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Literature
365 Things I Love About You
365 Things I Love About You
1. I love how you always make me smile
2. I love how you always make me laugh
3. I love the way you inspire me.
4. I love how cute and adorable you can be
5. I love the kindness that you show
6. I love how I can always be there for you
7. I love how you can always there for me.
8. I love how you stand up for the things you believe in
9. I love how open-minded you are
10. I love your gentleness with me
12. I love how you take my breath away.
13. I love thinking about you
14. I love how sweet you make my dreams
15. I love hearing your laughter
16. I love it when you smile
17. I love you still when your angry
18. I love you still when your sad
19. I love you still when you're a mess (though you'll always be beautiful to me)
20. I love the way you feel
21. I love the way you hold my hand
22. I love the way you smell
23. I love gazing into your eyes
24. I love the sound of your sweet voice
25. I love how much you've taught me about life and myself
26. I lo
:iconHazel-Almonds:Hazel-Almonds
:iconhazel-almonds:Hazel-Almonds 1,900 178
Shades of Grey has nothing on me. :icondearpoetry:DearPoetry 295 104
Literature
I Know You Hate Me Now But...
I Know You Hate Me Now But...:
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
:iconWordOfChen:WordOfChen
:iconwordofchen:WordOfChen 1,139 241
Literature
Your Poetry Sucks.
Poetic verse does not sleep contently within your bones.
You are not made of Shakespearean sonnets.
Metaphors do not cling to your teeth like snowdrops,
and similes do not lurk like assassins behind those false psychic eyes.
Your veins bleed nothing but red.
And your whispers,
they will never leave galaxies
along the length of spines.
So, Dear Heart,
you can take your stars,
your full moon romances,
the many, desperate love letters,
the gag-worthy cliches-
and eat them.
:iconDearPoetry:DearPoetry
:icondearpoetry:DearPoetry 907 391
Literature
Sending Me To Hell
Sending Me To Hell:
I close my eyes, as the black smoke fills the air.
Incense burned to create a semi-choking sensation.
A tiny inkling of the perceived suffering,
But it is enough to make this difficult...
Next, wounds are carefully opened.
Patterns carved into the flesh,
Resembling the nine circles of suffering.
As each begins to form a red river,
An ocean pools beneath my stained elbows.
In the distance I hear the cackling of witches;
Accompanied always by the mad shrieks of those beyond.
Already they can taste the red wine that I ooze
And eagerly, their tongues wag; anticipating the feast.
Concentrate...I have to concentrate
My teeth grind together, as I force them shut,
The pressure causes my jaws to ache and my body soon stiffens.
It seizes up like an iron vault, my mind its secret mechanism;
Twisting, turning, seeking the accepted combination.
I can feel them now, reaching for me...
Tongues begin to lick at my open wounds,
Lustfully salivating unto m
:iconWordOfChen:WordOfChen
:iconwordofchen:WordOfChen 234 71
Mischief :iconmoyan:moyan 2,991 152
Literature
hometown blues
they say home is where the heart is,
but they never claimed it had to be beating.
if this town is all there is to living,
then I'm dead,
and these dusty dirt roads
are my sad little gravestones.
there's a harsh winter wind.
I'm breathing,
but it's the same air I've inhaled
since I first opened my
surgical steel eye to the world.
remember the pale pink dress
I wore to our senior prom?
you held me
under the fuzzy yellow confetti light.
I loved you because you were so gentle,
and when I fell apart,
you were the only person who knew
I could fix myself on my own.
you twirled me like I mattered,
because you knew that one day I would die.
you forgot that you would, too.
you are wrought iron starlight,
my crooked grey dove.
you live in the sidewalk cracks,
moaning my name as I
cautiously step over the gorges.
my mother calls, from time to time.
I've learned to let the phone ring
because her voice is not the one I want to hear.
she's too tepid, unsure.
she's the link strangling me,
pinning me t
:iconlittleblueraccoon:littleblueraccoon
:iconlittleblueraccoon:littleblueraccoon 226 81
Empty Vanity :iconeclipsy:eclipsy 1,375 228
Literature
What's Hard
Robin sat at one of the many wooden tables in the public library, reading a book detaliling all the latest computer technology. The entire team was there, mostly because of Megan. She had said she'd wanted to go an Earth library for the longest time. Superboy had never been to one and Kald'r could always use more books so there was really no debate about it. So there they were. Megan and Superboy were browsing the nonfiction while Kald'r was in the non-fiction. And KF was...moving around from shelf to shelf, never staying in one place for too long.
