Deep-diving into the culprits of my self-deprecation, "Discount Shakespeare" showcases all 50 of my poems, originally posted on Twitter, which I had written from my high school years to this day (whenever this gets published, I guess).
Teeming with...
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Discount Shakespeare An anthology of musings Poetry by luxsick
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Love is a wingless angel
I think I've finally figured it out now— Here's a list of reasons why writing about love Just doesn't work for me. Here's a trash heap of Excuses from facing those big, red hearts like the Restless, socially awkward coward I am. I will try. In the spirit of being on-theme, on-track. Love has its redundancies. And I hate redundancies. Putting love into words is like writing a song, Without realizing that it's already been sung. It's like bawling your eyes out to a story's ending, One you could see coming from miles away. Which leads me to how it thrives on whatever works For whoever's stuck in a romantic whirlwind of Matching T-shirts and reruns of KathNiel films. It thrives on whatever works for the nation's biggest Ben&Ben fans, singing their lungs out to Araw-araw.
It doesn't work for me, Because it's in things that aren't for me.
I see love in the most busted stand-up comedian, Whom I'd still see for a glimpse of his kilowatt smile. It's heaven's inevitable oopsie in God's sky of angels, Proof that, yes, imperfections still exist in the afterlife. It's the music video turned short film by the nation's Hugot Queen, whose moniker doubles as a classic rom-com. And love is in the hopeful wish I make in a moment's spur To, for once in my crazy, beautiful life, to be her.
