I haven’t felt like writing anything lately. I can’t come up with good ideas or exciting things. I hope this changes. Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this little thing I wrote when I was angry. - - - Listen to: Schöne Seele - Crooks
You've been gone now for quite a while and nothing is left to save for you or me in this empty sky I'll be going soon to return at the end of time and find an honest remedy for us to revive our love, hidden away in plain sight • • • July poem 🦋 no.04
That’s powerful, -Every woman has a past. Some were physically abused. Some had violent parents. Some had pubertal issues. Some had sexual abuse as a child from their own family members. Some had messed up love stories. Some had been forced into sex in the name of love. Some had been drugged. Some were date raped. Some had been viciously photographed on bed. Some had been blackmailed by their ex-boyfriend. Some were in an abusive relationship. Some had menstrual problems. Some had a broken family. Some had a divorce. Some had an obesity issue. Some had financial droughts. Some had drug or alcohol addiction. Some had a few unsuccessful suicide attempts. If you see a woman, who went through any of these but had already wiped her tears, tied her hair up, masked her sorrows with a divine smile, stood tall and strong, started walking towards her future because she still has some hope left inside her and has not given up on the concept of love that still exists in this world, do not stab her with her past. Do not confront her. Do not slap her with more abuse. Give way for her and walk beside her. May be hold her hands and walk for a while. You'll know how sweet that soul is and how strong her hopes are! You'll be amazed at how she carries herself after all her energy has been sucked out. She need not always be only the woman next door or from a different home. She could be your own friend, your own sister, your own girlfriend, your own wife, even may be your own mother. Do not judge her by her past. Gift her the peaceful future that she deserves. Hold her hands against the world, which knows only to judge. Give her the love that she always yearned for. ♥️ . . Via @viralsarcasm
To you, Dear former roommate, And the group, It's not in the room, That I miss your sheer absence, For I have got fair new mates. But it is when I loiter in the corridor, When no one is beneath the door Listening to the same songs we sang, It is when I miss you. It's not in the dinner That I feel so to have you with me For nights are shared by all our people But it is the lunch when I am all alone Sitting in the dinning hall It is when I miss you. It's not in the morning time That's when your absence affects But it is those post dinner walks That renders me nostalgic for how we talked It is when I miss you. It's not when I am with my people, But it is when I see a group Chattering and flattering Living and promising, It is when I miss you. And it's not just because we're apart But it is because I am here, In the same old place Where we had river of emotions together Which has diverted it's way. The old land therefore urges for that old river water Passing through it's way. From, The same old roomie. By : Krupali Ruparel #tothehostelfriend#formerroomie#chillouts#fun#togertherness#spilledthoughts#wordstoponder#tinytales#aletter#writersblock#poetry_addicts #poetcommunity#writersofinstagram#hearttalk#writeups#friendshipwithapen❤ #krupaliruparel
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I thought this was interesting when I came across it. I don't think I categorize into any one thing, but in my writing journey, I've definitely touched on a few. I've been the lawful plotter who had to write everything in order from start to finish. I still do that in a sense, but I'm not afraid to jump around. I've been the true plantser at times because I like to draft an outline, but then just kind of wing it off the outline. I think right now though, my style most aligns with a neutral plotter because I outline it with all the plot points to get from a to z and then I modify and update it as ideas come to me that would work well with the overall structure. What do you most relate to?
I told myself I’ll stop crying when the storm dies down, but I couldn’t keep that promise, even though I didn’t intend to promise in the first place. I come across people in the park, who either have mockery, disgust or humour painted on their faces when they witness my bloody flooding eyes. Since we’ve been pastured on vague preferences to wipe our tears quickly, or even worse, to channel them back into our bodies, without paving a way for their release, it’s natural to expect such hostile reactions to the simple act of crying. Crying, that is considered unfavourable, labelled as weak, falling lower and lower in ranks of character strength and social skills, crying is more than the dull picture we’ve been reviewing numerous times over the decades. The act itself is cathartic, purgatory, and a way to release the ongoing or the ages-long sense of tension and stress in the mind and soul. I prefer crying on a traffic signal, indifferent to a pair of curious, innocent eyes of a five-year old gazing from the window next to mine—unlike some dancers, I dance with my eyes filled with tears, love, hurt, and the unusual joy that comes from release—or, releasing. The other day, like countless ‘other days’, I stared back myself in the mirror, with soaked cheeks, and a straight face—and I told myself I’ll stop crying when the storm dies down, but just as I softened my expression, the girl in the mirror refused to keep the promise, and reminded me it was nothing worth keeping a promise, since tears are not synonymous with shame, weakness, flaw or any kind of deficiency. “Cry if you can, and do it even if you refuse to.”, she said. #hibarb . . . .
To all the men out there that are struggling. Please speak up. You are so important. #spilledink#poet#poetsofinstagram#poetsofig#writer#writersofinstagram#igers#poetrycommunity#writerscommunity#instapoets#instapoetry#instawriters#instawriting#instagood#men#menmatter#mensmentalhealth#mentalhealth#poem#poems#poemsofinstagram#womenwhowrite#poetrygram#spilledwords#spilledthoughts#poetry#poetsofaustralia#writersofaustralia