Short attention span and all that.
Any other day Robin would have smiled at the redhead's erratic behavior but not today. He was not in a good mood. Pissed off was an understatement. And it was all KF's fault. The speedster circled around a few more times before slipping into the seat next to the young hero.
"Hey Rob what's-"
"Shhhhhh!" Several voices hissed in unision, irritation clear on their daces.
"Sorry," KF whispered with a shrug. Her
:iconSamuraiKat:SamuraiKat
:iconsamuraikat:SamuraiKat 153 53
Ishq :iconoxboxer:oxboxer 1,759 61
Literature
.vesta
.
It is time. We feel the pull of summer along our spines
as we head into hibernation. Bed is short respite for our leaden limbs,
our singed hair. The air aches with the wait of it, where the embers
click and sing like crickets. Snippets of sound from the underground.
"This," someone says, wide-eyed with awe, "is what the insides
of the earth look like" - the world beneath, struck through with
dragons' teeth, pocked with open sores. The slit smile of the crater
in a slack jaw. Our scarred skies are littered with lights, many
mechanical suns spun into the ceiling, glinting like electric sequins.
And in the middle of it all, where our tracks meet, lies Vesta,
incomplete. The heat seeps from her as she speaks neat,
untranslatable lines of words, tapped out as if on a bell.
She's a shell and she knows it, tied heart to hearth. She hears
the earth and extracts, repeats an exact echo. Sometimes
she's nearly crushed by the rush of words, spilling into the air
like prayers, but by now we know
:iconangel-in-pieces:angel-in-pieces
:iconangel-in-pieces:angel-in-pieces 171 113
Literature
God
You murdered two children
with your bare hands
and thanked God
that He saved you
from getting the death penalty,
bloody hands and all
I saved two children
from a burning fire
and hate the God
I no longer believe in
for burning my skin,
and with it my faith
It seems God
works in mysterious ways,
or maybe,
he doesn't work at all.
:iconTangled-Tales:Tangled-Tales
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 243 458
Literature
Practice Poem - D and D Tongue Twister
Practice Poem - D&D Tongue Twist:
So here, sit down, get down;
Everyone just f'in' hit the ground.
Cause I'm rhymin' with some rap I stole,
Everyone in the house just sit and roll;
Cause I'm burnin' fire with an Undead Monk
Yeah I play D&D when I'm f'in drunk.
Rush feats that'll make you go mad in black,
You'll scribble all over that fanny pack.
Now I'm crusin' through some Elven Wood,
Searchin' up some dude for the stolen good,
When a dragon pops out snarl and roar,
Man I roll for a 'Fist of Garandor'.
Eight dee six damage added through and through,
'Chain fist' makes me some Dragon Goo.
Got loot poppin' outta my character sheet;
Don't wanna get it stained with my milk and wheat...
So I sit in a tavern restin' up,
While the DM fills his restin' gut.
And his mom comes in the f'in room,
"Hey why didja enter mah lair of doom!"
"Do you want me to bring some pizza rolls?"
"Goddamit Mom I'm the Evil Grole!"
"But do you want some of those f'in pizza rolls?"
"Yeah I'll have some mom ju
:iconWordOfChen:WordOfChen
:iconwordofchen:WordOfChen 70 52
Literature
I once was a galaxy~ A Poem
I once was a galaxy, 
But then I fell from the sky, 
I landed on the ground, 
And I tried not to cry 
Everybody laughed, 
When they saw me they would scream, 
They said I was an alien, 
And a girl caught in her dreams
A few Fridays later, 
There were no stars in my hair, 
There were no nebulas in my eyes, 
But I couldn't really care 
But one fateful day, 
Someone saw through my lies, 
They saw me through a telescope, 
Suddenly galaxies were in my eyes 
From that day forward, 
I never gave in,
I would reach for the stars, 
And be the best galaxy I've ever been
:iconlightbleueyes:lightbleueyes
:iconlightbleueyes:lightbleueyes 55 23
Literature
A Poet's Romance
She was the quiet sort,
tsunamis tucked
within her eyes,
anxieties pinned
to pottery skin;
she would mold herself
into moonlight butterflies
and glist'ning calla lilies,
pure and white and
beautiful.
and when night cast
itself upon her in
heated, hard'ning flames,
she’d smash herself
upon the rocks
and in morning start
again.
