Learn more about other poetry terms

Address this letter to the pieces of myself I left in Pennsylvania. The broken shards of the boy I used to be The return address to where I learned that fear was a four letter word I would carry with me always.
I promise I’m not broken, I just look this way Because of the pieces I gave away To fix the broken in someone else   But when something is no longer broken They no longer need the one who fixes
I’ve fallen apart, A million pieces in the floor. Most of them are missing, I can’t find them any more. My pieces have been scattered,
Good friends are the ones that give you Russian dolls that  Come apart   Because they know that's how you're feeling  That you need a visual  Of the inside of your own heart  
It’s funny to think of yourself in pieces When the shatter has since become a distant memory
I am a whirlwind, A tornado, A hurricane. I am a force of nature. And I am trying So, so hard Not to tear you to pieces. But Storms were not meant to be contained
You want my heart? You can have it.But good luck finding it all,For I have already given Little pieces away... To an old lady who didn't always remember my name
Everything is what I gave you.
When I dared to finally take my own steps, and when I dared to go my own direction, I found and learned about myself without the intention.   I left my home country and studied abroad
When he looked at me I captured every moment I could in hi
Pieces, broken pieces. I am a puzzle piece, one that doesn't fit. That feeling, burned down Broken, can never be fixed.   Pick me up, move me around Make me what you want.
Like a mirror shattered,
My life a puzzle I'm put together to make a beautiful picture but when pieces are missing my image not clear. Someone will come along  and try to complete me, in reality they will try but not get far.
When you strip yourself bare before another You are showing them your physical flaws You are undressing who you are underneath all the clothes
All you do is push and shove“You’re so distant,” then you’d say.Do you even want my love?“Save it for a rainy day”
In my puzzle, The pieces mold together, and can’t be rearranged.Each piece stands for a part of me,And every completed section,Is a window,Looking into my past.
Man's world unfolds fool's gold and wild vanities untold   The sake of being pious is valued at minus Ruthless is cherished as highness   Brandished guns and sharpening knives
Young and innocent at 17 years old His life and fate stands in the hands of a man so cold Mis judgment of character and based upon looks Zimmerman took it upon hisself for the life he took.
Here I Walk Alone On This Street,Not Knowing My Life Would Innocently Be Taken From Me,Why Do Us Children Have To Be So Shattered, Hard times And Hard Struggles Is What Happens In Life But,Sometimes It's Just Too Much To Continue, Trayvon Isnt A I
When it's cold in the night we shall fight for our rightWe want shame to be goneFrom the land of the lightThe queen of the night is afraid of our might She teaches us the Qur'an Indeed an evil sprite
Far in the distance A war rages Staining crimson upon the ground Battle cries of victors and the fallen With every slash and stab A soldier thinks of his family The ones he may never see again
I am a voice of the shadows, Forgive my hushed tone, Because I am unknown, Unable to waste away But I am a voice unheard Day to day. No one can hear me, But I can hear everyone, Oh so clearly.
At age seven the boy's heart beats, at age twenty his heart bleeds. Died in peril, not in vein, the young man's heart feels no pain.
There is no peace left on this woeful, wistful world; There is no wonder we worry about wages and wars— Wars to be waged. Darkness and violence lurk at every intersection, Waiting patiently to strike—
Such a deep love, impossible to ignore We're pulled together, while others pull us apart. Love is forgotten, making life such a bore The lost memories, breaking every heart.
From the birth One was looked at as unusual weird, not normal But why the eye deceives one to judge Not of what you know but of what you see Its hard when your trying to be Not like he or she But to be you
The room was light Misty and still As if to foreshadow the sunrise I reached the dining table To find it adorned By a half empty jar with roses Of five, six, or seven The number escapes All I remember is the moment I laid eyes on the most beautifu
Subscribe to Pieces