I Am a Poet and a Writer Stories of Experiences

When people ask me, "Oh, do you still write?" I try to explain to them that it's like asking me if I still breathe. Of course I still write. I'm still alive, I still think; even if you were to take every writing instrument in the world...

The Reveal

Sing me like a song
Breath me in deeply
And release me 
In the most beautiful way

Pick me like the most desired flower in the entire garden
Admire my delacateness
And full fill my thirsts

Sigh at the thought of me
With a...

I have a wall you can not see
Because its deep inside of me
It blocks my heart on every side
And helps emotions there to hide

You can't reach in, I can't reach out
You wonder what its all about
The wall I built that you can't see...

Her voice was sweet, her eyes were kind
She kept secrets and told no lies
She had many friends that helped her out
And she helped them when they were down

One day at school her friend called her fat
She said it louder and everyone...

A DREAM A DREAM A VISIONOF LIFE GONE BY SHALL I WALK OR FLY THESE ARE QUESTIONSOF LIFE GONE BYYOU ASK WHYI CALL LIFE A LIEWHEN TIME HAS PASSED US BYFORGIVE ME BECAUSE I WAS HIGHNOW TIME TO DIE

Words flow uninhibitedly from me
The moment i think of you
Even after we broke up
I still hate you but
I still love you
I am happy itz over
But I still miss you
Still confused
But I am happy we parted ways
Wishing you will be...

You're such a disappointment
An Angel out of grace.
Stabbed me in the back
And lied right to my face,

I'm such a disappointment.
It was I who ought to know
When to see the seasons changing
And the time to let you go...

The welcome mat of the world I am.
Well I am welcoming no more.
So lift your feet from off me
And lift me off the floor.

For I am getting angry
The rage, I feel it swell.
And if you want to take me for a ride,
I'll take you for one- to...

I'm black and blue from all the blows,
left on this floor alone and cold,
I could be dead, for all you know.
the tears came when i said goodbye,
The angel's sighed, and asked me why.
I could've stayed, living the lie.
and let the angel...

crying doves across the sky,
I feel the pain and I start to cry,
but see my tears all made of glass,
holding reflections of the past
they mirror me and they mirror you,
take to the sky as they hold the truth..

unwritten letters in my...

...A poet and writer, but I do not as of yet, write professionally, but would absolutely love to. I don't care so much about being successful from it, but it would be cool to have my work published and having royalty checks sent to me...

I express myself through poetry and now short shorts. 500 word stories. My sibling told me their is a market for short shorts. I write 1-3 poems everyday, and have only completed one short short. I also enjoy writing about my religion...

I am writing a teenage mystery-love story! And a mystery. I also write poems. I love writing from the deepest of my heart.

Why?For none,  for daysNot onepotentially meaningful commentI seek to give genuinely with loveas my "post" and shining messengerhas arrived.  Slain before my eyesWhen the the determined, intent of reaching out with unfettered trust...

"She's gorgeous!" The whisper falls against the skin and lingers along the nerve. Possibly the wrong nerves. Striking a deep nerve.. Raising the skin. Like a self help book she repeats, "Just feel the sensation of being alive." They...

Night fall is coming and I’m alone,
Just me on the highway miles from home.
The girl that I love will see me no more,
Her eyes dark and cloudy as a midnight storm.

Her Momma and Sisters said I’m to blame,
But I blame the whiskey...

In writing anything I feel like the shackles of social bondage are removed from me. Imprisoned and delimited by normative constructs I write thoughts that are meaningful to me. I write as an escape from the turmoil of my life. I love...

Fleeting moments, gone forever
In the blink of an eye, never to return
Beyond reach, trapped in time
Distant memories, hazy, incomplete
Not quite real, vague recollections
Pictures and frames, glimpses in the mirror
Fragmented pieces...

I don't think when I write my poetry. I feel my feelings and let my pen do the thinking while I look the other way. I honestly have no clue what I've written until I know I'm finished with it... and usually, when I'm severely depressed...

I am astray in this world of broken dreams
Like a lost buoy in a gale force sea
A drunken sunken anchor in shifting sands
Not knowing which way the tide will take me
Which wave will save me; to carry me away to a
Paradise shore...