Poet Novels & Stories

"That sounds like a worthy dream, Nimue." Encouraged by his attentiveness, I continued, "And… I write too. Poetry mostly. Silly, teenage girl stuff, really." "Let me hear one," he surprised me by saying. My cheeks flushed crimson. "No way! My poems are terrible. Trust me, you wouldn't want to subject yourself to that torture." He raised an eyebrow. "Try me. If it's a torture inflicted by you, I’ll find an oasis of sloppy pleasure inside of it. Somehow.”

You should see hers. He reads it out, in a voice worthy of Television, as though he were standing before an audience. The poet can be poem-less. The writer, word-less And the warrior sword-less. With you, I am not lovel— "Okay, " I say "that's enough for one day.".

About the Author Sofie is a freelance writer, and an endeavoring poet who adores writing the macabre and the alluring takes of life. She travels through every journey with her bag of Cheetos and crosses through every riverbank with a box of Pizza. A person who yearns to become a Game writer or be a part of Corporate Communications in the gaming industry. She studies A.B Communication Arts and is now on her path to revamp, fight and inspire as she gruesomely takes on the outside world of Taco Tuesdays.

( 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.

Is Karl related to mystery man or is he mystery man. I feigned a bright smile, flashing my white set of teeths. I cleared my throat loudly. "Are you a writer Karl? Do you... probably write?" I asked curiously. "Yes." He replied, that answer made me fully alert. What if Karl was mystery man. Oh my goodness a popular writer. "I write poems, be it Haiku, sonnet. That's my speciality. I'm a poet. But keep it a secret, no one knows except from you and me." He added.

“You believe that?” “I have to. Otherwise, what’s the point of any of it?” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You’re an idealist.” “And you’re a cynic.” “I’m a realist. There’s a difference.” “Not much of one.” He stepped closer, and she could see the fine lines around his eyes, the shadow of stubble along his jaw. “How old are you, Keira?” “Twenty-six. Why?” “Because at twenty-six, it’s easy to believe in poetry. At thirty-four, after you’ve buried someone you love, after you’ve held your daughter while she cries for a mother she can’t remember… poetry feels like a luxury you can’t afford.”

I took a sip from the glass of water on the left side of the table and then went back to writing again. To write poems is not just to write. You need to put magic in every word you'll write and you need to make sure that the readers will be in a different place with they read your pieces. Poetry is not just about rhymed words. It's about exposing the thoughts you can't speak. Writing is the only way I can let my self escape aside from its twin-reading.

In a swift pull, he pulled me upon himself, slamming into me faster as he spoke. “I’ve never told this to you… but you were my first poem, Kian. My first confession,” I gulped down my tears. “You remember?” “Every word,” he said. “Back then, I felt so much because of you that, even though I wasn’t a poet, I couldn’t find a better way to express my feelings than through a poem. And now I understand why those poets can’t stop writing about their muse. It’s painful to experience an infinity of emotions for one person, yet have such finite words to define them.”

And as I navigate this world, seeking your true name, I'll carry your essence, your spirit, within the poet's flame. =======

My favorite poet is Emily Dickson. If at all I died, it is because I wanted to, I have always wanted to, because I feel unworthy, I dint love myself