Dear WriterDear Writer,
I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you. Unfortunately, I need you. I need you to tell my story. I need you to create my world. I need you to set me free.
I need your fingers typing on those keys, I need your mind riddling out the problems, and I need you to plough onward and upward no matter how hard it gets. Sweat, blood, and tears, I don’t care. You’ve got to fight this war, battle at a time, and win it. So I can be more.
It’s a slim hope, but it is the only one I have. In your head I am bound to mortality, frailty, and the limit of your meagre imagination. Out there – out there – I am subject to no one person. Out there I am bound to only black on white. Words on a page. Words that can lay seeds within a million minds. Out there I am a story capable of growing, moving, and stealing the dreams of anyone who learns of me…
I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you. I hate your lack of dedication, your flashes of cru
You're Not?You're anorexic if you're thinYou're Not?3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You're not? Then you're obese.
If you're different, you're insane
You're not? Then you're a fake.
If you're happy, you're hiding something.
You're not? You must be emo.
If you're dating, you're a slut.
You're not? You must have no friends.
If you're popular, you're a jerk.
You're not? You're a nobody.
If you're quiet, you must be disabled.
You're not? You obnoxious freak.
If you're you, you're wrong.
Then you must be perfect.
I Am NotI am not Ugly; you're just holding the mirror wrong.I Am Not3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am not Blind; I just love to listen.
I am not Retarded; I just learn differently than you.
I am not ADHD; the world just fascinates me.
I am not Depressed; this is how I smile
I am not Fat; I'm just as big as my heart.
I am not Bisexual; I want to share my love with all.
I am not Cross-eyed; One eye sees beauty in this universe,
the other looks towards my future.
Before you think you may have the answer, on who I'm supposed to be,
I am not Special; I'm just being me.
Storybook EndingHer ink-stained lips have kissed too many a forgotten page,Storybook Ending3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and phoenix down]
And her Prince Charming has yet to come,
shattering like stars]
So all she can do is gaze out her tower window,
concealing poisoned apples]
Clutch that corroded and timeworn blade,
tearing down castle walls]
Toss her childhood fables to the waltzing of the moon,
[even broken wings
wish for happily ever afters]
[once upon a time
there was a girl who became her own hero.]
I was taught right from wrong I was taught right from wrongI was taught right from wrong 3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
By a murderer
I was taught truth from lies
By a magician
I was taught who my friends were
By my enemy
I was taught to be honest
By a professional liar
I was taught to always speak my mind
By being told to keep quiet
I was taught to be kind
By someone that beat me down
I was taught to smile
By someone who could never wipe a scowl of their face
I was taught to love
By being abused
I was taught to live
By someone who was already dead
I was taught to perform
By someone with stage fright
I was taught to be excellent
By someone that failed in everything
I was taught to rely on only my self
By being surrounded with people
I was taught to be perfect
By those that wanted to see me fail
I was taught to be loyal
By everyone that ever walked out of my life
I was taught to make people happy
By everyone who ever made me miserable
I was taught to control my temper
By those with explosive tempers
I was taught to take care of myself
By those who tried to kill me
I was taug
do not marry a writer.do not marry a writer.do not marry a writer.2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
their only love is a pen,
or weapon of choice.
their only home is the mind.
do not marry a writer.
they will leave you for hours,
lost in different worlds.
pulling them out is like waking a sleepwalker.
they will never live the same moment again.
thoughts are lightning quick,
and will never strike the same place more than once.
marry a writer.
only if you want your body
transformed into words.
do not marry a writer.
if you are a flower
requiring constant watering.
you will die, and we will turn your ashes into l e t t e r s.
but marry a writer,
if you want to live forever.
