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50 seconds ago

Poem written by - Brian Paul Kuba Editing by - Brian Paul Kuba — title - SAD You believe I’m gonna make it???? Really?? But you don’t believe in true love? Okay Pause, (inaudible to everything) Like an actual pause —Then silence —sad —It is Only a word —Right? — poetry poetrycommunity poet poems poem poetsofinstagram poemsofinstagram writing writer writingcommunity writerscommunity writersofinstagram charlesbukowski artistsoninstagram antinatalist existentalism quotestoliveby quotesdaily heartbreak love philosophy reality bukowski hopeless wordsofwisdom wordporn misanthrope artist spokenpoetry spokenwordpoetry

1 minute ago

Better be someone’s hate instead of love than being forgotten in no time Hate is what is never forgotten by people these days. A hater will always be remembered and hated as easily as love is forgotten Loved ones are forgotten easily just because of a mere mistake Relationship are left broken only because of few mishaps and misunderstandings but hatred for a person stays as usual. 👌 wotivation godsend getmotivated freshstart literature world poetry poetsofinstagram godsign fantasy fiction microtale inspirationalquotes inspirations diary philosophy meme shayari life letter friendship humour politics emotions motivationalquotes soul

1 minute ago

WHAT'S YOUR EXCUSE? . In Secondary School, I loved football. All my mates played it and it was fun so I did too. Day after day, sometimes with soft drink bottles, balls made out of paper and other amusing inventions, we kicked just about anything and called it a ball. I had just one problem - I was small As much as I loved football, I was one of the smallest boys in my class and so, eventually, I began to feel intimidated by the taller and bigger boys. This feeling grew until the point that I decided to give up a sport I enjoyed because I thought I was too small for it Fast-forward to years later in the University, I see guys who are just the size I was back then doing wonders on a pitch. It took me a few years to realize that my excuse was a very silly one and that I had robbed myself of something I actually enjoyed Not only was excuse factually impractical (there are short professional footballers), it was also based on temporary circumstances - I was still growing and I wasn't going to be small forever Excuses are terrible self limitations, especially when based on our insecurities. In the moment, we are convinced that the reason we have for not getting what we want is rational when, in truth, it is based off of temporary situations and emotions So, what's your excuse? What's keeping you from doing those things you want to do? I need you to write them down and really think about them. Analyze them based on 1. How factually correct they are (are there people doing this in spite of having the same limitation?) 2. How temporary the circumstances are (is your excuse based on things that can and will change?) on proper analysis you will find that, most excuses aren't as big a deal as we treat them. Get up and achieve your goals. I believe in you Happy Monday Victory Okoyomoh the poetic iDoc • • ©victory wrights | victory_wrights writersofinstagram writer poetry poetsofinstagram niwcostreet victorywrights write writer poetry wordstagram wordsmith poet poetsofig poetrycommunity writerscommunity writersofinstagram writers africanwriter wordstagram nigerianwriter poetsofinstagra

2 minutes ago

Dear Friend Who Is Too Busy, I called you again today. And heard your chirpy voice asking me to leave a message on your answering machine, again. It has been one year and three months since we last met. Six months since we Facetimed. Three weeks since I started watching your favourite television show's new season, alone. And yes, I do keep a record of that. This is not me whining like you do when people spoil Game of Thrones for you. Maybe it is. Because I miss you, even though we live in the same city, went to the same school and even bunked the same classes in college. I never thought I'd say it, but I miss you irritating me with your messy ways, or talking on the phone at odd hours, or waking up at two A.M and watching football matches together. I miss you screaming yourself hoarse every time Manchester United scored, or giving me the cold shoulder because I refused to 'share' my popcorn with you. I miss bitching about people in specific and life in general, with you. And what I miss the most is watching you do all these things, instead of sitting here and writing them out. The truth is, I refuse to believe that we let time get the better of us, that our epic friendship ended as it began- suddenly, out of the blue. So in case you read this, I hope you remember the friend who is the reason your voicemail is chock-full, the person who still waits for you to show up to parties, and the friend who wishes that you weren't so busy. Yours, bestfriend

