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thatpoemguy · an hour ago
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---Wounds---
I'm not the man you need I'll fade like a memory remember wounds won't bleed if you can just leave 'em be words each other should heed but doe-eyed and glimmering hearts succumb to lust's greed coals no longer embering warmth was once guaranteed on lonely nights such as these crawling like centipedes far away from midnight's breeze creeping to supersede emotions from darkest deeds desires guaranteed from the ruins of our greed
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blackinkmess · 4 hours ago
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It's that stormy time of mystery and transformation, the bridge between spring and summer. The earth in constant motion, so many elements shifting around us. The sky full of secrets we look up and wonder. The air thick heavy with the intensity of what's to come. Most are longing for the endless sun, but I cherish this time, intrigued by the turbulence lured in by the darkness.
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dirtyfilthy · 5 hours ago
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love ripens
i love you i love the idea of you i love the idea of being in love with the concept you represent
i find the disconnect between your real self and my idealised view of who you are / or should be too much to cope with
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rocnrollfan38 · 5 hours ago
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#poetry #poet #poets #poetrycommunity #poetryfans #poetrywriter #poetryfanscommunity #shoeboxpoet #poetsplayground #poetry #poet #nitejokertn #poems #poem #poetrycommunity #selfpub #spilledink #authorsofinstagram #omypoetry #thoughtfvl #bymepoetry #life #lovequotes #poetryporn #inspiration #greetingcards #mustread #subtlepoetz https://www.instagram.com/p/COtx99Fl32G/?igshid=1bbhcgu1ewist
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poetrythreesixfive · 3 days ago
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Perennial Error
For those feeling full of themselves,
start a garden: strip away the vines snaking
through every nook and crevice, pull weeds,
thistle and thorn; spend hours keeping the grass
out of the garden, and the garden out of lawn;
plant bulbs, fertilize, water, add manure and
loam and mulch; arrange stones and slates;
station a statue in the shade of a shrub,
perhaps a stone frog, or a gnome.
Then sit back and enjoy the spectacle
of your labor, suckle your pride, secretly
savor the envy of neighbors, have a drink,
and go to sleep, take a trip to the beach.
Then return and find the tiny blades
of grass severing into the sunshine like
mischievous reminders of how deep and wide
go their roots, how little you know of what lies
beneath surfaces; the vine that tripled in size
and now snakes around the lilacs; the thistle,
like sandpaper, thorning through six inches
of mulch, laughing; brambles tearing through
gloves with piranha ferocity; and some fiend
has toppled your gnome, and the only culprit
appears to be a colony of mushrooms
tilting innocently in the gloom.
Come back in a year, and you will find
that nature has gone on quite nicely without you,
as if you had never taken a single spade stroke
to the earth, as if you never existed.
When you make the perennial error
of thinking the world revolves around you,
the world has a way of very quickly
deploying its reminders.
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7percentphilosophy · 10 hours ago
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"There are two kinds of people in this world: those who think there are two kinds of people in this world and those that don't" Truth bomb or truth indoctrination?
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beforehuego · 16 hours ago
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For my heart only loved
few people, some had gone,
some returned and some were never.
So I asked this heart
of what it'll do if a stranger
come and crash the borders
I protected myself through?
I wonder how many times
it'll experience crying
and ripping out the feathers
of a comfortable pillow?
Will it beg for its lover
to stay until the very end?
Will it beg for another heart's
mercilessly painful love,
if that's what it calls it?
Or will it be brave enough
to let go and
let the wind find its another
Love?
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rosariumpartone · 16 hours ago
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I’d like to think I could make at least one heart beat Without having to hurt, without having to be
Pan’s Flute
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disruptivebychoice · 17 hours ago
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May 9th, 2021
Sometimes I think the words I write are portrayed as something wrong, like I’m punished for just words written down. That what I put to paper, is translated in my mind and programmed to my subconscious as something to haunt, reflect back and always to be taken as literal. But wishing for it be falsified information, because I’m just speaking my mind. Thoughts aren’t always real, neither are words written down. Simply, they’re just mesmerizing lines that take form and tell a story to be untold because life becomes too much of what doesn’t have to be reeled, or made real, but more so a way to let go of an ideal that doesn’t actually have to make sense or flow with what I’m trying to think, but can be portrayed through pen and ink, just fluttering. Like eyelashes that blink as I tell myself I’m not here to sink. Because pain does sting, and it tortures with each letter I bring because I look back, look down and dissect without knowing, or wanting, or making sense of any of it, because it's the way my mind is wired. Words and images become visualizations and I know them, I can see them vividly, but  I don’t mean the words that always come to mind or the sentences said because I’m human, and humanity has laid out a rule of thumb. Sometimes, thoughts are meant to float on, pass by and disappear so I write; until the harshness of the world plays and I’m dumbfound, struck in a forbidden place where my heart stains with red from the blood that drains seeping the pages in ink without words, with a mind that wishes to sing, and for ears to stop their haunting ring.
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adreameratdawn · 18 hours ago
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I became funny because I love the sound of your laughter ten times more when its for one of my jokes.  I became good at writing letters because you love being written to.  I became good at keeping secrets to learn trust because I wanted you to keep all of mine.  I became good at gossip because I love your gasps and judgement about other people's lives. I became a calligrapher because I wanted to style your name on birthday cards. I became an admirer because of the way your hair try to find their way around your torso when you laugh.  I became a listener because I wanted you to feel you've been heard.  I became a hugger because your hugs taste delicious.   I became disobedient because I wanted our calls to last longer than my dad wanted.  I became a good host because I wanted you to visit my home.  I became a visitor because I wanted to be at yours.  I became a giver because giving to you is spelled J-O-Y.  I became a friend because that's how much I love you.  I became a poet because this is how I say, "i miss you so much," everyday. I could never become good at math. But since there is no count for what you mean to me, what would be the use of that?
~ Anannya Singh, I love you
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jedy-gachoka · 20 hours ago
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I would like to understand why you chased only to leave me. You played with my feelings
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romancastilleja · a day ago
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#poetry #soul #life #spirit #spiritual #spirituality #writersofinstagram #poet #poem #poetsofinstagram #poetsofig #poemsofinstagram #love #stillness #enlightenment #mindfulness #writing #writer #creativity #spilledink #poems #words #poetrycommunity #yoga #mind #poems #awakening #meditation #selfawareness #awareness #consciousness https://www.instagram.com/p/COrV0oAFaXw/?igshid=9k32ul9y4uh7
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psylynt-p · a day ago
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[I am that I am]
lost, out of love... all
alone in a world falling
apart, heart losing
strength, breath failing to bring
necessary relief; caught in
sickening tension, trapped
in karmic debt.
---
my freedom will
come by remembering it is
my choosing to be good which'll
get me good.
-
love is within
what flies true. everything
else lies stuck
in its belief of
an ending.
---
there is only being. there is only
light.
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alinedhemingway · a day ago
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Perception:
Indulge into the great escape, of meaningless existence. So self-absorbed you lost your place. Egotistical silent minds collaborating into an existing trance of illusive seclusion. Piloting itself while still in orbit. These meandering delusions still keep me awake. Balancing out the thoughts racing and pacing through the mind's perception.
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