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BertJane Perez Apr 2015
We are writers and poets who know how to express
We can define our feelings a lot more or a lot less
Why were we cursed with the ability to feel?
The feelings of life that are so painfully real...

We can make music by writing what we desire
Turning simple paper into a passionate fire
We can sway hearts by symbolizing love and creation
Or break another's by turning words into death and temptation

We are the cursed race of scholars who turn words into weapons
We can draw blood with a phrase in a matter of seconds
We are dedicated authors with emotions so heavy
That one word from us that is read or heard can be deadly

Words are our weapons, our friends and our foes
Even a writer or poet has demons that only we know
Each line is a battle and each piece is a war
We are writers and poets and we will write forevermore
People repeatedly tell me everyday that I overthink every situation; I always have to think of the worst possible outcome.
I guess I am this way because I am a writer...my brain is functioned differently from everyone else who does not use a paper and pencil to let out all the feelings.
Some people can use their words verbally to explain their feelings, but I am different.
My brain thinks of words, metaphors, the truth.
My mouth stutters, shuts, and stays closed.
Writing is the only way I can truly express myself,
I was given hands to write the words my mouth cannot conjure up.
My brain is my weapon,
My brain is my power,
My writing is who I am.
Beatrice Prior Dec 2014
Let's get down to business,
To defeat the bad ones,
Did they send me daughters?
When I asked for sons...

You're the saddest bunch I ever met,
But you can bet before we're through,
Miss, I'll make a man, out of you...

Tranquil as a forest,
But on fire within,
Once you find your centre,
You're sure to win,

You're a spineless, pale, pathetic lot,
And you haven't got a clue,
Somehow I'll make a man, out of you,

I'm never gonna catch my breath,
Say good-bye to those who knew me,
Boy, I was a fool in school for cutting gym,
This guy's got me scared to death,
I hope he doesn't see right through me,
Now I wish I really knew how to swim!


To be a man,
You must be as swift as the coursing river,
To be a man,
Need all the forces like a great typhoon,

To be a man,
Need all the strength of the raging fire,
Be mysterious as the dark side of the moon!

Time is racing towards us,
As the bad ones arrive,
Heed my every order,
And you might survive,

You're unsuited for the rage of war,
So pack up, go home, you're through,
How could I make a man, out of you?

To be a man,
You must be as swift as the coursing river,
To be a man,
Need all the forces like a great typhoon,

To be a man,
Need all the strength of the raging fire,
Be mysterious as the dark side of the moon!
From Tobias to Tris before her first wrestling match against Peter,
as well as before the big battle against the Erudite.
Inspired By Mulan.
Life Sep 2014
Life: Noun: Uncountable: Plural: Lives
The ability to have: Abilities
Period of time filled with: Adjectives
With many opportunities to seize

Life as punishment: Contract/prison/love
Life as enjoyment: Contact/comfort/love
Love: Meaning: Affection. Also used above
Love: For idiom see also: Turtledove

Life: Antonym: Death: What comes after life
The leading cause of death on Earth: Neglect
Example: None cared the child had a knife
The leading cause of life on Earth: V-necks

Cheat: Suicide: Lessons on life not learned
Antidote: No cure has yet been confirmed
Sonnet
Ich will keine Ausreden brauchen
zu bleiben oder gehen;
ich will nur die Fähigkeit haben
zu bleiben oder gehen als es mir beliebt.

-

I don't want to need Excuses
to stay or go;
I just want to have the Ability
to stay or go as it pleases me.
Title: As it pleases me.
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
Not an amulet, an off white vertebrae; bone.
Brass wire, a loop at one end.
It bends as to make sure this will fit.

A gauge that measures mesmerization,
And we both must get along, but
Not because we're not tough enough:
Most of us aren't soft right yet.

So many stiffs, folly after folly.
The whole carful of loose cadavers,
Dangling, their feet hang with wet snow
And carnage,

Not even musk deer pop up,
They've all gone. Roosting in a parabol,
With X's sprayed to their groins.
Burning pop couples

Doing it like laboratory mice. Capybaras
Hiss, my own burnt blood is also
Flocculating.

Turn the cup upside down and
See the fire's balmy lachrymal opaque
Moss while it does not drip.

This is the story of man you asked me about;
Devoid of a muzzle, fur onto his chest; coarse
Hair in a garland.

It is the God of a tool that buzzes into the night.
A plateau for this most sensible study.
We feel another coming.

And when you awoke, your larval tongue
My eye mush, a song of verse and melancholy.
This half list of greatness, a tally we both wish to see.

— The End —