Poems From the Heart
- LECTURAS 221
- Votos 68
- Partes 8
What's even the point of writing if ChatGPT can do it better and faster? This is one of the most discouraging thoughts that has plagued my mind...and that of other authors and storytellers alike.
Nevertheless, writing - including poetry - has been a therapy for me since childhood. I truly hope there will be a purpose to writing for all future generations, because humanity will always be touched with emotion in ways AI software programs and robots can only simulate.
After a rather long break from Wattpad and writing in general, I have returned to present several poems I have written throughout my life. My goal is to update this periodically, and hopefully with the occasional life update and greeting.
I know my poems aren't perfect. They reflect my terrible English vocabulary and limited understanding of poetic devices.
The funny thing is that I'm also really, really proud I wrote them. I think it's amazing that my poems deviate from traditional, predictable rhyming patterns. It's amazing that they're imperfect and written by a simple human, rather than a computer output from a lazy ChatGPT prompt.
I hope you, as a human (?) reader, can appreciate all of this...and enjoy the poems that came from my heart. (Take that, ChatGPT!)
And with that...goodbye, random person on the internet I likely will never meet...hope you have an awesome day. Everything's going to be alright.
Todos los derechos reservados
#36
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words don't come that easy.
I've tried. but i've always failed to contain these thousand words in a few sentences, maybe im bad at expressing macro feelings in the few words that I'm limited to. you might think you know me enough because it's been a long time since i first waved at you and the love for the same artist started our very first conversation, but even i haven't discovered the colors of my existence yet, so why do you claim that you have? you think you've already uncovered the secrets and seen the scars and the marks and reached the origin of every preserved artifact in the treasures that i've kept hidden over the years but there's so much more that you would never even hear of. i've chosen to show you everything as a part of a happy story but will you ever know this? which words were rewritten and omitted out and which words are the part of the organic script which fits perfectly into the timeline. have you figured out yet who's the real director of my story? there's so much more to me than you think there is. poetry and prose and everything in between. 26.10.2021 - 01.06.2022Concluida
Tethered
Bright lights, the beat of the music beneath my feet. Distant chatter, quite whispers. The feeling of joy, loss, heartbreak, and loneliness surround me. Buried in a crowd, drowning under the gazes of people who look through you. I am but of glass, a mirror if you will, willing to be seen through, but not seen. Screaming in a room full of people when no one can hear you, let alone see you. Hidden breaths, rising, falling. Isn't that funny, falling? Laughing would be easier than standing here in the crowded place, filled with people, faces, judging every moment the other makes. I could tell you the peace I get standing alone in a room filled with people who only see you as a mirror for who they don't want to be. I could cry tears of blood, and non would ever so much bat an eye in my direction, but I love it. The feeling of being unseen as to appose being seen for the matieral object I once was. Silent, unmoving, unwilling. I am but an idea, glass, shatterable, broken beyond compare. But strong, resistance flows through me. Willing me to be the best I can be, but can I? Who says I make sense, who says I am even me, am I? That's a question I spent years wondering. Who would I be without these scars that tether my skin, marking each even, like a calender. To mend the feelings people have isn't a easy thing, but to break is easy, always easy. How easy it is to forget, to run. I can feel the ground beneath my feet, feel the soil in-between the crooks of my toes, I could describe to you the smell of the rain. Pinpoint the center of the earth, but as I stand here, again amongst the crowd of people stand in this room. I am lost again, an idea, but for what purpose? If I could run, navigate my way through this crowd, I would seek refuge somewhere dark and cold, where I could take off this cloak and be one with who I am, or want to be.
Stale Words
𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 is an ongoing book and collection of poems and sonnets made by me, inspired by my thoughts, dreams, and personal experiences. As someone who lives with depression and anxiety, a lot of my thoughts are bound to not be very pleasant. But hey, some of them are quite philosophical and positive. But that's rare. Join me on my journey through sadness, happiness, curiosity, mystery, and so much more. I was inspired to make a collection of my poems, and I decided to just do it. My poem, "Falling For You Against My Will" features lyrical references from the following: Head Over Heals - Starset ALWAYS BEEN YOU - Chris Grey
The Book of Books-Idea Collage
Beloved quotes or sections from my readings. A local author asked me what I tend to read to get an idea of what I might write like. I drew a blank, but what I told him he was able to figure out I was more of a literary and not mainstream writer. I thought I might share what I'm currently reading to also hold myself accountable...to keep reading and make time for it. Him telling me that I was a literary writer made everything click as to why it takes me so long to read books. I typically go for very deep content...borderline academia...It's not easy reading...rich in content and thought...gets the gears going and is sometimes darker thought as well. So now I have made sure to throw in some fun books as well to lighten the mood and to make reading more enjoyable. I have just realized while documenting my reading that I am more or less doing research for my book.... And I haven't been giving myself credit. I think it's because I was reading these books anyways... But I knew that I was using them to try to help me write my book. But since it's an autobiography and it's fiction (sort of...mostly...pseudo-soft-sci-fi really) I wasn't thinking it was research. Does that make sense? And now I realize that it is. So I've been so hard on myself going slow... But this also doesn't have a time limit as a friend mentioned to me... And now that I realize I'm doing research for it and I'm not just picking between wanting to read recreationally and write with them being two separate things... I feel a lot better about the process. So now instead of saying I decided to read instead of write I can say I am researching in order to better write my book.