:iconNullibicity:Nullibicity
:iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 385 226
Literature
Memories of War
Memories of War:
What is this long-lost memory inside?
Where oceans turn; what have we left behind
With star-burned wings out above the sky.
The sleeping sons are lovingly left to lie...
A thousand tears you've cried for all,
Now its time for you to fall!
Will you open up the door,
To the future we ignore?
Are you simply lying broken,
From the memory awoken;
Are you simply living lies,
Bitter taste with ropes you tie...
And the world will soon forget.
Fill my heart with this regret?
For the victims written in stone.
Unspoken sin you now atone...

Yeah I've seen this world where we livin' in pain,
Wrap my body round with chain.
Now we both know we be broken;
Give this man his smokin' token.
Held up guns with both his hands;
Not a boy he's cause he's a man.
Order comes by a suit and hand.
Will you flee or will you stand?

This is a memory of our war,
Of all the things that we can't ignore.
And staying blind to the cries of pain...
Will lonely ashes be what remai
:iconWordOfChen:WordOfChen
:iconwordofchen:WordOfChen 251 50
Literature
Anorexia
In anatomy lab,
when we joked about the skeletons
needing more meat on their bones,
I didn’t know you envied them.
:iconvital-organs:vital-organs
:iconvital-organs:vital-organs 51 15
Literature
I'm in love with a painter
You are the painter who streaks rainbows onto my lungs,
who stains chalks onto my rib cage.
And every time I see you
I get so  
    o u  t    
                                         
              o   f    
                                               
                        b    r    e    a     t     h.
(G.L)
I'm in love with a painter
:iconMilk-and-Pie:Milk-and-Pie
:iconmilk-and-pie:Milk-and-Pie 160 85
Literature
Clay
effervescent across
summer sunsets,
his body
is the canvas where
my hands
create landmarks.
:iconKupo9089:Kupo9089
:iconkupo9089:Kupo9089 85 13
Literature
It's time to leave the toxic people behind
Life is a continuous cycle,
a carousel that never stops spinning,
of being in situations
where you are treated unfairly
by those you (thought)
held you close
and even if
you keep treating them kindly,
they will never return the favor
these toxic people
exhale poisonous gas,
that will begin to fill your lungs-
this hazardous air
can not even be purified
by your own clean breath
So dear:
It's time to find somewhere
where the air is fresh
as flowers and grass,
and you can be the sun-
appreciated for the life
and bright light
that you are,
It's time to leave the toxic people behind.
:iconTangled-Tales:Tangled-Tales
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 188 92
Literature
Tired.
I, am tired.
Tired of feeling.
Tired of all the hard work of healing.
Tired of failing.
Tired of falling.
Tired.
I am tired of things,
People, and notions.
Tired of people,
And tired of their motions.
Tired of their talk
Tired of their commotion.
Tired of everything
Inside and out
Tired of hating
Too tired to pout
I just wish,
Wish I could live,
Live underwater
Some place to forgive
Some place to wish
And wish I shall do
Wish to not be tired
Oh, please wish,
Come true.
:iconashflee0:ashflee0
:iconashflee0:ashflee0 930 198
Literature
Are We Not Free?
Are We Not Free?:
Ye say that nothin' changes;
That all we're tryin' t' do is fer naught.
Ye say that nothing's wrong,
That we should be acceptin' of our fate.
But why should we simply accept things as they are?
Are we no' a free people?
Are we no' allowed t' speak our minds?
Every man, every woman in this land,
Has the freedom t' choose their own path.
If our ideals must beg us differ,
Then that too is a part of the change that grips us.
What exactly do ye have t' fear?
If yer stoic in ye ideal that nothin' will ever change.
Why not simply ignore us;
A passin' flight o' fancy that we are...
