Poetry by a gay depressed bitch
  • Reads 229
  • Votes 7
  • Parts 17
  • Time 14m
  • Reads 229
  • Votes 7
  • Parts 17
  • Time 14m
Ongoing, First published Jun 18, 2021
Just some 3 a.m. thoughts about my tupid ass life. Maybe you can realte to them <3

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A small text excerp...


Her canvas was her body and her paint brush was a razor blade. She covered her art so that no one could see work till it's done. And no one noticed. And nobody knowed if it was dedicated to them. In every line she draw there was a message for the people that inspired her. In every line she draw was a silent scream for help she would never say out of her mouth. In every line she draw were all the emotions she pushed down for so long. Because just the lines made her believe that she was alive. Some people scream, some cry and some just push it down but people like her draw there own masterpiece with there pain. And at some point only the death could make her feel alive and she drawed with the other angels in her heaven.

She was an artist and no one cared about her art till it was too late.
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My Poetry

192 parts Ongoing

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute, we read and write poetry because we are members of the human race." -Dead Poets Society I'm a 17 y/o (Started this when I was 15) just wanting to share some of my poetry with people other than my friends :] (Also feel free to comment any tips and how I could improve on my writing!)