The Poet
There is so much poetry running through my veins screaming for attention exclaiming, write me write me write me down.
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There is so much poetry running through my veins screaming for attention exclaiming, write me write me write me down.
I don't know how to put my words down with ink and script. It's like my pen has all run dry, it's suddenly tight-lipped. I try to make me literate, to tell you how I feel.
It starts with pen and paper, Typewriter, print or screen.
Id love to write an amazing rhyme, Its not that I don't have the time, It's just that I have writers block, I can't get my brain to unlock.
I have a great idea. So I begin to write. Get the first stanza. Then have a fight. I know the words. Hiding deep in my mind. But they don't come. I look to find. Writers block. Loud and proud.
Sometimes I wonder why I write when seven out of ten times, I hate it.
Here I sit, less than week (if, fingers cross, all goes to plan) before the release of my debut album - Quando Diciamo Addio - and I reflect upon some of the things that have been said about, not...
Practice, practice, practice. It seems like that is all I ever do. I love playing piano, but I don't like practicing. Well, most of the time I don't like it.
Opuss seems so...empty, My feed is just the same, It would be nice to see, A different style or a name.
. Written words upon the page . My mind, a drain of ink . Seeing every sentence I chew up . I spit back down the sink . Every thought erodes the silence .
#movement. Where once the crowd took turn to cheer. Now it seemed they lived to jeer. The very mention of his name. Made pain and pleasure just the same. It seemed that they had had enough.
I lost the voice I never had, Words fought for, won't be heard. Merely because I'm not one of you... Merely because the prospect's absurd. But every idea was once absurd.
Revision, precision, the skilful division, The very first line is a crafted decision, Emotion, commotion, a dreadful devotion, A pot of ink, stirred into quite a dark potion.
Hey, Ummm.... There won't be as many BITELESS posts after tomorrow.... Sorry... I have an excuse though... I haven't been reading much over the holidays and I've gotten so slow.
It seems that I have lost my voice. Let myself go, it was not my choice. It seems that spark I once has died. Thought about writing, I actually tried. It seems like I have gone & disappeared.
I cannot think, I cannot write, I cannot fathom why, I cannot even read a page, I think my brain has died.
Fuck just posted a poem that's now lost. Opuss said it was full up. I clicked post any way, Now my hard work has gone, puffed in to thin air. Little bit, very much miffed.
I want to write. I don't know what about. But I wish that. Something would stick. Nothing is there. Its like it's all. Sucked out of me. All at once. This state of haze. Moved to my writing.
I feel deleting this app It's like everything I write is crap Maybe I've got nothing to say I tell myself that to keep my thoughts at bay But trust me those voices never seem to go away!.
Er...I'm no good at making speeches and stuff...but um...I just wanted to say...thanks. Thanks to everyone who has 'liked' my Opuss 'Beauty?' it was an entry for a competition. I didn't win.
I have so much to say...just no words to say them with. I hate that for days I've come on here every day hoping to write something...but just stare at a blank screen for hours at a time.
#augustwriteaday Ever felt the pain. Pounding on your back Body blue and black And soaking from the strain Have you had enough.
I seem to have no words None will spring to mind My imagination seems lost Creativity I can't find I feel a little bit lost For words are my life Like I'm just floating Or falling in flight Where...
I've been sitting here an hour and the words won't come, Looking hard for inspiration, getting nothing done, So I grab a cup of tea thinking "soon man, soon", But my mind's still a blank and I start...