Yet still ye try, ye attempt t' change our minds.
Ye pacify us with the notion of acceptance,
Highlightin' the fact that the world is fine.
Ye say that this is the way that things should be!
That m'friend, is yer personal freedom;
I'll not impinge upon it, fer it be yours.
I only ask, if ye could kindly mind,
Not to treat us, like we're bleedin' blind...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 18th July 2013
:iconWordOfChen:WordOfChen
:iconwordofchen:WordOfChen 175 17
Literature
powerless, and reaching.
"He's the kind of person
who tells me to 'cheer up'
when I'm depressed,"
he says, scoffing,
and I shake my head
and say,
"What a useless comment."
He chuckles, agrees,
but I keep thinking about
him,
about all the "cheer up"s
and "just be happy"s 
he's heard in his life.
I want to say "cheer up,"
I want my words to magically
cure him, heal him, 
crush his depression
in a way that no pills ever could,
but I know it doesn't work like that.
Happiness is not an item
to be obtained with quarters
and coupons,
it is not a country to travel to
in airplanes and sailboats.
Happiness is a change in the wind,
a flicker from east to west
that cannot be upheld permanently.
For him, it is a road
blocked by people who roll their eyes
and tell him to get over himself.
When I wrap my arms around him,
he laughs again,
sinks into my body.
I think about hollow rooms,
sound echoing off the walls.
:iconlittleblueraccoon:littleblueraccoon
:iconlittleblueraccoon:littleblueraccoon 134 42
Literature
we should celebrate
i.
i tried to think of pain as a flower,
first it blossoms
  and then
  it wilts away.
but i won't let myself disappear
along with it,
i won't
give you that.

(it's not the agony that makes
me scream, it's the flavor).
ii.
and you whispered softly
"i'll rip your heart out and replace it
with a song,
it's christmas soon, and
we should celebrate".
  you've always used my scars
  as a calendar,
  as a way to remind yourself
  "today is tuesday
  and i still exist".
iii.
(it's morning now because
i can see
the sunlight
through my eyelids
and imagine
a bright summer day,
the flowers are
beautiful,
so
damn
beautiful).
:iconEternalSunday:EternalSunday
:iconeternalsunday:EternalSunday 230 92
Literature
Beautiful.
You are
completely anonymous
to me.
Your
name age gender remain a secret.
I know neither your
height weight sexuality nor the color of your
eyes hair skin.
For once I had no
        preconceived ideas
                false expectations
                        unfair prejudices
that distorted you into something that you
were not.
I savor my ignorance
for it carries the delightful taste of
pure truth.
Beautiful.
:iconSimplySilent:SimplySilent
:iconsimplysilent:SimplySilent 86 52
Literature
We Were Soldiers
You'll never hear me say that there's glory in war.
It is ugly, it is painful, it is frightening...
But I know, in my heart;
Deep within this soul born of freedom.
That what I do, at times, is a necessity.
It is nerve-wracking, most days,
Knowing that when you wake up you may not make it home.


But still I am proud, 
Because of what I have managed to achieve.
And tonight; I hope that you're proud of me,
Because I'm sending a hundred of my boys home.


I just wish that I was joining them this time...







:iconWordOfChen:WordOfChen
:iconwordofchen:WordOfChen 383 83
Literature
Tin Man
Amongst the raindrops, pattering upon my silvered skin.
I wait in silence, though you never speak.
Once you would have chided me,
Screaming that it was cold!
Demanding with slaps and shrieks that I shelter you;
Always until the rain had stopped.
It makes me wonder if I have failed a command,
Or perhaps if you've finally cast me aside...
I made so many mistakes,
I was always doing wrong.
It wouldn't surprise me if you had me replaced!
Yet logic alone denies the thought,
For you are still here - simply silent.
You've been lying there for days, my dearest master,
It is beginning to make me swell with fear...
I've called your name so many times,
But perhaps the maggots have eaten your ears...


They drop from your nostrils and crawl from your mouth,
I squash them, quickly, if they ever approach...
I have thought about removing them and cleaning them away,
But I'm afraid that I would damage you, if ever I tried...
