Maybe A Spoken Word Poem Novels & Stories

I've tried to talk to him, but I can't seem to work up the courage. Last week, the teacher assigned us a task that required us to write a brief poem about anything we wanted and present it in front of the entire class, which was worth a lot of points. The presentations were one aspect of English that I disliked. When I have to speak in front of people, I get nervous, and when I get nervous, I get sick. Everyone took turns giving their presentations until Leo and I were the only two left. I went first, blocking out everything as the words came to me; my poem was about my life and all the pain I'm going through.

"Therefore, I speak to you in the house of argument about my speech, 'Echoes in the Night,' because I believe it is a testimony of my ability to inspire and uplift others, to be proud to be their winner." The last contestant, an odd man like you, took the stage and began his speech long. Well, it was a lengthy speech, but it was really interesting and lovely, nonetheless. He appeared and said, "'Greetings everybody! I'm sincerely grateful for the opportunity to share my thoughts and ideas with you. "This speech of mine, entitled 'Echoes in the Night,' reflects that calling. It is a call to arms, a reminder that we live with the power we can all have a positive impact on the world around us.

Something about that landed in the center of my chest and stayed there. We went around the circle. Marcus read three stanzas of a poem about his grandmother's kitchen that was so quietly devastating it made the room go still. Priya read the opening of something that felt like literary fiction — a girl at an airport, leaving somewhere she couldn't name. A boy named Darius read a rap verse he'd been working on, rhythmic and sharp and funny in all the right places. The other two read shorter things — a flash fiction piece, a personal essay about a younger brother. Then it was my turn.

' And just like that, with the one word the poem completed itself, it became whole , it was finished, it's own living and breathing entity of words and letters and deep meaning. "Wow, that's kind of spooky, don't you think?" "I know. It fits perfectly. I've finished the poem. Because of that word. Thank you yellow sticky note. Oh wow I'm speechless." "Well, someone obviously put it in there." The voice said. "Yeah you are right. But who? And how? But no one even knows about my writings. No one knows I exist." I think about this. Something is wrong. How? Just how? However, this is not only my creation now, this is also something I share with someone else.

The poem goes like this: “They said you came looking for me. I didn't drown; I was the water." I don't know if that makes sense to you as much as it made sense to me. Nevertheless, it is a beautiful poem written by someone who understands human beings and life in a special way that I and you who has read the poem don't understand. I am not going to waste my time to talk about atheism or to debate about the loopholes of religion. I will leave it for a Sunday when I have the time and strength to actually put a lot of efforts in airing my view for all of you to be complacent with yourself while keeping in mind that my motives are purely intended to bring good and not to cause harm as some of yo

He was silent for a while before starting to slowly swirl his head from side to side and reciting. “Drinking deep into Autumn's night. “Feeling like puking the next day’s light. “Though I was annoyed and bored. “I lamented.” The minute he finished, he anxiously asked Penny, “Gorgeous Penny, my poem is pretty meaningful right? Do you think I have hopes of becoming the champion?” At his words, Jewel could not help but spit the candy in her mouth out before smiling and said, “Haha! Mister, this man’s poem is interesting. He just did doggerel! Haha!”

( when you can not say your pain you should share it with yourself, every time In life it is not important that someone will be beside you to pick you up) " it is not my habit to trust anyone nowadays but you seem like a nice poet, " Shaina comments as she shaled her hair backward. "I am a writer, poetry is just another thing I do because I am good with words," he said as he looked at her. " I can see that, " Shaina chuckled, he smiled at her. " do you want to talk about it? " he said as Shaina closed her eyes for a second, it was her fight and she was going to fight it herself.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this poem was written in reference to Neema. But how could that be? This poem was written over forty years ago! How could Vandal even talk about Neema when he wasn’t even born back then? “Think Trisha!” I rubbed at my temples. “This is big. Vandal doesn’t have his logo on all these poems. There has to be something special about this poem.”

She sung through the intense electric shocks radiating down her neck and body “Here comes a wave….Meant to wash me away…..A tide that is taking me under...Swallowing sand….Left with nothing to say…My voice drowned out in the thunder….But I won't cry….And I won't start to crumble…..Whenever they try…To shut me or cut me down….I won't be silenced…..You can't keep me quiet…..Won't tremble when you try it…..All I know is I won't go speechless….’Cause I'll breathe….When they try to suffocate me…..Don't you underestimate me….’Cause I know that I won't go speechless….Written in stone…..Every rule, every word….Centuries old and unbending…..Stay in your place…..Better seen and not heard…..But now tha

Leah opened it. The page was filled with jagged lines, crossed-out words, fragments of sentences. But it was there. A beginning. Leah read it slowly. It was a poem. About a girl who lived in a house full of silence. About a mango tree that listened better than people. About a voice that was afraid to be loud. Leah looked up. “It’s beautiful,” she said. Tala shrugged. “It’s not finished.” Leah smiled. “Neither are you.” Tala began attending every session.