Elijah Grant and the Professor's Compass
True Words from the Author: Before you start to read I would like to say, first and foremost, thank you for your valuable time. Every writer likes to be read but every great writer loves to be followed in their own way. I think I am somewhere in the middle. I have a great story to tell but my writing gets in the way at unpredictable intervals. Forgive me for this. The story which I am now sending you has a few historic innuendos and timeline changes that may make you think that I am crazy but believe you me there is a purpose to my madness. I am not a great or even a good writer as of yet but my drive to become so is second to none. I say this not as an excuse for my shortcomings but as a plea for you to be harsh and openly honest about what you think. Do not deliberate for a second that anything you say will hurt or discourage me from writing more. This is my passion. I can never achieve my goal if I only hear opinions from people that believe what they are saying will make me feel better. I need opinions that will make me work harder. Lastly, after reading the Hunger Games, Percy Jackson, Twilight, Artemis Fowl and of course Harry Potter, I am convinced that this story can be just as special with your help. YOUR OPINION IS VERY IMPORTANT... so don't waste it being worried about my feelings. Now without further ado I bring to you: Elijah Grant and the Professor’s CompassConcluida
Release
This is a collection of my writing from the past 7 years. Before I started to write, I was a very lost individual, as are most teens, but I was lost in darkness. I was too afraid to move anywhere at all. I hid in the dark, debilitated by my own anxiety, sadnesses, anger, and hopelessness. I was desperate to be loved and feared it the most, I was a coward, I was self-destructive, I would mentally bend my thoughts to the point of bordering insanity. I was born into this world alone, and got too comfortable with it. Maybe I still am, but a fraction of what I used to be. This writing is extremely vulnerable, and potentially disturbing to others, as all my weaknesses, strengths, obsessions with making every moment sentimental, the sickening desperation I've had, the destructiveness, and the constant brutal reconstruction of my mind. Without guidance, it's been absolute intense chaos. Though, there is beauty in the darkness. Everything can be found in the darkness. You'll find that through my writing, I've somehow slowly become exactly what I've written. A living representation of my writing and what I wanted to be. Without myself even knowing it. A lot of my writing themes are based around nature, or some kind of natural aspect. The imagery I paint with natural metaphors is constant, the animals, just like you and I, the plants, and all other living things. I planted these seeds in my mind, unknowingly at the time, where I now feel the deep dark green jungle pressing at the inner walls of my skull. It's all that I want to consume my mind. There's so much to learn. The magic of nature, and it's infinite wisdom. It's as if I have been on this path all along, and I didn't even know what I was doing, yet my body and mind were passively taking care of me. Giving me and eventually showing exactly what I want, and wanted to become. I have every moment, every instance of suffering, and every epiphany to be thankful for. Soon, I'll be at peace from the raging storm.Concluida
A Collection of Poems
These poems are just some of the little pieces that make up my life. Whenever I get inspired by someone or something, I write a little story about it in the form of a poem. In a way, it helps me express what I have in my mind in a very vague way. I'm not that kind of a direct person, but there are things that are sometimes, better to kept secret. Here, these poems are what I wanted to say to my friends, to other important people, to people in general, to the world around me, to life and each detail it possesses. Each poem has a central theme, and around that revolves a certain story that I want to impart, something too delicate to be expressed directly, something too complicated. Here, I want to share who I am. That's ... probably all ... that I need to say.Concluida
Love from all Views
Meeting him again wasn't the plan. Breaking apart wasn't the plan. Being consumed by my sadness and pain wasn't the plan and yet, I went with it. But now, I couldn't take it. I changed, for the better or the worse is up to you to decide, but I knew I changed. So I wasn't going to beg to his feet. I wasn't going to follow after him like some sick little puppy. No, if he wanted me to do that, then he could go and shove his problems down a juice box and suck them. " Come on, let's fall in love all over again." " So you can break my heart all over again?" ~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~- Beautiful things were hard to come by. Hard to find, hard to see and hard to savour. That's why I cherish beautiful things, because soon, like many things, they fade away. *Click* another picture for another rainy day. *Click* another picture to treasure on a sentimental moment. *Click* another picture to show her. Many teased me for being a guy who liked beautiful things, but she didn't. She didn't judge like those adults at my parents' social parties. She had captured me with a simple click of a camera and a smile my way. " I swear, you love that camera more than me." " Never." ~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~- AUTHOR'S NOTE- So if any of you haven't noticed, I've decided to make this a short stories about small romances. The sad, the wonderful, the odd, the great. Everything I can really think about would be in here. I'm also going to continue this up to 100 chapters, which is a small goal of mine I guess. So let's see how many chapters we can get to ☺️.Concluida
I've tried. but i've always failed to contain these thousand words in a few sentences, maybe im bad at expressing macro feelings in the few words that I'm limited to. you might think you know me enough because it's been a long time since i first waved at you and the love for the same artist started our very first conversation, but even i haven't discovered the colors of my existence yet, so why do you claim that you have? you think you've already uncovered the secrets and seen the scars and the marks and reached the origin of every preserved artifact in the treasures that i've kept hidden over the years but there's so much more that you would never even hear of. i've chosen to show you everything as a part of a happy story but will you ever know this? which words were rewritten and omitted out and which words are the part of the organic script which fits perfectly into the timeline. have you figured out yet who's the real director of my story? there's so much more to me than you think there is. poetry and prose and everything in between. 26.10.2021 - 01.06.2022
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