I don't think I even write poetry anymore. I'm just dumping words onto a page in a way that I guess sounds okay, looks okay on my phone screen.
But I don't write to be understood, I don't write to share what I'm feeling with others (even though I love to know that maybe someone's reading), I just write. Write for myself, because I'm too scared to say what I mean. Because I want to remember this, every second, even if it's not so great. Because what else would I do, when there are words filling my heart, words filling my brain? Because I don't know how to feel, and I'm hoping someday I'll look back on these words and cringe at how young and inexperienced I was. How I wasn't happy, and didn't know how to deal with it. Really, I'm just keeping a journal (because I don't think anyone really reads this, and even if they did they probably wouldn't understand half of it) but what's the point of that?
I don't think this is even poetry at this point. It's just words that I tell myself sound nice, with a few random spaces in between.
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Unbreakable
PoésieNOUN 1. Unable to be broken, indestructable. "She wasn't yet, but one day she'd be unbreakable, free from the chains that held her." //BREAKABLE book #2// The daily ramblings and thoughts of a girl just...