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Literature Text
To be a poet is an endless paradox,
A constant contradiction of your thoughts
And division of your soul.
Paper cuts will scar your skin,
And fill your ink well up with blood
So you have no choice but to write from your heart.
It means you cry and lie
And lay awake each night
Thinking of new ways and new words
To hurt you and heal you all at once.
It makes it so that the beat of the stanzas
Is a heartbeat,
Hammering in time with your own
And speaking to you about every moment
That you have been compelled to pen.
It means breaking yourself apart
Into ink and sharp shards
Small enough not to cut anyone
Except yourself,
And maybe those foolish and wonderful enough
To try piecing you together.
A constant contradiction of your thoughts
And division of your soul.
Paper cuts will scar your skin,
And fill your ink well up with blood
So you have no choice but to write from your heart.
It means you cry and lie
And lay awake each night
Thinking of new ways and new words
To hurt you and heal you all at once.
It makes it so that the beat of the stanzas
Is a heartbeat,
Hammering in time with your own
And speaking to you about every moment
That you have been compelled to pen.
It means breaking yourself apart
Into ink and sharp shards
Small enough not to cut anyone
Except yourself,
And maybe those foolish and wonderful enough
To try piecing you together.
Literature
how to become a writer.
don't.
stay away from
pencils and pens.
don't look
at keyboards
or at blank pages
of notebook paper.
don't submit
to the emerald sigh of
vellichor,
the shredded sheets
of everything,
everything you've worked
your whole life to run away from.
don't live in the moment.
let love and fear float by,
just a skimming whisper,
because a whisper
is better than nothing.
a whisper is better
than the brittle falling-apart
of kairosclerosis.
suffer from catoptric tristesse,
but don't think about it
(for too long, anyways.)
look at the mirror
but never look yourself
in the eye,
because who knows what you've become?
don't write what you're feeling.
y
Literature
Poets And Artists.
I am self-destructive.
You are the affected.
I’m a thought that’s still in motion.
You’re an idea perfected.
I’m a sacrifice without you.
But with your life, I’m injected.
I’m a thousand puzzle pieces.
You’re the way to connect it.
Literature
Take It All Away.
There’s a tear between each smile and a fracture on my heart
And a thousand feelings breaking me and tearing me apart
Knowing when it’s over I may lose my sanity
Embrace the mess I am and the storm inside of me
In the dark I have a chance to fight away my problems
To ignore them all away instead of trying to solve them
All I saw when I looked back was a mass of insecurity
Laying waste to who I am and ripping at the seam
Lowering my already non-existent self-esteem
And I couldn’t help admitting I’m a self-made failure
Walking a broken path as a second-hand savior
And it all adds up to nothing; me in a nutshell
Yankin
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Comments23
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I don't normally gel with free verse but what you have written here is great .. made me giggle about laying awake each night - Turning out the light for me is like a trigger for my brain to jump into gear and start writing lol. I also love the bit "hurt you and heal you ..." That is so true! I agree, writing poetry/literature is a great healing tool .... Well done 