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It's amazing when you think it, I've been months writing on here, Not sure when I started but, I know not yet a year.
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It's amazing when you think it, I've been months writing on here, Not sure when I started but, I know not yet a year.
If written words ceased to exist,. I would be lost, words are a gift,. To explore and create,. Of the evil we compensate,. With our words of beauty and grace,.
That itch I had, it's back. I'll take my mind and scratch. Inspiration flows. My hands, they know. To write the hurt away. To write for better days. My perspective view has changed.
Pieces of me on every page A diary, a story, trapped in a cage. Fragments of my hearts scattered, free, I write, its how its supposed to be.
#acorn There are 26 letters in the alphabet The English one that is There are at least 250,000 words in the dictionary And it's growing rapidly that list That doesn't include names, People or...
Writing because I have no voice. Fighting my battles with my weapon of choice. Using my words but not using my mouth. I'm louder I find, with my words WRITTEN out.
I can't believe I can now post from my kindle, I got one for Christmas and its usage has started to dwindle, The stories I've been reading are great on the whole, But they don't beat the Opuss's...
I ended up taking a course on journalism. Well, it was only a high school's course so I didn't expect too much. It wasn't even a little.
“You should date a girl who reads. Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books.
If I do not keep on writing. Then the ink will seep within. Causing an inner struggle. Solved only by the pen. The notebook is my body. And the folds create my heart. But without my muse.
Hello again, and today is Tuesday, January 8, 2013. If you've ever seen an old signature, then you know what one should look like.
I love to write; I love the way the pen moves across the page; I love the illegible scribbles of my mind; the formation of words, from the complexity of thought.
I'm sorry, I know I said I will start a story tonight, but for some reason, it refuse to come to me, so I gotta wait patiently for it, but I came up with a poem about it, and sorry if it's long one...
I have this wonderful idea, that will bring community even more closer together, meeting more new people and making new 'pen pal' friends via opuss..
Write me a poem,. Or write me a song,. I don't care if it's short,. Or massive and long,. I just need words,. With rhythm and rhyme,. I need a special piece,. Something to stop time,.
Nothing to look forward to. Just work And work And more. Nothing to look forward to. Just working Till I'm sore.
I've reached100 followers. Some may not think that's much, But I am very grateful- Serious I'm touched.
Snuggling deeper into my chair, I squeak slightly as I stretch my claws towards the "post" button. "This will be my first composition," I squeal excitedly.
I wish I could write as well as you do, producing masterpieces everyday. I wish I could write as well as you do, I still have so much left to say.
Almost five days, Bored out of my brain. No wifi at home, I felt so alone. But now it's fixed. On opuss- quick. So I can share my writing, It's all my ideas that I have been fighting.
Today's the day, That I have been dreading; Back to work, That's where I'm heading. Maternity leave, Is all over and done; Today's the day, I'll feel like the worlds worst mum.
Pen and paper It is truly amazing to believe what has been written down on a crisp, white sheet of paper. Stories, it's mystical, enchanting words scribbled along, with changes and errors.
So I joined this thing called Opuss, I must say it is rather good, You can share your stories with the world, Like all the best writers should.
A frigid Monday morning, In the middle of the fall, I will hide within the shadows, Not a single soul can call.