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Literature Text
I haven't written
in quite some time
my fingertips have forgotten
how to embrace a pen
I've grown accustomed to neat pages
-jailed-
deprived from ink soaking life into their fibres
My thoughts have become alien
They clutter in my head
for days on end
'till they spill into the night -
into my dreams
torturing me further
I haven't written
I cannot write,
they forbid me to
calligrify their secrets onto paper
I'm force to burden them within my head
I don't think I can control them
They spill to territories I try to avoid,
apathetic to my pleas
I want to write them out of my head
write every single detail of them away
but I can't even describe them.
in quite some time
my fingertips have forgotten
how to embrace a pen
I've grown accustomed to neat pages
-jailed-
deprived from ink soaking life into their fibres
My thoughts have become alien
They clutter in my head
for days on end
'till they spill into the night -
into my dreams
torturing me further
I haven't written
I cannot write,
they forbid me to
calligrify their secrets onto paper
I'm force to burden them within my head
I don't think I can control them
They spill to territories I try to avoid,
apathetic to my pleas
I want to write them out of my head
write every single detail of them away
but I can't even describe them.
Literature
memento
you keep my drawing as
a bookmark and i can
only hope you think of
me every time you turn
a page.
Literature
Poetry,
She is stardust leaving sweet bones
in her wake. A trail of poetic destruction
conceived in verse--answering questions
with kisses. There is a hunger in her
freckled constellations, like spider webs
woven together with golden thread.
Like the wild roses she braids in her hair:
She walks backboned and head held high;
the strongest of letters on a page
left to rest in your mouth.
Literature
Silver Lining Symphony
Remember
how summer sings
quietly in your ears;
when your
stray heart
stutters
hold it and wait,
for your cold hands
are meant to hide
the fire within.
Listen,
every symphony,
every beautiful thing
is made
of pauses
and broken pieces;
diamonds do not reflect
the light
until they are cut.
Remember
how the sun filters
through cracked clouds
after a storm;
when the rain
gently kisses your palms,
forgive the scars
for what has been.
Listen
and always
remember,
far beyond this pain
there are
luminous adventures,
thriving,
in the wake
of your
resilience.
Suggested Collections
Just something I wrote once... which feels quite true sometimes.
© 2017 - 2024 AtypicalLily
Comments11
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the ink in the well
takes shape
even before the quill sinks in
thoughts filter and drip
oh i cannot catch them as they fall
my thoughts are peripheral
and they escape as i turn to face them
takes shape
even before the quill sinks in
thoughts filter and drip
oh i cannot catch them as they fall
my thoughts are peripheral
and they escape as i turn to face them