Poetry

She scrawls over my skin,

Creating words I’ve never known,

To get things out of her brain,

The things that remained unknown,

I soak in all the pain,

Of the love spent in vain,

Of the spirits of lost souls,

Of the night spent breaking down walls,

She bleeds in black and blue,

Until she’s free,

And all the others call it,

Poetry.

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Image Credits: Pixabay

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43 thoughts on “Poetry

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  1. This is very well done and the rhyme does not feel forced at all, good job! I’m hosting a poetry contest you might be interested in! NO entry fee but there are prizes including publicity for your poem on my blog πŸ˜€

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “She bleeds in black and blue,
    Until she’s free,
    And all the others call it,
    Poetry.”
    I love this. I have found it odd that when I show someone a poem inspired by pain, they seem to get lost in the poetic nature of it, and they forget to acknowledge the pain in the piece! I take it as a compliment, though πŸ˜€

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, I see the same thing in people. But, I think it’s for the better because I just want people to see the poetry. All else, well poetry has helped me get over that. So, no point in going back there again. πŸ˜€

      Liked by 1 person

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