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Creative Juices

Creativity isn’t always beautiful. There is a desire in us as artists to share what we feel inside with the world; how can we do so when we can’t find the words ourselves? There isn’t always an easy road with which to release my emotions to words. It can be quite painful. That doesn’t make it any less meaningful.

“There are days when words and feelings pour out of me like a volcano. Aggressive and fierce, I stab through the lines on the page and rip it apart like my brain is ripping me. Then there are days when I can do nothing, My creative juices are dried up- I am breathing in coarse sand, I cough up ideas but also blood. It lines the paper all the same.”

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follow me on instagram @victimlessrhymes

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Top 10 Posts 2017— No. 5

They Aint Our Neighbors

IG: @shaunteriwrites

Read other work by Shaunteri at:

GenreUrbanArts.com

 

 they weren’t neighbors.

they couldn’t be.

they wouldn’t let them be

because they were just

occupants

Continue reading Top 10 Posts 2017— No. 5

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Top 10 Posts of 2017 — No. 8

Dear Daughters

by M.E. Peters

IG:@m.e.peters

Read other work by Molly at:

GenreUrbanArts.com

Dear daughters,

I hope when you look up at me
you see more than surviving.
I hope you can smell gunpowder
on my torn open flesh-
see the wounds dripping from me
and know how hard I fought
to be your mother. Continue reading Top 10 Posts of 2017 — No. 8

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Dazzle Me

I am a dark sea.
You are a dazzling light
that intensifies,
as morning is
on its way.
I bend my head
and ponder,
as a collection
of dizziness
passes me by.
Maybe I need
a slew of
your strength,
a savior–

and
you have
your hope
your determination,
the color of
blood red wine,
just on the
cusp of victory.

The answer was
always there
if I just
opened
my eyes
and looked.

 

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Photograph: Lanaya

@writing.for.the.calm

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Writhing in the Dark

Maybe it is best
left as a mystery,
all the sacred things
you hold dear,
trapped inside
for you to breathe.

Even as you notice
the most sincere
principles of reality–
you condemn all the fake
that screams in your face,

and that knowledge may lead
to even more intricate puzzles,
fluttering down from
somewhere to nowhere,
like lazy words writhing
mystically in the dark.

 

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Original Photography

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A Walk Behind My Heart

I walked behind
my heart,
Covered up to the thighs
in its rivers,

freezing from the chill
that it became since 
life served it grief
beyond winters,

only seeing
the calm of blood that 
passed the rest of my 
body on the inside.

we learned to flow
together,
to search for ourselves
On the walls & floors 
of my flesh,

with no control as I got
closer to feel its beats, 

as blood became my 
Feet I swam

without ever learning
but knowing & feeling 
how weak I could be 
in its strength.