I think I know why we grew so quiet. They cut half-way through our sentences Only to incorrectly complete it.
How do you claim to know us? When we don’t understand Our emotions, directions, and All these sensations Running through our bodies.
We are standing here Trying to confront you, But you simply, incorrectly complete our sentence.
I think I know why we grew quiet as a mouse. A mouse in a neatly cut hole in the wall. Because they didn’t respond when We gathered up our heart strings, Held it up as a mic. Only to resounded the crickets And the static in the hollow of our hearts.
I think I know why we grew so quiet. Because part of what we speak is wrong. Our thoughts are the same sides of two magnets, Repelling. As giant five-year-olds we were fascinated, Forcing the two to stay. The defiant, rebellious force No longer fascinating, We grew quiet.
Because we are wrong and you are right. I ask, What is right andwhat is left In the circle of life?
I think I know why we grew so quiet. Because all we needed was a pair of eyes To look into our souls. A pair of ears. All filters removed. A heart so big, it could shelter us both. And our mouths, to never plead, ‘Listen’.
A happy accident called, catharsis introduced me to the many branches of writing but mainly to poetry. The more I wrote, the lighter I felt. I shook all the weight off my shoulders until I felt the clouds under my feet.
I believe we must write for ourselves whether you earn from it or not, it can save your soul as art truly does.
Nowadays, I preferably write to learn new things through blogging, to relive experiences, to understand human emotions, and at times write cathartically through poetry. I’m curious to know where this adventure would take me next.
I met a man Amongst orange trees And rain dripping down leaves onto my tongue He filled me fast with love and excitement Overflowing cups of tea, coffee, kisses Oh, how I miss your arms wrapped around me in winter time. What are holidays without you Can I escape with you once more Start all over and bleed into my soul Cut deep and let crimson love seep into one another Again I met a man Once Amongst orange trees And tears running down my face onto my hands I’d give anything to feel brand new Again With you 💋
My name is Melaney and I’m from the wild city of San Bernardino, CA. I’m 26 years old and I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember.
My hobbies consist of writing, drinking coffee, experimenting with makeup, cuddling my kids, and exploring YouTube.
My main focus for writing is love, heartbreak, and the strength it takes to be a hopeless romantic. I hope to one day put all my writing in a book, but until then I’ll just record my words in my journals.
And that’s where I went wrong in love. I tried to find love in every single soul I crossed paths with when I should have searched for love within myself.
First Generation, by Liz Carranza
It hurts me to know my parents are embarrassed by their level of education compared to mine. They came to this country with nothing. All they ever desired was for their future children to succeed and have the best education possible. It breaks my hurt to know my education has drifted me away from my padres queridos. It breaks my hurt to know my goals and dreams have created this insecurity. I’ll always feel guilty about this.
Writer living in San Francisco. My writing pieces are about my personal struggles with depression and anxiety, as well as people who brought out impactful emotions or experiences in my life. If I’m not writing I’m hanging out with friends or petting random dogs I encounter. My goal with writing is to be true to myself, share my stories, and to let people know you’re never alone.
‘She should not come,’ They whispered meekly. ‘She’ll not be welcomed,’ They smiled sweetly.
A gift unwanted from the start, Cursed and tainted, She claimed her mother’s heart.
‘She’ll have no identity,’ They forewarned. ‘She’ll not belong here,’ They deplored.
‘Let it be and see,’ Her mother said with care, ‘She who will be, will be.’
‘She’ll be lacking. She’ll be unloved. She’ll be… She’ll be… alone.’
They went on and on until morn’s first light, And with her final breath, Her mother rose up with all her might.
‘She will come.’ Her voice rumbled. ‘She’ll not be defined by your labels.’ The earth trembled.
‘She’ll break free from the sins of her forefathers.’ They all fell silent. ‘She’ll raise your children as her own.’ They bowed their heads in that final moment.
She had become She, And She would be loved. For the cycle will go on and on.
Chrystal Wanstall lives in the beautiful county of Yorkshire UK where she is working on her debut poetry collection, The Colours of You and Me. A book of love dedicated to the love she is yet to meet.
When she’s not weaving dreams, she is working on healing others, studying Reiki and using her natural gifts and wisdom to help those that cross her path by happy coincidence. I can be found on Instagram @c.s.wanstall
Your love set fire to my heart and we danced within the flames Our love was burnt away to ashes but that fire will forever remain…
Your love doused out my fire my tears fell down on the flames The ashes of love we had my future swept it away…
Upside Down Backwards
Upside Down Backwards, by David Smith
How can I fly so high but at the same time feel so low… I’m standing tall but I always stumble then fall… My door of emotion was opened to you but that same door you walked out of… That reign of love you served to me but I didn’t deserve the teary downpour
Hello all! Firstly, my name is David Smith I am a 34 year young male from sunny Liverpool in the U.K.
