Poem About Me Novels & Stories

"Your piece is called the Phoenix. Tell us what inspired it." The notebook man's pen hovered. I had known this question was coming. Had rehearsed it in the mirror, on the subway, in my head at three in the morning. Every version I had prepared dissolved the moment it became real and I just sat there for one and decided to just say it from the heart. "I lost almost everything I thought defined me," I began in a soft, steady voice.

So I decided to focus on writing the poem which I imagined so I won't forget when he ask me ! What you have done to me It's not me I'm sure it's not me You're not a perfect match for me you're bad and cruel But who knows you're the most pain baring person Your pain is vulnerable Your pain is invisible You're not the person whom you're portraying to the world You're a kid craving true love to mend your heart I will be your guardian angel in your life of hell I will be light to your dark soul I will mend your heart with a ray of hope called love

The truth is, I desperately want her to find me. I want to go to her office and talk more with her but I can't or couldn't, I'm not brave enough. I know that she's still curious about me. The day she gave the poem assignment, I went home and wrote about my feelings,I don't know why but I feel she's the only one who can understand me. ME IN A BALL ROOM. I am caged inside, I have locked myself from this world. But desperation feels my inside, Desperate for a hand to lead me to a new world.

I said, taking in a trembling breath. I had never felt that vulnerable before. “Why?” He whispered against my neck. My ears burnt with all the blood pounding with insanity in my body. Gulping hard, I stuttered, “because my answer wouldn’t make a difference.” He made me face him, pinning me against the door. “Who… was the poem for?” I shut my eyes, “no one! It was just a stupid poem. I didn’t write it for you. Not that it’d ever matter to you—”

the words came out of a vulnerable child who didn't know what wrong she committed to deserve that horrible childhood. "I will, I promise! I don't know what you've been through but I can imagine the agony. Everything has a cure, to the most chronic ones, it's simply time!" As soon the words came out of his mouth, she felt like a void in her heart has suddenly been filled. Time! That's what she needed. Not to forget but to move on until the memories will start to fade away. She wondered if it was also the time who made him who he was today?

I don't care if their burdens transfer on me, as long as they're happy. "By the way, I want to show this short poem that I wrote last night. Let me know what you think." He handed me the crumpled piece of paper from his bag. I was reincarnated because of your eyes Forest under eyelids The ember we lit in February Remained in my heart But how long do I have to hide? How long will it take for me to finally say the words? The words that swirl on my lips Waiting for other lips to free them The rivulet on your palm

Did my father send you? "Does your father know where you are?" Kimberly said walking closer towards him. "Don't come any closer." He yelled. "Are you trying to jump off? You want to take your life?" Kimberly muttered in a low voice. "What's your problem? Have we met before? Why are you on my case?" "That's because the life you are trying to take is precious, you don't wanna ruin a beautiful thing that God created specially for a reason," the words rolled off Kimberly's tongue as soft as it could easily penetrate into his heart.

It was my shelf system's fault. "You wrote a book for me?" I asked him, clarifying the whole ordeal and he nodded his head, embarrassed by it. I had never been the most confident person, confidence wasn't my strong suit, it was quite the opposite of who I was as a whole. I understood not having the words or the bravery to say it in person, but a poem, a whole book of poetry. I had never had anyone write a poem about me, let alone a book full of poetry.

Every time I close my eyes, even for a moment I remember the blood all that happened, and it must be the situation will be difficult not to close its eyes even for a moment ... this remained the case until the next morning, did not fully outgrow only see the window and Eshrd only, that 's all I was doing nothing but ... I went to the bathroom and washed I didn't care much and picked up my jeans and a white long-sleeved T-shirt and white sneakers and brushed my hair like an itch so I wasn't in the mood to let my hair go today... I took my phone and bag and went downstairs to find them all down..

Now she turn to me and begins with a melodic rhythm: ‘Born in fire, but I’m not hot, I can be written, yet I’m not a jot. I’m a secret revealed through ancient art, Unlocking the mysteries hidden in a heart. What am I?’