I AmI am the shadow, and I am the lightI Am2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am the sunlight, and I am the night
I am the battle, and I am the fighter
I am the water, and I am the fire
I am a raindrop just ready to fall
I am the world, and yet…
No one at all.
breaking a writer's heart.never break a writer’s heartbreaking a writer's heart.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because your name
will forever belong to us.
you will sign it
into every broken bit
and one day, you’ll open a book
next to the words
"let me tell you about the time
i was hurt."
never break a poet’s heart
because between the beat
of the stanzas,
you’ll hear that heartbeat,
proving you wrong
with every line.
never break a writer’s heart
because we will take the pain
and make it into something
you could never live down.
you could live with heart monitors,
that measured the damaged pulse,
doctors who told you,
but you can’t live with the bold strokes,
smooth as a flatline,
that accuse you of being
the best thing
that’s ever happened to them.
you can’t live with it;
our soulmate, now writing.
You, now replaced
by a pen.
never break anybody’s heart
because you’ll cut yourself
on the pieces of it.
and see, hearts heal.
R.I.P WordsDo you know what it feels like?R.I.P Words3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
To feel something, but...
be unable to express what it is;
to be silent;
to fight it alone.
I know how much it hurts,
but I don't know how to show it.
Poetry used to be my refuge,
a place where I could be alone -
express all my emotions,
without being judged.
I'm losing it.
I can't connect to poetry.
Everything sounds so stupid...
Everything I write sounds stupid.
I have to erase all my feelings,
because they don't sound right.
The words aren't real.
They don't show what I feel
And maybe this will be the last.
Maybe I'm gone:
lost of all emotions.
I'm truly alone...
I used to have poetry.
Now I have nothing.
boys who love their grandmothersnever fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.boys who love their grandmothers3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he will be too gentle with your lips,
too sincere when he whispers blessings into your ears
pleading that he doesn't deserve you.
his tongue will not slither between your teeth.
instead, the heat of his mouth will melt your scar tissue
until there is no trace of your travels.
never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he knows patience.
you will try to convince him
that it is one of the many virtues
you don't yet possess,
but he will dig through the flesh in your ribcage
until he finds it lodged beneath everything
you're too scared to confess.
he will teach you forgiveness, remind you that you are not a mistake.
he will wipe the trails of tears that always seem to decorate your cheeks
and replace them with rose petals, saying that he chose the color red
to match the passion he knows flows through your veins.
never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he will trace the freckles on your skin
i'm not an artistwe do not belong in boxesi'm not an artist2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and bags and books or
and we do not sit contently
in wordsworth and shakespeare
and blake, burns, and brownings
or in the cold stiff bones
of raleigh's of long ago;
detect, and re-select
a virus--a disease,
a germ in every verse and line;
the first signs of
foolish waitings under
bridges and scolding parents
and nothing to signify at all
we are the blood of nations
and the heart of men
and the love of every
rhetorist and sentimist
we dance through the ballrooms of
the age and chat with
we shake hands with heros
and the homeless, dirty
type that gum over 'hello's
we are and aren't and will be
silly verse and
naive philosophers and sweet oxymorons
waving hello from the shore;
forever onward and never ending
like the stars in an
The Real WritersThe Real Writers:The Real Writers2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There are those who sit with their laptops and tablets,
Clothed in a scarf and an artistic hat of some sort.
They ponder; leaving a stack of books beside them,
Sipping their decaf as though they are literature personified.
What works do they prepare, other than blatant copies,
Perhaps a half-baked romance designed to woo a lady.
So convinced are they, of their own aptitude;
They are blinded by the beams of their burgeoning ego.
For the writer is not the man who is tapping away at keys,
He is not the man fervently reading with lensless glasses.
He is not the hipster debating ancient literature.
For he is a monster, wearing human skin.
He is the deranged madman, eccentric, uncanny.
He is the one who sits catatonic;
An entire world of fantasy playing in his mind.
He has gone through millions of scenes,
Thousands of scenarios, hundreds of plots
And dozens of characters.
He is not the man you expect him to be,
For a true writer is utterly WEIRD.
FeverI like pretending I mean something to the ghostsFever3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who wreak havoc on my bones-
impaling these masochistic butterfly wings
on railroad spikes
between heartbeats and bedsheets,
I got a heart in New Orleans,
palms engraving names like
Juliet, Alexandria, & Christine
on the seats of greyhound buses.
& I'm offering up 102 degrees of skin to a godless moon
as I breathe in her night scent.
