My sincerest apologies,
That I am not all sunshine and rainbows,
That I am not all caps lock and laughing,
That I don’t always see the best in things.
Sometimes I am a rain cloud,
Sometimes I shed tears.
There are times when I’m a raging storm,
When I lash out in bitter anger,
Sometimes I am as unpredictable,
As a Tornado,
Ripping through everything in my path yet-
At times skirting off to the side,
Keeping all my pain to myself.
Sometimes I am a Blizzard,
I become cold and unresponsive and
Hard to get along with hard to
Sometimes I am a Volcano an,
Eruption waiting to happen and when,
I do eventually explode I leak,
Rivers of lava and I mercilessly,
Cause damage where it will hurt,
But even after all the storms,
All the lightning,
All the rain,
All the damage,
All the pain,
I will become Sunny again.
Sometimes there will be a Chance of Rain,
Sometimes Clouds will dot over me and,
Threaten to cast their cool shadows,
But I’ll be sunny again.
i'm sorry if u get this too often so feel free to ignore it but im scared to post my writing bc every time i do no one seems to like it. not a single note. sometimes its only 1 like and never any reblog. i feel pitiful even whining about this but i dunno what i'm doing wrong. i use tags and everything. any tips for a lil exposure? thank you.
you don’t have to apologize! my only advice, really, is to start submitting your poems to lit magazines! there are so many out there that would probably love to publish your work, and it’s amazing exposure, too, because those lit mags/ezines/ etc. almost always have a significant following online! give it a try, :)
here are a few, but there’s obviously plenty more where this came from!:
I was thinking (on a train) of writing one of my fanfics again when this poem came to me:
Sometimes your fingers start itching Like an aching wound You need to write Poetry, a story or a song None of that matters As long as you can put the words on paper Only the feeling of a pen in your hand or a keyboard at your fingertips can heal you After a while the itching gets worse And worse And worse It is unbearable Then you give in and start scratching You scratch the wound The paper Your soul Until all there is left to do is Write
I found flowers
sprouting in the
of my mind
and all of them
taste of you
and the warmth
around - and the way
your voice soothes
my senses feels
much like the
comfort of these
growing like uncertain
in my cavernous chest.
It’s something about her that takes me home, something about the warmth in her eyes that I will never see in another girl.
It’s something that I dream about.
It’s something that makes this world a better place.
It’s something that turns the earth into flowers and trees.
How I wish she was here with me.
She makes it easy to fall in love.
She makes it easy to look at her when she’s looking somewhere else.
She makes it easy to forget there was ever anything out of place on this planet.
She makes it easy to not get enough of her voice, and how her words lace from her lips and carve into my skin without even trying.
She makes it easy to find purpose in a place it’s hard to even be.
How I wish she was here with me.
She is something ethereal, something about how her face lights up like the streets on Christmas Eve when she listens to her favorite song.
She is something imperfect, but who ever said imperfections are wrong?
She is something I couldn’t have imagined if I tried.
She is something I hadn’t thought I was capable of feeling, I can’t possibly deny.
She is sun and she is storm, she is calm and she is the raging sea.