Relatable Poem 소설 & 이야기

My heart started to beat fast in my chest. How many times had she seen us at our worst? How much had we hurt her without even realizing it? Feeling overwhelmed, I turned to the next page and found a short poem scribbled in her neat handwriting. It was about stars, rivers, and memories. Reading her words, I felt a sense of peace and calm wash over me. It was as if Val was speaking to me through her poetry, reminding me of the beauty and wonder of life.

I've been so engrossed in getting away from here that I totally forgot my safe place. Poems. There was something about every poem I loved because in a way, I related to them. I quickly thought of the exact one to recite. It was then. Another favorite piece by a poet I found on internet which goes as, “When everything’s darkness And you feel so alone, When the rain doesn’t stop And you can’t make it home…” I trailed out. The wordings of the song registered my head. Was everything darkness for me? Following how I was kidnapped from my home, it was dark.

You tried to dull my shine But my light is Undimmable. I am me, unapologetically You thought you would forget me, But guess what? I’m unforgettable. You tried to replace me. My love is Unreplaceable. Now you want to relate to my pain But you and I are Unrelatable. Don’t you know- I am me, unapologetically You wanted to change me. I’m un-customizable. You wanted to mold me, My intellect is Untouchable. You wanted to shape me, For you, my spirit is

I guess heartache could really make a poet of us all… Dear J, I don't wanna be a poet So get your ass back home to me Now. T. * * * - - - - - To Be Continued - - - - -

He replied, emphatically, as if it were obvious " But with the tip turned and the holes facing upwards, see if you can! “Oh, that's it. But what's up, grandpa? ' asked a cousin, looking forward to the final act. Then he would straighten up in his chair, in that posture of a patriarch laden with wisdom, run his finger over each end of his mustache, letting a subtle smile escape in the corner, and answer. "And then the rain fell and the beast drowned! Drowned!" *** This poem, on the other hand, was born in a matter of five minutes, when a guy I met at a fifteen-year-old party broke up with me via SMS. At the time, it was a frill. Today, I just laugh at the situation.

A poem by Moxie, "Roses are red, viloets are blue....this stupid author has no update for you" A poem by Dante, "When it rains it pours, but hopefully not indoors...unless your author has dogs and dirt backyard...it makes keeping mud outside SUPER HARD"

She described her thoughts on it in relation to nature and destruction and decided to share another piece of hers she was proud of. She turned her laptop to face Remus and he read the poem. Degradation Filthy, but, yet alive The dust rises around Growing and spreading Like parasites clinging to what little there is The dust rises around Its legs dug into the ground Like parasites clinging to what little there is Sucking the life force around them Its legs dug into the ground The roots spread out deep below Sucking the life force around them Leaving nothing behind The roots spread out deep below Running its lines and taking over Leaving nothing behind

She whispered clearly as she frowned. "Ma'am, please help me!" I begged. "Help?" She said and narrowed her eyes, she looks like she was inquisitive about it. "Yes, ma'am." "What help and why me?" She interrogated. "Because you might know about it," I seriously look at her eyes. "Know what?" "Your poem entitled 'I'm sorry,' ma'am. Isn't it's about a man who lived in another world?" I said and I examined her emotion, her eyes widen in horror and chaos.

To stand apart, in my own right, To bask in my own simple light. But until then, I linger here, A shadow filled with silent tears.” I gasped, and sat up from the bed. Tears streamed down my face. At first was afraid, wondering where I was but then slowly what happened last night started to come back to me. That poem was shit! What the fuck is my subconscious doing by feeding me poetry like I don't already know my life is dim and useless.

Knowing I picked a classic poetry book from my bookshelf, sat under my duvet and started to get lost in the poems that were written during war time 'My gentle one, with whom someday I shall be happy, we shall have our long walks and our quiet evenings which I dream of every night, when all of this is over, and I am back in your loving embrace. Think of me before you sleep as I'll think of you. My love, My Darling. Please do not fear, I will be home with you again, My beautiful love.' Reading poem after poem I could ignore the squealing and pounding of music beneath me, and I must have been reading for a while as when I peeked out of my window it was now dark.