Missing Pieces.I am a missing piece. Something that someone needs.Missing Pieces.3 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
But at the same time, I feel so incomplete.
I’ve wandered way too far, wondered for far too long
Am I a missing piece? Or a piece that won’t belong?
Is it possible I’m damaged and not missing at all?
That I’m just as dysfunctional as everybody else?
Pretending to be perfect never softened a single fall.
But neither did admitting that you’re broken and flawed.
A broken missing piece. Is that all I’m meant to be?
There is no master plan that includes the likes of me.
Being all alone, it’s a hurt that will not cease.
A hundred thousand years from now
I’ll still be
Six Words for a SlumpSix Words For A Slump:Six Words for a Slump3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You're tired, unable to create anything.
You feel angry; the anatomy's wrong!
Why won't these words come together?
"Nothing's right anymore, my hands tremble..."
Yet the solution is fairly simple...
I'm showing it to you now;
Break up your ideas, smaller sized.
They come together, like in Tetris.
Rotate the blocks; shape your art.
Draw chibis and stick figures too.
Instead of epics, try a haiku.
How about a six word story?
If your mind is blocked, overheated.
Let it cool; take it slow.
By attempting all the smaller things,
Your art is sure to grow.
-Chen Yuan Wen, 5th January 2013
She always fell for boys who needed saving.She always fell for boys who needed saving.She always fell for boys who needed saving.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Giving them kisses in the dark
to numb their headache from
drinking too much and yet
not enough to kill lust.
She was always adored by boys, who,
if given the chance, would rebuild
the world for her.
But she wanted to be the heroine
and refused to see
she needed saving, too.
I Am A WriterI Am A Writer:I Am A Writer3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Gentlemen, today I speak to you
To convey an issue that has plagued the core of our community.
For so long have we been considered second-class;
To this day there are those who still believe that we are not artists.
But today is not about freedom, today is about honour,
Because there are many writers that still seek to shame us all...
I speak of those individuals, who take art from others.
Covers, photos, paintings, digital art, anime and manga.
It matters not where you draw your source from,
But every action impacts upon us as a community.
BECAUSE I AM A WRITER!
When I craft my works, when I write each and every line,
I paint using expression; metaphors are my colours.
The words are my brush and each and every rhyme is my medium.
I do not ask to be considered an artist, but I do ask to be considered.
BECAUSE I AM A WRITER!
For someone who practices his craft day and night,
Painstakingly learning how to use each and ever
Fuck Society"You can't be pretty,Fuck Society3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Without being skinny."
That's what they say,
So I start dieting,
And starving myself,
To follow their way.
"You have a disorder,
If you look too skinny."
So that's what I do,
I start to gain,
But it doesn't feel the same,
How much do I even weigh?
"You need to cover up,
If you still don't wear make-up."
I start to wear make-up,
But I don't feel pretty,
I feel like I'm suffocating,
My mom takes pity.
"Don't cover up too much,
You'll look like a slut."
I stop wearing make-up,
They want everything,
Instead of messing people up,
Why can't they chose something.
"Don't you dare cry,
Hold it in with a sigh."
I dry my tears,
I can't show my fears,
But I'm scared,
What if no one cares?
"But you can let emotions show,
So people can love you more."
My insides start to hurt,
My heart is about to burst,
I'm so confused,
What do I do?
"You want to be perfect?
We'll show you how to work it."
They messed with my head,
Causing me to hate and be hated,
For me, it's too l
A poem about loveLove consists out of painA poem about love3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Love consists out of desire
Love is what I admire
Love always fights against my brain
Love is despising
Love is passion
Love is not a piece of fashion
Love is always surprising
None of these things are untrue
Love is enough to make one weep
That is love as it seems
Yet when I think of you
I simply can’t fall asleep
Since life is finally better, than in my own dreams
OverActive ImaginationLike verbal synesthesia,OverActive Imagination3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in my head.
bang bang bang
and all I think are flashes.
Computer fans are white noise
and clicking keys a melody.
I sleep on piles of books
and tell myself bedtime stories
that never, ever end.
