Learn more about other poetry terms
Poetry is a form of self-expression It helps release aggression It’s a way of telling a story
Innamorato, I think. I am in love. A loaded word, I know, but it is not out of context, or fake or artificial or lacking. It is real, and it is unwavering, and it is alive.
Sincerely, the rejuvenated people. This is a letter to self. This is the bulldozer for self-hate and poor reflection.
Golden sunset lemons, twinkly sliced unlike the first time I ran my pen, and eyes, dry. Puckers and sighs against a luminescent sky-- only dreams back then, something to imagine.
A sick bliss, bubbling Spilling out over me Staining and settling In holes, in the cracks All the locked in got out Now it’s boiling out Now it’s staining and settling In holes, in the cracks
Can't youcan't you seeI got a dreamjust to beme, myself, and ICan't youcan't you knowI am alivelivingto get by
I remember when I was younger
I’m complicated, Yet easy to read. I may be a follower, But I can easily lead. I am everything you wished for, And nothing you can picture. I’m the lethal disease,
*I might be freak, but I'm a Flawless Freak.
Behind the curtain Beneath the skin it's different than what's in front Out for others to see Eye contact feels like lasers When people are staring, it feels like the world is closing in
Who's hiding behind the locked door? No one seems to hear me. Who's behind the curtain? No one seems to see me. Who's hiding behind mask? No one seems to see who I really can be. Why are you hiding?
Discovery meet, most sweet substantial, A grim victoire in sober fierce, Which knowing in its talent fines To piercing use; the cup hath brimmed And overflowed in talent honed,
Let me mix my colors with yours it’s the human triumph and universal theme to get the better of your wounds and turn them to scars Let me blend mine with yours.
Maybe I write because I like the feel of it. The click of the keys All the power of a God on a blank page The uninhibited command held in my fingers and my mind Except I fumble over the language I speak
Who do I write for you ask? Well, life doesn’t stop when you’re tired Or when you’re sick Or mired In all of the work, the relationships, the demands It snowballs and grows
I have a relationship with the sun.I have been growing upward.The roots I have, came from the currents and the moon.And still I grow.I grow stronger with each eclipse.I grow calmer with every sunrise.
I write for me To show everybody Who has ever been mean to me That I have a way to get my anger out Without doing unto them what they have done to me. I write for me