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Literature Text
I used to write so many things
I used to smile, I used to sing
I used to be so very happy
I used to be…
And then you trapped me
The piece of paper
On the table
A little story
Of a traitor
Written lines
On the purest heart
Written lines
To lie about
I was the paper
You were the words
You violate me
So I got lost
I am the memory
You are the ghost
I won't be treasuring
Not anymore
You inked the paper
You inked my soul
It won't get better
It won't let go
They will retell this story
The piece of paper gonna burn to ash
And we will shine in endless glory
But it will never heal this painful gash
I used to smile, I used to sing
I used to be so very happy
I used to be…
And then you trapped me
The piece of paper
On the table
A little story
Of a traitor
Written lines
On the purest heart
Written lines
To lie about
I was the paper
You were the words
You violate me
So I got lost
I am the memory
You are the ghost
I won't be treasuring
Not anymore
You inked the paper
You inked my soul
It won't get better
It won't let go
They will retell this story
The piece of paper gonna burn to ash
And we will shine in endless glory
But it will never heal this painful gash
Literature
Dear Poetry,
I am trying to cover my sadness with words.
Tape them against my scars
& wear them like worthy paper cuts.
My tears are alcohol swabs, burning & cleansing
wounds of my own making. Sometimes,
I wish I could hide behind them forever.
But not even this journeyed flesh can stand
castle strong against speechless ink stains.
I know the code. This body does not deserve
a warriors death. & poetry, you're a monster
a creative monster, but evil nonetheless.
I wish to string you into knots, force feed you
down the throats of others. De-format you
& leave you empty; freeversed-
to hang loosely along the heartstrings
of strangers
Literature
If you are a writer
If you're a passionate writer,
you know how it is,
to be surround by roaring words,
to be trapped in front of a screen,
to write and write,
without looking up,
without realizing
how the time rushes,
how it's getting dark and darker,
and then
bright again.
How it is,
when nothing else in the world seems so important,
like finding the right words,
to paint a feeling,
to write a picture,
to formulate a sentence so loud or so quiet,
that it stands out between the lines,
that it belongs there,
where it wants to stay.
How it is,
to tell about hope,
without sounding like past loves,
to describe a sunset
without the colours orange and red,
to l
Literature
These Words Aren't Pretty
These Words Aren't Pretty:
My verses are ugly and I admit to the fact
I can't use pretty language when I'm working with rap
Because the things that I write, are just the things that I feel
I ain't an Edgar Allan Poe or a Danielle Steel
And I'll be honest with you, I've got an envy inside
Because some poets got a flow that's as smooth as the tide
I read some stuff that they write, it's just so dope I ignite
Burning shame and my anger at the beautiful sight
And like birds of a feather, they're flocking together
These poets are the Gods and I'm nailed by the weather
But as the rain pours down, lightning resound;
I try to write pretty
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Comments150
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I want to kiss your cheek....
Bur there's a plasma screen in my way!
lol
Bur there's a plasma screen in my way!
lol