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- Reads 471
- Votes 45
- Parts 26
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My Poetry Escape
I may just be a girl. No one special. Nothing compared to others. In the eyes of the universe, I am just a little speck of dust. My light may not shine very bright, and it may not be of any use, but I am me. Writing is my only escape out of this world. I cry rivers of ink and climb mountains of words. I may not write as well as others, but my writing is just a different style. They're my feelings. I really do hope you can connect to some of the work in here. Please, do not copy any of this work without informing me first. Thank you! "My Escape" I have a supply, In the closet near my bed, Of past memories, Hanging by a thread. A thread, Connected to my mind, That thread, Just follows me around. I have a hole, In the middle of my heart, That hole fills up, When someone's torn apart. I have a tear, Accompanying my lonely eye, Knowing, whenever I'm alone, I can sit in a corner and cry. Even though, These things are there, I still have ink, a notebook, and a pen, To care. I write and write, To my heart's desire, New feelings erupt, By the hour. Writing is, My one escape, In this cruel and careless world, I have the power, to awake. "A Story Without Words" A story told, In a little tune, A golden smile, And a shining tear, Rolling down my cheek. A little breeze, The nice sun, A marvelous day, Turned into a wet one. The memories dripped, Down on my cotton white shirt, Leaving stains, On my malicious heart. Your smile, Worth a thousand words, Can't cheer up This depressive mind. A storm bewildered, Your indecisive mind, Drowning me, In my reckless thoughts. A rainy day, A gleaming lie, A story not told, With words Nor sounds. This story is, But a mere thought, In this universe We share, Every night. This story is, A withering storm, Drifting off, In this careless soul. This story is, Not told with sounds, But a never ending blow, Of swirling emotions, Bottled up inside.Complete
Yours Truly, Mooncalf
This is a personal documentation through poetry. I am learning to look inward now, give myself love when I least want to. I do not live to love others, I live to love myself. I will find and create what is enough for me, and you will learn to let it be enough for you. 2022Complete
A Gentleman's Kiss
Fall in love with a writer and you are instantly immortalized in her work, in her mind, and in her heart. Memories of you will never die as it will be re-read, relived, and will rekindle all emotions felt as if they lasted forever. ❤ Dedicated to A.R.R. whom I've been friends with since June this year. Some parts are really based on reality: what we do, how we talk, and that genuine feeling of happiness when I'm with him. Although for the sake of literature, I had to tweak some details a bit. Enjoy reading. :)Complete
A Poet's Secret
Being in love with your best friend isn't the ideal life situation but for Zora, it's her only life situation. Secretly harboring her feelings for her best friend, Sierra, Zora pours her emotions into her journal in the form of poetry. After years of keeping her attraction for her friend at bay and trying to deny her feelings by forcing herself to love a boy who unconditionally loves her, Zora's favorite emotional outlet becomes the cause of her life falling apart as the truth finally comes out. ***** It was happening again. It was dark, sunset, I waited for her to be done with volleyball practice 'because she was my ride'. Somehow we wandered from the gym to the football field and we were sitting at the very top of the bleachers staring at each other. Her dark hair mirrored the direction of the wind, the setting sun being replaced by the brightness of her smile. We were sitting so close I could feel her warmth. It was an unusual situation. Friends don't do this. We held eye contact for a long time before I couldn't take it anymore and just closed my eyes. It wasn't real, she was just my friend. Then, I felt her tuck a strand of my curly hair behind my ear. That with the chill of the night sent shivers down my spine and a swarm of butterflies attacked my stomach. I reopened my eyes. If she didn't want me, why did she look at me that way? I held her hand and I held it for so long because I didn't know if we'd have another moment like this. We talk and laugh and she tells me I'm pretty and I ask her if she'd just noticed that and we laugh again. I realize the feelings I felt in that moment were not just the intense feelings of attraction that I felt every time I was with her. Warmth flooded to my face and if it wasn't for my dark complexion, my blush would be noticeable. I look into her dark-colored eyes and I come to the conclusion that I'm royally fucked and I'm probably also in love.Complete
Poems Of Life
Its poems that I've writen based on how i feelComplete
Catastrophically Carla (Lesbian Story)
Ages 14+ (lesbian concepts and some profanity) This is not your everyday love story, okay? It's not a chick flick either. The events and themes within my pages have meaning, depth, truth-and most of all, reality. You are about to be taken on an adventure about a girl who's life is not like everybody else's. I look like a normal teen girl, I mean, I have hair and two eyes and two hands and feet like everybody else, but I couldn't feel more different. I have two moms, yes. Let's just get that out there before you start reading and close my diary like everyone in my life has shut me out of theirs. All I want is a normal life with normal friends who don't judge me because of my home situation. I don't even remember the last time I went on a sleepover or called somebody my age. I don't mean to be a downer, because it does get better. Life gets better. Struggles are only temporary, I know that now. And by my last words reach your eyes, I've come a long way, and have grown to see potential in myself. I'm sharing this with you because I want to make a difference. I know now that I'm not the only one in the world that feels alone. I've been there, done that, and there's more loneliness to come, but for now, I feel more prepared for it. I know how it feels to sit by yourself at lunch every day and how it feels to watch others go to prom with dates and feel like shit because you don't think you'd even have any friends to go with. Please ready my diary. I am much older now, and much more wiser, and I can't wait for you to realize the potential in yourself, too.Complete
I may just be a girl. No one special. Nothing compared to others. In the eyes of the universe, I am just a little speck of dust. My light may not shine very bright, and it may not be of any use, but I am me. Writing is my only escape out of this world. I cry rivers of ink and climb mountains of words. I may not write as well as others, but my writing is just a different style. They're my feelings. I really do hope you can connect to some of the work in here. Please, do not copy any of this work without informing me first. Thank you! "My Escape" I have a supply, In the closet near my bed, Of past memories, Hanging by a thread. A thread, Connected to my mind, That thread, Just follows me around. I have a hole, In the middle of my heart, That hole fills up, When someone's torn apart. I have a tear, Accompanying my lonely eye, Knowing, whenever I'm alone, I can sit in a corner and cry. Even though, These things are there, I still have ink, a notebook, and a pen, To care. I write and write, To my heart's desire, New feelings erupt, By the hour. Writing is, My one escape, In this cruel and careless world, I have the power, to awake. "A Story Without Words" A story told, In a little tune, A golden smile, And a shining tear, Rolling down my cheek. A little breeze, The nice sun, A marvelous day, Turned into a wet one. The memories dripped, Down on my cotton white shirt, Leaving stains, On my malicious heart. Your smile, Worth a thousand words, Can't cheer up This depressive mind. A storm bewildered, Your indecisive mind, Drowning me, In my reckless thoughts. A rainy day, A gleaming lie, A story not told, With words Nor sounds. This story is, But a mere thought, In this universe We share, Every night. This story is, A withering storm, Drifting off, In this careless soul. This story is, Not told with sounds, But a never ending blow, Of swirling emotions, Bottled up inside.
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