2 minutes ago

A knife in my chest I do this to myself Pain flooding my veins It’s not bad I don’t need help Pain has become a normal thing I tend to attract it Take the pain from my soul though please I need you to extract it I’m not sure why or what or how I tend to be invisible alone or in the crowd Curves and pale skin Are what draws in Not my traits or humor or smile or what lies within What do I do How do I handle I am so confused It seems I have this body The one that I choose I like to look this way But can you close your eyes If you close your eyes and don’t see my curves Is what you said now all lies?

2 minutes ago

Dedicated to the relentless beauty of love old NICE SPOT, MAYBE. Leaves fall. Tyres roll. Dustbin stinks. They sit. People walk into their respective buildings. The sweeper cleans the already clean parapet. They sit. They sit as if to sit is all they know. They sit as if their life depends on it. They sit as if they sit there with the Gods and rule the world And they look like they want to continue sitting Till the air runs out of its oxygen. Maybe, they're oblivious of the fact that seasons have changed since they sat there. Maybe, they're not even aware of the dogs fucking behind. For sure, they don't know that I wrote this about them. I hope I get to sit with someone like that. There, or anywhere Follow ineligiblebachelor for more works and words on life and everything that revolves around it. Follow wayland.taylor, my partner in crime, if you like sipping on passionate juice of some authentic poetry poetry poem quotes poet writing words  read  art literature poetryporn poetsociety  writerscommunity instapoetry  poetsofinstagram poemsofinstagram poetryofinstagram  writersofinstagram  positivequotes poetryinmotion wordgasm spilledink creativewriting  instagood instamood instaart instapoem instawriter oldlove sodalityofsaturn tib

2 minutes ago

Only to way live is to love. That's the rule of life should be.

3 minutes ago

Tag someone.❤ ➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖ By - thesoulmeltingwords ➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖ DM us for any queries. Like ❤️Comment ❤️Share❤️ ➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖ Follow for more those.unspoken.talks those.unspoken.talks those.unspoken.talks those.unspoken.talks those.unspoken.talks blog blogger writer writers writing writings writersofig writersofindia indianwriters poetsofinstagram poetsofindia instagram instaquote instawrite indianpoets story wordgasm wordsmith littlecoversations wordstoliveby writeraofindia quotes saying tag instapoet wordsgasm thoseunspokentalks

4 minutes ago

Agree or disagree?🤔 Comment down your thoughts - 🔴 Follow instahabits_ for daily inspirational and relatable posts! instagalactic ☄ ➡Turn ON post notifications ✔ - 📸 belongs to respective owner

4 minutes ago

trees Through the glen I walked, As if it were to be God's Temple, The lofty canopy stalked, The fiery sun's temper. My thoughts, a forest of uncertainty, Brimmed with lessons to be learnt, Soft as leaves I have to be, But as bark, I wished to be hard and stern. For there were some miracles to feast Upon my undead soul, I had an imperfect heart of a beast With a helluva hole. And as I walked through the glen, I washed my sins with every passing tree, Extricated from guilt of men, Now as a ghost of nature I want to be. For perhaps a tree too bleeds, But as men we were too impure to see That the tears of leaves and seeds Had their own way to preach their plea. -Tanay & Sudipti ( t.belletrist ) repost PC: ugh_uhh_she instapoem poem poems poemsporn wordporn instagood instaquote quote instawriter writer writersofinstagram writerscommunity poetrycommunity instapoetry poetry poetryporn poetsofinstagram poetsofig lovepoem lovepoetry lovequote love

