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Literature Text
I am a missing piece. Something that someone needs.
But at the same time, I feel so incomplete.
I’ve wandered way too far, wondered for far too long
Am I a missing piece? Or a piece that won’t belong?
Is it possible I’m damaged and not missing at all?
That I’m just as dysfunctional as everybody else?
Pretending to be perfect never softened a single fall.
But neither did admitting that you’re broken and flawed.
A broken missing piece. Is that all I’m meant to be?
There is no master plan that includes the likes of me.
Being all alone, it’s a hurt that will not cease.
A hundred thousand years from now
I’ll still be
A missing
Piece.
But at the same time, I feel so incomplete.
I’ve wandered way too far, wondered for far too long
Am I a missing piece? Or a piece that won’t belong?
Is it possible I’m damaged and not missing at all?
That I’m just as dysfunctional as everybody else?
Pretending to be perfect never softened a single fall.
But neither did admitting that you’re broken and flawed.
A broken missing piece. Is that all I’m meant to be?
There is no master plan that includes the likes of me.
Being all alone, it’s a hurt that will not cease.
A hundred thousand years from now
I’ll still be
A missing
Piece.
Literature
Poets have the loneliest hearts.
I drink morphine
like peach tea;
down 6 pills by morning
just to keep my mind
filled up
with nothing.
& I know I can go days
without speaking a word
but-
I want a moon shy girl
with wolves at her back,
bite mark ankles &
a bottle of writer’s tears
tucked under one arm.
I want to be end of the war
kisses bruised into her hipbones;
the epilogue written over her
tiger-striped skin.
With these wisteria limbs
February cold, &
these weak lungs
exhaling coralline whispers,
I’ve got a tongue for words
but still have no idea how to love
a universe girl.
Literature
I want to forget names,
& faces,
& people.
I want to forget their veins,
fingerprints forever burned into my eyelids;
wrists I can't look at
without longing to tear apart.
Spine full, and spiteful:
I want to cry
roses in my midnight tea
for these star collapsed lungs.
I want to cry for her
& for me.
But Shame,
she wont allow me the courtesy.
Literature
R.I.P Words
Do you know what it feels like?
To feel something, but...
be unable to express what it is;
to be silent;
to fight it alone.
I know how much it hurts,
but I don't know how to show it.
Poetry used to be my refuge,
a place where I could be alone -
express all my emotions,
without being judged.
I'm losing it.
I can't connect to poetry.
Everything sounds so stupid...
Everything I write sounds stupid.
I have to erase all my feelings,
because they don't sound right.
The words aren't real.
They don't show what I feel
And maybe this will be the last.
Maybe I'm gone:
lost of all emotions.
I'm truly alone...
I used to have poetry.
Now I have not
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I wish I could explain what had me writing this, but the feeling has left me and embedded itself in the words. I hope that they're a good enough explanation.
© 2013 - 2024 Invoking
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Critique Department Newsletter Issue 1Hey Everybody!
Its me, =shehrozeameen - Head of the (drum roll) %PoeticalCondition Critique Department!
Alright, aside, I see everyone wondering what's the big deal behind this newsletter?
Well, the Critique Department decided it was time we considered telling our members about ourselves, why critique is important, and how it can become a major facet in your dA experience. This newsletter was the joint effort of the core team:
:iconshehrozeameen: (that's me ) - Head of the Critique Department
:iconprettyflour: - Staff Secretary
:iconmichel-le-fou: - Staff Human Resource and Quality Assurance Manager
:iconfernknits: and :icondannymechanist: - Staff Critics
:iconnotensmsk: - Critique Department Founder and Staff Critic
for more info, check out %PoeticalCondition's front page!
Why Critique?
Critique is not a bad thi
Your work was featured in our first department newsletter. I apologize on the department's behalf for not informing you earlier.
Cheers.