunno dudes
just write what tickles your fancy
© 2013 - 2024 Rewrote
Comments32
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Thank you. I used to be quite the cliché-hunter. Every time I read something that rang "too familiar" I avoided it like the plague. And then one day it dawned on me: it's not what you use, it's how you use it. It's taking the mundane, the overused, and turning it into something unique to you.
You have a poem of clichés. And yet it's still its own poem. It stands out, and is beautiful.