4 minutes ago

——This Poetry Is Not My Home—— I am not a poet. ⠀⠀⠀ I have no structured rhyme schemes, no symbolic simile strings on me, my understanding of meter is minuscule and my formal mastery of fine creative arts remains Every line of filth you carved into my back somewhere between your bed posts and my voice crumbling so much faster than Gomorrah, My last words were always “thank you.” ⠀⠀⠀ I’m just a sad boy writing like a happier man would, like Milton never returned from that Paradise Lost to deviants and I am still the worst excuse for an angel thrown out of heaven so hard, they named lightning after me. I named you Eve And built every inch of Eden modeled off of your smile, silkscreened against my eyelids and screened whenever I grow tired of biblical horror stories I used to call dreams. ⠀⠀⠀ I worked my fingers down to calcium dust and crimson stains down to bloody murder afterthoughts for poems in your honor. I turned every last sonnet into dying suns rising slowly over golden sand, mirages that started and ended whenever we’d finish breathlessly and awake lost in each other’s skin. ⠀⠀⠀ I planted a haiku with my lips against the pale meridian of your forehead more times than I’ve ever drawn breath, whispered romance where the redwoods and junipers fall in love against vulnerable earth kept for two so damn loudly, you felt rainwater pooled within the hazel of your eyes tremble the same sordid way we swore to take to our graves. ⠀⠀⠀ I was a poet, once, a very long time ago. With no strength left in either of our throats to admit we’d gone too mute and cold to smolder a second longer, I tore apart the stanzas we called our paradise found and cast the pieces screaming across an innocent night sky like graceless angels with no place to call home. ⠀⠀⠀ Some nights, those broken stars we left forgotten glow against the womb of midnight so brightly, we both remember in the same breath you were always the only place a poet called home. ——

4 minutes ago

Ollenna Tyrrell told her before, " The lords of westeros are sheep. Are you a sheep? No. You're a dragon. Be a dragon." Dany decimated the Lannister army led by Lord Randall Tarly, and burned him alive along with his son, Dickon. Everything was going well for her until she was herself, a dragon queen. A ruthless, merciless, badass Targaryen. When she started to grow more political, in helping and saving Jon from the walkers, she lost Viserion. When she wanted to save people in King's landing, she lost powerful allies in The Dornish army, the Greyjoy fleet and the Tyrrell army. When she trusted Varys, Tyrion, Jon and Sansa, betrayal was all she could muster. In trying to retain peace, she lost Ser Barristan in Mereen, Ser Jorah in Winterfell, Viserion and Rhaegal in The north and at Dragonstone respectively. What does that do to a human? Mentally? It makes you angry. And an angry Targaryen, with a dragon, is more dangerous, than a million white walkers. mimichintya99 gottheoriesofficial emilia_clarke kitharingtonig peterdinklage nikolajwilliamcw maisie_williams sophiet danaerys.targeryn jonsnowposts jonsnow6081 maisiewilliamsactress sophieturner sansastarkwinterfell aryastark80 maisiewilliamsdaily ttt_official kommuneity winds_of_the_winter katharambh poems poetrycommunity poemsofinstagram writersofinstagram poem poetsofinstagram poemsporn poemsofig poet writer love poetsofig poets writerscommunity wordporn spilledink writing quotes poemstagram poetryofinstagram words poetryisnotdead poemsoninstagram poetryporn poemsdaily writersofig lovepoems likesforlikesback followforfollowback

13 hours ago

To keep praying for a crash must be a sort of sickness, one that shows just how entangled I have become with maps I cannot memorise.

3 days ago

Stick Around🌹

3 weeks ago

A Fine Art haiku A surrealist’s use Of juxtaposed images Taps the unconscious Clocks melt like Brie cheese When metaphors rule dreams and Memories persist Dali’s bold contrasts Perhaps a timely warning For man to wake up Painting by Dali Poem by mypoetryplace haiku 575 surealism surrealistic salvadordali metaphor poetrycommunity poetsofinstagram poetry wordporn instapoet insta instagram instapoetry instawriters instadaily instaquotes instaquote spilledink writersofinstagram writer write instagood writerslife mypoetryplace writerscommunity globalpoetcult instagood