My main reason for my writing was at first an outlet for me to offload some weight on my shoulders. I began gradually writing more and quickly realised it helped me a lot to say what I needed to say put in ink form.
These words mean more to me because everything written or told is 100% me, bare, honest and real, there’s no specific genre to my writing/poetry. I see it more as every feeling we have had/felt… I write it.
When somebody comments of how it resonates with them on a personal level, I feel I’ve touched at least one person with my words and my story.
Feel free to follow my journey on Instagram: @wordsfrom1985
An aureate ink pot lies beside my hot cup of tea, I dip my quill and form prints of treacly melody, he asks me if I’ve been up all night I nod and give the letter, the wind blew furiously and clouds enshrouded the moon in night sky, I couldn’t find warmth but my heart burnt like fire, so I spent my time musing all night, but today will be different because the moon has arrived, my moon has arrived.
I am a seventeen-year-old, a native of a country where spirituality meets science, India. Currently, I‘m a senior studying in Jesus & Mary School, Shimla. My hobbies include sharing poetry, stories, art and music, entwined with ardour, over cups of hot drinks, and intermittently performing classical dance.
I write to express the thoughts otherwise frozen in a tapestry-like mind and connect with souls. I believe the human race in diversified forms is conducive for aesthetic pleasure, embracing each other’s psyche and heart. You can find me here on Instagram: @_tanisha_bhatia_
I stand there, My back against the wall. My eyes searching for a miracle that would prevent me from falling.
Broken several times, Yet I search for hope. Maybe there’s a light to this darkness. A torch in this lightless room. I wonder, where’s my destiny? I ponder, where’s the way out?
Clueless I stroll, A fake smile on my face. Is this world a problem Or am I unsolved? My endless questions will begin, Hoping for someone who’d be answering them.
As loud as I’ll yell I know the more I’ll be unwell. Totally scattered, I’ll begin To question my existence again.
I tried to change anew Their typical thinking way. My result would be despair, I knew. My attempt went astray. Clueless I stroll, A fake smile on my face. Is this world a problem Or am I unsolved?
Seems like I’m living in a place where being a girl is a crime. Ignored as a helmet, dismissed as a toy. They say they love me, But I don’t believe.
My interests, my goals, remain unvalued. I’m convinced to leave. Every ladder, I said I climbed for you. You said, “Nope, not for me, it isn’t true.” You really don’t trust in what I do to have you.
Enough! Now I can’t really satisfy you. Clueless I strolled, Wearing a fake smile. Now I realize, The problem’s neither the world nor me, Those are just the people messing around.
Ones that should be left to be chased by my hound. I will start to let all of it go. Because I just can’t hold this mess anymore.
Now I pledge, I pledge that each time I’ll break. I’ll come out stronger and for no one’s sake. I will prove who I am. Because I know, I can be no less than my own champ!
I am a 14-year-old poet and a blogger from Karachi, Pakistan. Since I am 14, I am a regular student in a middle school in my city and I do not have any job.
Writing is the only thing I am interested in and that is my hobby. I try to write as well aspossible, and try to create the best pieces of writing. I am not really writing a book, but I look forward to writing a fictional novel, later when I’m almost finished with my studies.
You can follow her work on Instagram: @maheen.writes
She built a Wall One after another Until she built a box
There she stays Stored away Without any doors or locks
No one cares to figure her out Who cares what she’s all about
Her only company Her cries and screams Because she can’t get out
Love Is, by Ashley Thompson
Love is a blessing, Love is a curse Love can be better, Love can be worse Love can make you rich, Love can leave you broke Love can be the punchline, Love can be the joke Love can be as cool and refreshing as iced tea Love can be robust like wine Love is to choice, as back is to spine Love is a rebel that crosses the line Love can be angelic, Love can be demonic Love is a drug that makes us all a bit moronic
I reside in Topeka, Kansas. I’m a homemaker devoted to my son and spending time with family.
My focus for writing began in my teens and into my adult life as a creative outlet to relieve stress and express my innermost thoughts.
Readers can follow me on Instagram: @ashrthompson1
One fine evening they both met Strangers to each other
She was a delicious blend Of sultry hot and dark With an unforgettable taste
The moment poet’s lips Tasted her for the first time A creativity residing within Started oozing out smoothly
Towards the end of their date Poet felt an instant burst of energy An exquisite parting gift from her
Tejashri Pathak an electronics engineer by day and an accidently turned poet. Her journey to walk on the route started by scribbling some words in her journal.
She belongs to a small town from Maharashtra state in India.She always enjoyed the company of books. She has completed her Masters in Engineering and worked as an assistant professor in an engineering college.
While writing the research papers and her project thesis she realised she could do something with words but it took her 3 years to actually start creating poetry. She loves to convey raw emotions through poetry.
Currently, she is planning to publish a book of her poems and her future plans include writing a fiction novel. She has an Instagram account where she shares her creations: @soul_lost_in_poetry_