#failedpoet

[hysterical-ends]

“Hiatus.”

I wonder, sometimes, if I write for approval.

Do I genuinely like writing or do I simply pursue it just to hear the praise of my readers?

For knowing what words are supposed to feel like on a page with the anguish and the torrent of emotion behind it that can only come from a human heart.

I don’t like what I write.

It’s kind of rare that I do.

The people around me tell me that it’s amazing, that it’s beautiful, that they take cannot wait for the next one.

I can, though.

Sometimes I can’t.

That’s when it’s hardest to write.

I want to wait, I want to let the words fall out of my mouth spontaneously. I want to be known for having an idea and simply writing.

But I can’t do that. Not anymore, it seems.

Once upon a time, I think I could. But I don’t know what spurred me on.

My own emotions?

Or the emotions of others that I’d get to see on the faces of those who read my work?

Was I truly hyperfixated so heavily on writing?

I don’t know anymore. Writing feels empty.

Like I’m trying to fit my words into a mold, like I’m trying to force the emotion.

The tortured artist doesn’t go through the torture anymore, but you’d think that the lack thereof would at least leave an artist.

But not even that is sitting in that puddle of blood and tears.

The spot is empty.

They got up and walked away.

A pause or an ending?

I don’t know.

I don’t care to know right now.

I think the answer would ruin me.

[godandy]

...and when I'm numb or sad I stare at the unpainted wall perpetually staring at the patch etched on the wall by nature and her elements. Fantasies, perceptions of false realities. Images washing ashore like tidal waves on my cerebral cortex. Little monsters in big shoes surrounding a loner. They are staring right back, the more we exchange looks the less harmful they seem. I'm alone in this reality. I need an espace from this escape, a leap from one extreme to another. I won't be trapped in the middle of normalcy. I need a drop of Pentecost. - Osadebamwén #Mywritingname #failedpoet #poetry #photomanipulation #art #digitalart

[faildpoet]

No me llames cuando te sientas solo No me llames cuando se te ponga complicado No me llames cuando ya me amas No Me llames cuando aprendas mi valor No me llames cuando te arrepientas por mi dolor No me llames cuando extrañes mis labios No me llames cuando ves mis ojos en extraños No me llames cuando por fin me compres flores No me llames cuando me chiflen los senores No me llames cuando me queras hacer tiempo No me llames por que si te cuelgo No me llames cuando Ella te dejé No me llames por que no contestaré A mí me dejaste plantada y no volveré

[faildpoet]

Tu me amas como la Luna Con tu luz me da calor Brilla mi piel contra tu Brillo Que mi cuerpo se siente como amor Yo te amo pero no mas te veo cada luna azul Tu decis que mi piel se siente fria en la tuya Pero recibes ardor Tu decis que soy la unica luz que necessitas Pero le daz luz a otras rosas Tu me diste tu luz Pero le ensendiste el cigarillo

[faildpoet]

No oygo tu voz Pero siento el ritmo de tu corazon No eres mi media naraja Pero la luz de mi luna No eras bueno para mi Pero te sigo buscando No bebes la miel Pero pedis la flor No admiras mi espinas Pero amas mis petalos No te doy lo que queires Pero con otra me lleres

[agenericsurprise]

A mystery, something I alone cannot explain I hear it but I cannot feel it does it have to be alive to be real?