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Literature Text
Broken hearts they never mend
Bruised and tattered they beat within
Twisting and changing with every sin
Dealt or received they warp and bend
Until the day they feel nothing at all
No more pain
No more falls
No need for forgiveness
No way to forget
Too many wrongs
Emotionally spent
But a broken heart
Doesn't just quit
There's a longing
To feel something again
Because broken is better
Than emptiness
Feeling emotions
Is something we miss
Bruised and tattered they beat within
Twisting and changing with every sin
Dealt or received they warp and bend
Until the day they feel nothing at all
No more pain
No more falls
No need for forgiveness
No way to forget
Too many wrongs
Emotionally spent
But a broken heart
Doesn't just quit
There's a longing
To feel something again
Because broken is better
Than emptiness
Feeling emotions
Is something we miss
Literature
To the One I Will Never Meet
To the One I Will Never Meet,
I feel a yearning,
an ever-present burning
but that is not returning
certainly not from another,
one I fear I would only smother.
Love hurts, but this is not love,
I dare not even call it lust;
I do not even know her.
I see her in my mind
but she has not seen me.
No, not one single time.
I long for an organ that works
not this heart that only makes us hurt.
I allow the mind to play tricks on me
in moments of utter weakness,
moments I would much rather forget;
rather than be upset. Do you catch my drift?
To the one I have never met
yet for many hours I solemnly sit,
imagining wha
Literature
A poet's broken words.
Most people don't even know
what a poet is nowadays.
It's not someone who writes poetry,
but someone with the ability
to create beautiful things
with pain and hate them.
I traded my soul for letters,
that I later transformed to words,
together they wrote out all my pain
but I'm starting to miss my soul.
All I have left is these broken w o r d s
and I wish I could call myself a poet
but to hate something beautiful,
before you have to create it.
How can you write when your words are broken
and your soul is missing?
Literature
now you know better
you were never one for shakespeare's iambic pentameter,
so you nixed the meter and measure the gods composed
and wrote your own sonnet in time with the beat of your heart
and the shiver of your tapered spine.
instead of crisp and company issued egg shell paper,
you dragged the pen you bought yourself back in sixth grade
across the smooth canvas of tanned skin, littered with sunset bruises
and did not mind the clashing of colours.
you always wondered if it were true what the newsstands said,
that art flutters to life when misery takes shape
but you never really believed such nonsense,
until your spine shattered, your inkwell ran dr
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As always comments are welcome.
© 2010 - 2024 JJ-Lit
Comments77
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Broken is better than emptiness. Sooooo true. I'm a HUGE believer of that.
Nicely summed up there, Jay. It's always better to feel something, even pain, than nothing at all.
Keeps reminding us we're alive, eh?
Nicely summed up there, Jay. It's always better to feel something, even pain, than nothing at all.
Keeps reminding us we're alive, eh?