Novel & Cerita Poetic Tweets

she quoted. Your voice is like a bird, but everyone’s ears are bleeding. From the inside, your house shines and shines, but from the outside, you can see it’s built from bones. From out here, it looks like a graveyard, and the garden’s all ash. And besides, your breath stinks. We’re through. She remembered a poem she read by Ross Gay years ago and burst out into laughter. " The last line always gets me." She laughed harder, almost falling off her bed.

After the interrogation that day, fuck had a grown woman like me craving, but since there was no cock around and no vibrator, I had to use my fingers to oh yeah that's the spot. When I was done with the masturbation, just then on my phone, a notification beeped in on my Facebook. It didn't seem like me receiving my porn, instead, it was a poem from someone with no profile picture or picture on his wall. His username says Mr Romantic and his poem read, I can never look at a drop of dew in a buttercup without beholding shafts of love in the retreats of your eyes In you there is unity; your face and form is a blend of perfect line and contour

I drove home and worriedly thought about how I will be able to explain this to Tate. When I got home, I quickly tried to call Tate's number but she seemed to turn off her phone. I tried to call again and again but I really can't contact her. I got onto Twitter, hoping she tweeted anything and as soon as I searched her account, I saw her recent tweets a few hours ago. @tate_kvngh: too early for that shit @tate_kvngh: Flying back home to New York with @D_Cole pic.twitter.com/rDsvVLx6c8

he said and that was when I did something that if it doesn't work then I'll be dead in a second. Follow me on i*******m for updates @pere_theheartbroken_poet

I just saw the news on TV right now and I'm dying to know it it's true. I refresh my home page in Twitter again and suddenly a tweet from the top part caught my attention right away. It's a tweet from Hugo! Situations will arise in our lives. But you gotta be smart about it. #UDontHaveToCall My heart leaped just by reading it. I reread it and it still makes my heart leap the second time. It's a song from Usher. I know that song. I don't know what he means by this but I know for sure that Hugo loves giving out ridiculous tweets. But this time it's not something ridiculous.

Just something to cool this fire in my chest. Downstairs, the kitchen is still and dark. I flick on the light, open the fridge, pour myself a glass of cold water. I’m just about to take a sip when my phone buzzes. Cass. Of course. She sent a poem. A screenshot of a tweet she posted, knowing I’d probably see it late. I open it. “You are not a vessel. You are the sky. You are the universe, and not just the broken stars in your womb.” “You are not your pain. Not your prognosis. Not the people who have tried to rewrite you.”

Encouraging them to keep the faith in God and also in family. After that, it was time for me to give the speech I'd spent hours preparing. I once again climbed the pulpit and started with a poem by Chinonso Chime titled "Immortal"; Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I did not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush,

Fuck it! @wwwoninchai I just wanted to sleep with someone in my arms I lie on my bed, my cell phone seems to want to jump out of bed. To my surprise, there are thousands of retweets and likes, which the success of the series doesn't do, does it? Besides the retweets, there are some missed calls from him, and the messaging app icon appears. I click on it and it directs me to the conversation I didn't want at the moment. Nate: Why did you write that on Twitter?

Author Fireworks on Instagr, Face B, and Tik. “❤️ Love Fireworks 🎆"

"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.”