You are so fragile my master, like a thin sheet of
:iconWordOfChen:WordOfChen
:iconwordofchen:WordOfChen 211 63
Literature
Winter can never reach Spring
Spring
Always inviting
Forever there to bring a stop to the cold
Scent mesmerizing, warmth intoxicating
Always wanted, always wished for
Winter
Always wished away
Tries to hold on, tries to steal the warmth
Always whisked away by the warmth of Spring
But always there
Wanting what it can't have
Grasping what can't be reached
Winter
A weapon in the night
Spring
A shield in the light
Always so near
But always destined to be apart
:iconThe-blue-wolf:The-blue-wolf
:iconthe-blue-wolf:The-blue-wolf 99 46
Literature
memories.
my mind replays
memories of us
each night, and
i am lost, lost
lost
in the shadows of
your eyes, the curve
of your almost-smiles,
the lullabies in your
voice, the sound of
your footsteps.
don't wake me up
just yet.
.
i told you that
i would change, that
i'd paint the sky violet
for you, that i would
miss you, and i could
catch you a rainbow,
or a heart beat,
or star, or a smile,
or whatever you want,
but 'whatever you want'
was not me, and
i was never enough
to make you stay.
.
all i ever wanted
was for you to say
'i love you',
but i guess
some things
are better left unsaid.
:iconAmertie:Amertie
:iconamertie:Amertie 313 250
Literature
david and goliath.
He passes under
the dying streetlamps'
orange halos,
darkening splashes on his face,
cloud-lungs heaving
against the rooftops.
The tarmac, painted with his footsteps,
whispers, purrs,
white lines of vertebrae
tickle along its back.
Lovely glass, shattered fragments
ruffle the curb of the pavement,
strands of rainwater
whisper along the gutter
in hymnal honesty; and sunlight seems swallowed
by the swollen beast of night.
The stars
prickle at the back of his memory,
a nervous pattern of speech,
syllables of iambic chattering
teeth against the cold:
the hotel window, shining with
the gaze of a thousand tourists' wonderment,
is where his own eyes rest,
as if the world is born anew
and love-songs spike the evening air
his life-tousled hair. He
walks on, passes on,
a stranger in a foreign land;
the moonlight seems
to turn about him, embrace his form,
a lonely touch, not quite animate in its caress,
but his love was the colour
of seawater on gravel,
and he would not take the taste of her brea
:icon91816119:91816119
:icon91816119:91816119 110 64
Pace :iconmel-face:mel-face 72 16
Literature
Misery's Garden
Misery's Garden:
Through the cold ice we trekked, the Reaper and I.
His face an ever-shifting grin, oscillating between joy and malice...
With quick, light-footed steps, he lead me to a warm green meadow.
A small hut in the distance, a little garden beside.
Where a hunchbacked man, covered in boils and open wounds;
Bearing a crooked jaw and gnarled hands, tilled the earth.
"Egh yew ooh wha gu wan!"
I was so startled by the hunchback's sudden outburst,
That I jumped and gripped the Reaper's cloak in fright,
Yet as soon as he had seen me, the hunchback's eyes glazed over;
He appeared to forget about our presence...
I had to admit, I was very curious
And I wished to move in close so I could inspect him.
Reaching out with my hand to clasp his own;
I was assailed by horrid visions.
In one instance I was a collector of night soil,
Abuse hurled at me like stones and I the accepting target.
For to speak was to open this torn mouth of mine
And that would merely draw a mocki
:iconWordOfChen:WordOfChen
:iconwordofchen:WordOfChen 196 55
Literature
Looking for Fairies inthe Fall
Looking for Fairies in the Fall
I sought among the falling leaves
Of yellow, orange and brown -
Peeking in between the trees,
Peering up and glancing down;
I'm looking for those little Things
Of make believe and children's dreams,
Who flit about on gossamer wings
That glitter in the sunshine's beams.
:iconJenna-Rose:Jenna-Rose
:iconjenna-rose:Jenna-Rose 32 23
Literature
the dreamer type can only speak in smoke-spirals
he's got wasteland words dripping
from the migraine-swell of his skull &
down through the splinters of his spine.
the kid's a connoisseur, but only of
dead hands & phantom depressions;
he's more of a dilettante for
the spectacle called being.
