writers
Learn more about other poetry terms
Diversity essay illustrations are precisely what you need to compose an essay that will be read and appreciated by your own reader. Now you know why it's very important to protect the Amazon rainforests, you can do precisely that by phoning your
The heart,
that craves the taste of being intoxicated
but by love,
The poison, is it the cure or the end?
The taste of insanity
it remembers so vividly,
my flesh, my strings
my bones, my veins
She asked when do you know a poem is finished
I replied I don’t
I write until I have nothing left to say
I write until the pain stops or starts to fade away
Words always slipped in
Clouding my head so easily
But now
It's you
Weaving circles
Telling tales
Pestering my thoughts
(Never leaving me alone)
And words leave my tongue
There is a place-
A cliff-
That artists tend to go
to explore; to create
And often throw themselves off of
People label it insanity
But wouldn't you, too,
Allow yourself to trip and fall
To any aspiring "authors,"
I encourage you to be more.
Push for more.
Claw your way,
tooth and nail,
for more.
Each and every one of you has the potential.
The onyx of my eye confesses on this page:soft and torn with a leaking edge,My breath sinks into creamy lines:a fusion of cursive, print,and shallows of wine,My lashes accumulate dust
We all bleed red,
No matter the tone of our skin
We’ve all felt uncomfortable
With who we were
Allowing others to break us down
One of our many sins
We create the worlds we want to live in because Reality isn't good enough for us, but what we never realize is:
Our heads may be in the clouds and our noses may be stuck in books.
But that's the way we like it.
Our heads may be in the clouds and our noses may be stuck in books.
But that's the way we like it.
We're all a bunch of dreamers
Some of us advid drinkers
Novelists write collections of lies
I write the truth before it dies
The sweet prose that I can make drip sense
Or fall into a senseless abyss
Here’s to the blank page workers.
The ones who stare at the canvas until their eyes
no longer see white,
but a blend of colors bleeding in from outside,
Looking into
A writers mind
You may phew
On what you find
Look in,
Carefully
Surprisingly
Lurking
Emerging
A
Tinker, Tailor,
Soldier, Sailor,
You were so keen on leavingso abruptly, tooI did not know how to recoverAnd so I wept, and wept, and weptwith the knowledge that I’ll never see you again.
CLOSE YOUR EYES AND VISUALIZE A BETTER WAY OF LIFE... I CAME HERE TO CREATE A MORE PEACEFUL LIFE... I FELT AS IF IT WAS TIME FOR ME TO REALLY BE HEARD... MAYBE TODAY WAS MY DAY TO SEE THE BEAUTY MY WORDS.. I USUALLY WRITE AS I THINK...
DO YOU LOVE ME OR THE THINGS THAT I DO FOR YOU...
I TRIED TO STAY FOCUSED SO THAT I WOULDNT LOSE SIGHT OF YOU..
I TRIED TO IMAGINE MY WORLD WITH ONLY MY WEARY HEART...
SOME SAY THAT WE ARE UNWILLING TO
UNITE...
THAT WE AREN'T STRONG ENOUGH TO WIN THE FIGHT...
WELL I BELIEVE IF WE STAND AS ONE WE WILL BECOME ONE NATION...
I PRAY THAT WE CAN BE PROUD OF WHAT ARE KIDS WILL BECOME..
I Will.
I will lift you from the ground when you fall,
Be at your side with even just one call,
The purest of thoughts are the ugliest in kindThe prettiest of faces have the darkest of mindsIt is a fact, or maybe a foul But the most hurt of people have the brightest of smiles
A car loses control and hits a baby.
Reporters swirl around the dying innocence,
Like vultures around potential demise.
I grab my pen and write,
I grab my laptop and type,
I grab my phone and tweet
We are writers, scrawling ideas on the sides
of notebooks, frantically tearing out the paper
and sticking it in our pockets. We highlight
our favorite parts of you, write hearts
I don’t write for entertainment, to gossip, or to complain about my life past or present . I write because, I believe my words are one of the things I have left in this world.
Authors are powerful peopleThere is no limit to what they can doThey have the power to make you ecstatically happyAnd make you have a heart attack, too
It baffles me daily: how we insist
That we sustain on food, water, and air.
Birds have as much; yet from us they desist.
Money's our answer, if there's plenty spared.
We yearn to create something beautiful
When the ink craft fully spills down to paper
We wish to make every letter etch its impression
When we write the conscience in our mind is clear
Lost, Without you that’s what I am,
You are my everything,
I never feel alone when you are there,
The world makes sense when you speak,
I can’t live without a story.
It’s harsh to say it, but that’s the truth.
When everyone who loves me is gone, if I live on,
I’ll mourn and cry and try to deny it.
But in the end, I will survive—
I dare you to take a venture into the mind of a writer
The depths of the mind of a writer go so deep you are unsure if you would be able to escape after entering
But I promise you
You would not regret taking the chance
writer's block sucks
because writers, we care
we care so incredibly much
frustrated to see our pages bare
writer's block sucks
but writers do not
writing frees all our souls
And yet the flow of my disorderly conduct,
bathes me in illuminous light.
Dissonance fills the passion of my soul,
Filling the void with certain strife.
The sweetness of the vinegar taffy,
So long as men can live and live to see Restrainèd not in action's course or bent; So long as those still fall be-weeping misery In silent haze of prideful government;
I am a chameleon
The colorful pariah
Blending in so perfectly
To painted walls behind us
Oh, how can I know myself?
When I'm never the same
No anchor set no place my home
Of business and whimsy
I spend hours writing to clear my brainNothing makes me feel the sameI'll even do it on the trainOn my way to work, or in the rainUnder an umbrella, or even SpainI like to do it when I'm stressed,
Let it flow, let it be
Out on pages from your mind
Grammer won't get you fined
Spelling doesn't count on creativity
Single minds don't get their way
english teachers set up laws
Writers BlockWriters BlockWriters BlockWriters BlockWriters Block
N E E D I N S P I R A T I O N . . . . .
My brain is melting right now .
Her electric soul,
her aching soul
is scared and shines a
cowardly light.
They call her humble,
humble and divine.
Who wouldn’t love a girl
with skin so fine?
Sitting at a desk in front of a screen with a blinking line
My fingers don’t touch any keys,
But rather they trace the edges of a box,
I would paint myself a writer
writing in my shoebox apartment,
thousands of pages
strewn about my room
beautiful nonsense
covering every single one
I'd create stories
about sad girls
"I dated a writer once. I think.... I'd like to date one again." She eased the statement from her lips confidently and seeking of my approval. I only laughed at her.
You seduced me.
Drew me in
played me for the fool
and I bit
took the bait
tried to dart away
only driving the hook
in deeper
A pen that flows
Is a pen that knows
What it wants
And where to go
But when it stops
It gets stuck
Like myself
In a rut
There are things
That I could write
But none of my words
