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Michem Marie-Laure


Inkbound Souls

As ink drips down on our paper while our fingers start to cramp from writing words.

About how things can be unfair and about how the world hurts.

Words become more than just words, as stories start to form.

Creating somewhat of a calmness in the endless mind storm.

 

Stories can be created from truths, but also from lies.

From fictional realities and many torn papers from failed tries.

Ink dripping on the floor, forgetting to put the cap back on.

As we fall asleep in an instant after we're done.

 

Still, when we have an idea, we can't just simply go to bed.

Because the ink in our pen is like the blood we've bled.

Our endless failures and sad situations, written down in a rose-colored frame.

As words can make a story more intense or tame.

 

We breathe our stories in and out, our blood is made of ink.

As we bleed out on paper, writing down everything we think.

Some may believe we are dreamers, but we're more realistic than some may believe.

Because we know how life can be unfair and how the mind can deceive.

 

An endless amount of love poems have shown this many times.

In haiku's, free verse, and a million more rhymes.

Yes, our poems can show a dreamy rose-colored state.

But you don't know how many use it as story bait.

As reality and mindsets warp and twist as the stories go on.

We portray a picture like it's slowly being painted until it's done.

Some may never believe our story, because they can't believe the things we write down.

Many people cry when grieving, but we write like we are wearing a crown.

 

We write our hearts out, on paper that will eventually fade.

Heartbreak, grief, and every other feeling or mindset.

As our hearts structure the story, while our blood acts like the ink.

We write down every bit of pain, everything we think.

 

Some may think it's oversharing, but many are cryptic with their words.

Using a place of sunshine and rainbows as a metaphor for a world that hurts.

We let our frustration out on paper, as we tear our work apart.

Quitting unfinished pieces, because everything just seems too hard.

 

Writing to our heart's content, letting it heal with every story we make.

Like a form of therapy, whether the story is real or fake.

We write whatever is on our mind, letting it free.

We're writers, we don't cry. We bleed out on paper.


 




Envoyé: 02:38 Sat, 16 March 2024 by : Michem Marie-Laure age : 19