:iconcounting-vertebrae:counting-vertebrae
:iconcounting-vertebrae:counting-vertebrae 58 7
Literature
Close Your Eyes
Close your eyes.
No really.
Close your eyes.
Do it.
Let the colors fill the darkness.
Let them filter from behind closed lids.
Tye-dye that blasts from your open mind.
Let the colors fill the darkness.
Feel the air that whisps around you.
Move with the simple sound of silence.
Relax your every muscle.
Move with the simple sound of silence.
Can you feel it?
The way nature fills you up when sight is lost?
Can you feel it?
The way your body starts to float?
Can you feel it?
The way peace becomes your shelter?
Can you feel it?
:iconBethyLuv215:BethyLuv215
:iconbethyluv215:BethyLuv215 75 19
Literature
tense shifts
and here's the first letter:
there are some things in life you can't escape.
the feeling of his fingers entwined in yours,
for example,
and maybe the way the wind blows on your ears lightly,
teasing teasing teasing because it knows
you blush when your cheeks get cold and the tip of your nose goes red
and it knows
he's going to have to give it a kiss to warm it up
(also because he can't stand how adorable it looks).
she thinks that maybe there ought to be a coffee shop on this corner-
she tells him so, with a wide sweeping gesture that
knocks her scarf into his eyes
and he wears it like a mask and smiles-
but on the other hand, maybe not;
it could be a park, you know,
overlooking the bay right here, see?,
and the little children could watch the boats come in,
steaming toog toogs out to make them smile and clap and wave.
and he's watching with a half-smile
the way her eyes light up and brighten the lonely shoreline sidewalks,
and frankly,
he'd spend a lifetime making that corner i
:iconstraybutterflies:straybutterflies
:iconstraybutterflies:straybutterflies 103 26
Literature
post mortem.
Some days,
we grow old:
our memories
folded,
packed away;
little love letters,
dated and sealed,
a correspondence
of youth,
dumped
on the roadside,
incongruous
with the fag-ends
and drifting crisp-packets
of the fast lane.
:icon91816119:91816119
:icon91816119:91816119 53 38
Put My Love Into Words :iconoo-rein-oo:oO-Rein-Oo 665 30
Literature
Dedicated to Robin Williams
The earth cries,
Its roars of weeping billow across the sky with deafening volume.
The clouds groan under the weight of their own tears,
The ground is flooded with their sadness.
All over the world, people mourn.
His family and friends, his fans...
Parents, grandparents, and children alike.
We have lost a role-model, a childhood...
All mourn for the loss of a legend..
A hero to many.
One who has bestowed so much happiness,
So much laughter and encouragement,
While he himself battled a war within his being.
How could this be? We ask ourselves.
How could someone so great
Fall to such depths?
How?
Why?
But as these inquiries burn in our minds,
There is something greater to cling to within our hearts...
The mark he has left on the world.
:iconCreativity-CornerLW:Creativity-CornerLW
:iconcreativity-cornerlw:Creativity-CornerLW 77 37
Literature
I'm Sorry
I'm sorry I'm not perfect
I'm sorry I'm not a prodigy
I'm sorry I'm not a better brother
I'm sorry I'm not a better friend
I'm sorry I'm not a better person
I'm sorry I'm not strong enough
I'm sorry I'm a failure
I'm sorry I'm trying
I'm sorry I'm crumbling
I'm sorry I'm crying
I'm sorry I'm not sleeping
I'm sorry I'm not eating
I'm sorry I'm broken
I'm sorry I'm showing bruises
I'm sorry I'm in the house
I'm sorry I'm living here
I'm sorry I'm accepted
I'm sorry I'm alive
I'm sorry I'm me
But apologizing wont change anything, so I'll do something about it.
:iconViidith22:Viidith22
:iconviidith22:Viidith22 57 46
Literature
Nothing
I heard someone sarcastically sputter,
"You are what you eat."
But hearing that sole sentence
allowed me to finally understand
why I am
what I am:
Nothing.
:iconTangled-Tales:Tangled-Tales
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 150 103
Literature
I Once Loved...
She was beautiful.
And twas I who loved her...
I held her in these hands,
Like a warm blanket,
Comforting and kind.
