Words are Weapons

And so are ideas

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Ice-Cream Sky

Can the sky taste like clouds?

I wonder

The clouds must taste like ice cream

At least that is what I think

Fudge-ripple swirl with a bit of vanilla

A touch, a smidge of chocolate here

Another dollop of lighting-fear

The sky does taste like clouds

And clouds taste like ice cream

And I can’t help but wonder

Do other people see this?

Chocolate is lighting is chocolate

And the sky is filled with vanilla ice-cream clouds

It forms a symphony behind my eyes

And oh how time flies

When I stare at a sky flavored

In so many different, delicious ways

Filed under promptsbymichael poetry writing PromptsByMichael teen poet

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Does anyone want to read part of my WIP book to see if it’s any good? If so, please message me :)

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So I’ve finally decided to take prompts for my poetry. I feel like I’m obliged to my followers to post as often as possible, and its becoming more difficult as my creativity well is drying up in additional to school about to start(which means band camp, back-to-school events, school shopping, ect.). So I decided to open up my ask box for prompts that I could use to inspire me. This could be anything as long as it is not immoral for me to write a poem about. I’ll start using a different tagging system for these prompt-inspired poems, and I’ll include a link to the user who ‘inspired’ me if they wish :)

So everyone, send in some prompts!

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I wasn’t a rarity. I was a sub-standard, blonde-haired blue-eyed girl who was as common as a blackbird. You could throw a stone in any high school and hit one. She probably would have quite a few friends, perfect grades, and some money to boot. Everyone would think she was perfect, and no one would believe she was crazy, or that she had poetry spilling out of her like an ocean.
Quote from WIP book, R.S.

Filed under books wip book young author teen writer teenage writer seriouslywritingismylife this is my book that i'm working on guys i need prompts

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Oh, Back at the beginning now

 My World is breaking apart

I’m back at the beginning now

It’s tearing at my heart

I can see the edge now

Oh, I can see the cars

They zoom, so quick and fast now

I’ve never felt so far

I should have my façade in place now

But the heavens are calling my name

Oh, I should take my place now

But I don’t want to play this game

Oh, the air is cold now

Is it freezing my heart?

Oh, the choice is clear now

Just go back to the start

Oh, back at the beginning now

My bones have cracked apart

I can see the edge now

Way up in the sky

Oh I can see the cars now

On the ground where I lay

I’m back at the beginning now

And yet this is the end

I have bent

And broken


Filed under writing poetry poem Young Poet young writer young author teen writer teen poet teen author

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Pass Out the Rope

Balancing on the tight rope like

Bravery is not existent

‘I am not scared of heights, I am

Scared of flipping through the air

Upside down, horizon flipped

My world out of whack’

My breath is getting faster

Like a panic attack

I squeeze the rope, making

It tremble, shaking my nerves

I breathe, in

Out, listening to the shouts below

Shouting my name, and I want to say

“I am not the girl who waited,

Please don’t call me Amy. I’m

Not quite as brave as she is.”

Someone says ‘One more step.’

And I inch along and fall

Letting go was the easy part

—- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —- —-

I stumble on the ground, watching

Someone go by, and then another

I launch myself towards the closest body

And fall, fall, fall, towards the ground

I am caught in the sky

My mind’s alive

I can’t feel my limbs

But I can feel the worry

In the women’s voice

As she checks my breathing

And tells me to breathe

Slow. And deep. Breathe.

In. And. Out. Slow.

‘Open your eyes’

I tell myself, but it is not

For myself that I open them

I want to check if the ground’s still there

And the people who surround me

Show that they care.

“Water?” “Yes.”

I answer I swear

But sometimes my voice isn’t there

Maybe if I were singing Chameleon Circuit

And dreaming of seeing a time-traveler

I could’ve mustered up the courage to be like

Sally Sparrow, or Rory, or Captain Jack,

Or Martha, or Donna, or The Doctor #2

I could’ve been a Rose in a field of tulips

Singing sweet victory

But instead I had to be me


Filed under leadership camp dci2014 squad leader doctor who poetry writing poetry Young Poet young author young writer teen author teen poet teen writer