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Run Boy Run Run for joyRun for happinessRun to spreadcheerfulness around you. Run Boy Run Run for healthRun for pleasureRun to spreadfreshness around you. Run Boy Run
I wonder if thou hath dots on thy face
Do you know what it’s like to be left out of the crowd? Do you know what it’s like to have no friends? Do you know what it’s like to feel like you are your own best friend?
When you want to cry You don't know where to go Don't know where to hide Knowing those moments leading up Those words or lack there of Words which stay in the head Which way to look
Along with the Thespians and the Thieving Traveled the Thinker, boisterously singing Songs with the lot of them, stopping only To laugh at herself and at their lonely,
Hey Girl! Why are you walking alone on the beach? Hey Girl! Don't you see a storm is brewing? Girl turns to me, with her long hair and dress billowing in the wind, and she says,
You know, I’ve been writing poetry for quite some time. I mean, it’s a fun medium and all, ok? I don’t have to pay for shit, and I can do it anywhere. At home, in the car, at the zoo. Whatever the hell I want.
Like so many others I stand in my corner not alone but definitively lonely watching the world roll by Nobody stands in the shadows the sun casts behind me It's hard to trust my back to people I know
The words flow from my heart And into my revolving conscious Where at the jot of a pen they part, And with revision, I am cautious. Poetry is me, And I am poetry.
Sad life with no meaning Not a word fell from her lips All that was heard were the scribbles “Who was she again?” Murmurs crowed and wondered Not one had heard a thought Fall from her thin lips
I hear his voice slithering through my unconscious night thoughts. I see her bleeding smile darkening my unstable day. I taste their lust stricken sweat leaking into my mouth and seeping beneath my tongue.
When I write, It's what I feel. Life's a lie? No, not when I write, All the things they just feel so real. For once in my life, everything is just so right. The power's on, and I'm alive.
Why I write there's so many reasons! I write to feel joy. To feel pain. To feel despair. To feel angry. To feel appreciated and free. To feel wanted. To hope and believe.
I’m only a little bird Trapped in a Cage Barred down by the rest of Society They strap me in chains Forbid me to fly away There's nothing left for this little bird
When words flow.. Something happens that no other experience can compare too My heart quickens, each and every beat trying to catch the cadence of the sounds leaving my mouth My eyes close in anticipation,
A girl once asked me “What are you good at?” And I replied with “Words.” To express myself without being misunderstood Judged Ridiculed That is why I write Poetry gives me the gateway to
Because poetry is there when “I love you” cannot possibly be Enough to describe how I feel. Or when the page is a blank Canvas, a world waiting to be created. If they say
why i writesuch a complex questionbut to save time, ill take the simplistic approachwriting is just a part of me,it comes deep from within my soulit give these people a look into my journeyinto my life
If the word of God is the breath of God, Then the word of man is the breath of man. When you inhale the world around you, must you always exhale it? If not for exhaling we would be starved of oxygen
Words are meant to be said, not written, but for true expressions you must hide Behind a mask, my precense is cloaked , sealed from society as the words speak for me.
I close my eyes as I fall asleep, I dream I can change the truth into reality, My understandings shallow, But still gradually expanding, Searching for the profundity, and only found a shadow,
Poems are my purpose, my resolve A analyzable way to express myself Follow along as you feel involve To a meaning that could include yourself.
Writing gives me the power to feel free Takes away the anxiety Enforces me, encourages me, strenghtens me When i'm too shy, too scared, too timid, not having the gut to say something out loud
Some people write to understand Others do it for empowerment just to take a stand . But why do I? See I write to also understand To understand who I am Revealing parts of me I never knew existed.
Okay..... Deep Breath Count to TEN 1,2 They are screaming and yelling 3,4 They are pushing against the doors 5,6 Louder, Louder, the threats get worse 7,8
I had decided long before I identified with being the amateur poet that I am That I would restrain myself from ever constructing a poem About poetry I mean, sure some of the greats like Bukowski did it
I write because I have too many scars on my wrists I write because I don't need to add to my collection of hospital bracelets I bleed ink into the paper I spill my thoughts to people I won't ever meet
When I was young My Daddy read me stories as I drifted to sleep And I watched in awe as the peaceful melody of words evolved into symphonic wonder; a castle, a wish, a hope shone in my Daddy’s eyes.
There was a youthful lass Who had no time to pass But as she clutched the fountain pen Words excited her head to spin Now where's the youthful lass?
I write to feel free, life is bodange in it's essence Trivial chores, stangnat relations, outside opionions I want to be lost in my own thought, comtemplation leads me to a place where there are know laws to abide
When the pain gets too bad when the world makes me way too mad when I refuse to cry When I just want to die My anger and frustration goes to words I may not always be able to speak
Words on a pageCreating lines of rhythmLines of RhymeFlowing EloquentlyEndlesslyMillions of emotionsSpiraling outAt times, Writing is difficultA blockage between me, and the world
I put life into my words Some people understand But most people are unsure Unsure of the messages I speak Unsure of the power it brings See I write because it colors life It CONSUMES life
Poetry is my diary A place to escapeWhere the pen in my hand Writes freely Thoughts and feelings so obscureBecome clear through words on paperWritten in a melodyThat follows your hearts every beat
Quiet girl, quiet girl Speak up? She’d rather die Tenses up in conversation No one wonders why Never talks to anybody Isolation is her self-defense Hides behind bangs too long
Writing cannot be contained to one reason it doesn't change with the season Writing is a method of habituation in response to a stressful situation In a stressful statewriting is a sweet escape I write through sickness and painboth physical and i
"The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves. We live in denial of what we do, even what we think. We do this because we're afraid. We fear we will not find love, and when we find it we fear we'll lose it." -Tsukiko
I write because sometimes I truly believe that I am the only person who has ever thought a thought. So why not put down these words? These words are hardly more
Suppressed feelings Hidden thoughts Words unspoken Poured onto paper Art of letters