But she was a bitter poison, toxic and deadly.
No antidote to her venom;
I wasted away with delirious eyes.
A coward they called her,
And it was the truth!.
But to save myself, I would have her bleed.
Her heart a raw panacea;
Crunched between my teeth...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 22nd July 2013
:iconWordOfChen:WordOfChen
:iconwordofchen:WordOfChen 456 70
Literature
Writer Scars
I have told my secrets
through loves ink -
painted them to my skin
with watercolor defiance.
& writers, we sometimes
write about our scars
in riddles, layers upon
layers of thought, -
care for them
like flowers
growing
on the warlands
of our bodies.
Worthy,
we give them faces,
we give them names,
we give them gravestones.
We kill them off
in our stories,
make them villains,
make them heroes.
I have wrists that roar,
& I will be damned
if I don’t let them
tell their stories.
:iconDearPoetry:DearPoetry
:icondearpoetry:DearPoetry 455 138
Literature
Poetry.
Behind every poem is a person,
poetry is just a synonym for life story;
woven into every poem is some truth,
whether its the writers or to a scenario a writer connects to.
Poets want to convey parts of life in a few lines, sum everything up right.
Its like trying to grab sand, never being able to catch enough words on your page.
Poetry is also used to figure out the unknown,
used as a therapy and constant for all those who seek it.
If you know how you look for it.
But all good things eventually come to an end, as it must.
The curtain closes, pen capped and life goes on.
But there is always more to say in the next poem.
:iconpuddlethecat:puddlethecat
:iconpuddlethecat:puddlethecat 37 13
Literature
Moth wings
With no alarm
she dances through the bony air,
eyes like a hungry child
slobbering at the first scent of knowledge.
Glistening off of those eyes–
the very sight of it–
the taste that all greedy minds crave.
She flutters towards it,
light peaks through her delicate wings
like how it flickers under the water's surface,
an angel ascending into heaven
easily and swiftly crushed
by the capital hand
that shadowed behind such heavenly light–
with all intention of crushing the wings of innocence –
and with a clear conscience,
as a moth is to a hand as what a person is to the universe.
Isn't it painless for a hand to swat forth
and drop a bomb from a plane thundering over a burning city
because it can't see the suffering it causes?
Wouldn't it be immaterial, then,
for a puissant hand
to drop one from heaven?
Moths that are dazed by the beauty of light
are not seldom blind
to the torment that it's agent to.
:iconandrewpom:andrewpom
:iconandrewpom:andrewpom 174 124
Literature
Soft
The rain comes in
from the mountainside
and the musculature
quietens. The birds, the beasts,
the slanting cliff,
the light, the restless
hollowed emptiness,
the bits of lava and bits
of heartbeat and bits of
racing animal mind.
It quietens.
The rain comes in like a slow blink.
:iconsaartha:saartha
:iconsaartha:saartha 161 61
Literature
.tell me a lie_
she said, "Lie to me"
    
     he said, "I love you"
:iconmaskqueraide:maskqueraide
:iconmaskqueraide:maskqueraide 941 54
Literature
Mental Disorder Diner
Why hello there miss.
Welcome to battered and scarred restaurant,
where disorders are over cooked, raw or however you like it.
Would you like to start with our appet…. I mean anxiety disorders?
I'll start off simple with panic disorder,
while being a simple dish, it has a bad after taste of fear.
You can taste the fear from here.
Next up we have our social anxiety disorder,
This disorder is on back order and
too scared to show up to the meal sometimes.
It does however come with a side of sweat
No, not your style?
PTSD is our special appetizer of the day,
because it only trusts on some days
and comes with flashbacks on the side.
Next we're on to our specials, considered the hardest disorders.
First is bi polarity, which will take you through a number of sensations.
from sad blue to normal grey to euphoric high yellow,
Schizophrenia is a unpopular one of many,
the hallucinations are controlling and over cooked.
A bit too difficult to chew?
Our main courses are eating disorders.
Fi
:iconpuddlethecat:puddlethecat
:iconpuddlethecat:puddlethecat 118 57
Literature
Six Words for the Suffering
Pain ends, but you must not.
:iconWordOfChen:WordOfChen
:iconwordofchen:WordOfChen 1,380 395