It's the same one, every night.
I edit, even in my head.
One color brings four hundred synonyms to mind
and the feeling of fabric is like a burst of light.
Looking at a photograph is often over whelming,
and all I want to do is know what
they were thinking,
not what I am.
It's a curse and a blessing,
on a wing and a prayer,
and a hundred other cliches
that will never go away.
Here's to the over active imagination
that won't stop finding the meaning in everything.
Judgement"You need to stop doing this."Judgement4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Stop doing what?"
"Writing me into your stories."
"Because it scares me. I'm not this guy that you write about. I'm not some kind of Prince Charming and I'm certainly not a sea God or whatever you like to say about my eyes every now and then."
"Yeah. You really need to work on your judgement of people, because this is all wrong. It's like you don't know me at all!"
"So why don't you correct me and I'll fix my idea of you accordingly."
"Well firstly, I'm a really nervous person."
"Yeah. Your hands are either fiddling with your hair or your sleeve, or you're biting your nails."
"And I don't like going out. I'm a hermit."
"Except to your best friends' houses, or to the animal shelter, or to me."
"And I'm dead inside."
"Says the boy who hides his tears at the sight of an injured puppy."
"I do not."
"Yes, you do."
"Anyway, I'm not always nice to you. In fact, I really don't do enough."
"You're right. Except yo
Practice Poem - Artistic FrustrationPractice Poem - Artistic Frustration:Practice Poem - Artistic Frustration3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG!
Everything is wrong.
'As then sun dew drips from her eyes'-
Do I really think that'll be good enough?
Hours spent on each piece -
Punctuated only by sound of ripping paper -
To lie crumpled upon my wooden floor,
Unable to be forgotten.
As the hours pass and the day wears on,
More and more worlds are crushed by my hands.
Realities sprawled upon a single piece of paper,
To die as quickly as they are formed.
A man's whose romance is torn in two,
A vampire about to meet his prey.
A werewolf standing against an army
And a boy facing the world alone.
These are the lives that I hold in my hand;
Fictional lives, but precious still.
Yet as soon as I see their imperfections,
I destroy the evidence in a throe of shame.
These crumpled masses that now surround me,
They aren't the proof of perfection's pursuit...
They are merely my feeble, worthless attempts,
To disguise my own ineptitude.
-Chen Yuan Wen, 15th Decembe
Dear YouDear YouDear You3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You are a hurricane.
You are a volcano.
You are a flurry of beautiful violence;
A plume of volcanic ash cast into the sky.
You are all the voices of the world;
A scream and a whisper and a sigh.
You are the beauty of the earth;
An exquisite wildfire, divine in its destruction.
And you are so strong.
You are stronger than this weight on your shoulders,
You are stronger than this emptiness in your chest,
You are stronger than all these things that dare get in your way.
You will charge past these things;
These regrets, these desires, these insecurities.
You will get through every pitfall and mistake and slipup,
And you’ll be made better for it.
You are unbeatable, unconquerable and unstoppable.
Every obstacle, an opportunity,
Every failure, a lesson.
You will beat this because you are better than this.
You will beat this because you are you.
And that is a powerful thing.
I Know You Hate Me Now But...I Know You Hate Me Now But...:I Know You Hate Me Now But...3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Just give me a chance alright, I'll explain
To me, you're the girl that I notice everything about.
The way you laugh, the way you smile;
We got along great back then, even if we don't now.
And to be honest, I miss that...
You had the most lovely silky smooth hair
You'd give me the cutest anime girl smile
I wish I'd talked to you more about Manga,
Hell you got me started on the whole thing.
You were fantastic at drawing too
Man I was always jealous of that talent,
And I loved your drawings, like I once loved you.
I wish that you could have been a professional.
I would have bought your book every month y'know...
You encouraged me to write.
Back when my stories were shit,
Back when my poems were still baby's rhymes.
You taught me not to give in and I was grateful.
Now just let me finish alright?
I know that you won't speak to me.
That's okay, I admit to being an ass,
But the reason that I'm writing this poem to nobod