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Unpolished Ink Jan 2021
Pick up the brush
although the handle be thorns
and paint with words, or love or tears or rain
paint them all the same
paint your heart or the sky or a thousand other things
paint until the brush is dry and fingers bleed
for you are blessed indeed
How lucky we are to have an imagination. Some people don't have one-poor sane things!
I listen to Ani DiFranco  
When I want to be inspired
She fills my tortured soul
With lyrical fire

I listen to Ani DiFranco
When I want to hear wisdom
Any given song
Is a musical politics lesson

I listen to Ani DiFranco
When I want to be inspired
She fills my poetic soul
With lyrical fire
some poetic words for my hero
From the ashes Sep 2020
Up in the backwoods
Of Michigan, lives the
Traveling man name of Tim.
He's in a band, with a million fans, and I think it is a sin, that he's in better shape than I am, and I'm ******* younger than him.
Ever since he got bit by that possum, he will never be the same again.
I had a great conversation with Traveling Man the other day, he's a great dude, and this ode practically wrote itself. Long may he live
Jenie Aug 2020
unfiltered interviews displaying
for all to see

alluring youth offered drive dedication
exposed their introspective sensitivity
kindness obsessions analyzed
their deepest anxieties

fans of their own with
-ia-ending disorders aplenty to bear
their days shared or stolen
entrusted archives auctioned

camera-ready smiles
inner balance thumbed up to the tilt
album sales to arena wealth
ardor of a musician sold

role models pinned to the walls
hunted market gods
Work in progress, I've been reading and watching videos of young artists, mostly musicians, and there seem to be common themes: mental health issues, impact of social media on self confidence, deification and fetish tendencies of some fans. Feels like their talents and mental health are being sold by some banking on people's need to chase dreams
Amy Perry Jun 2020
Once you fall in love with
An artist, an empath,
A writer, a musician,
A feeler, a healer,
A giver, a lover,
There is no going back
To an ordinary life.
Soloy Jun 2020
I strung the movements
with my heart.
With shrieks of desperate madness
to escape my self enfetter.

Paper beats rock but
My notes bounce back off blunt
damp stonewalls,
cornering me off.
I'm trapped.
My music goes nowhere,
An eternity's echo
Rings of despair

I model after myself,
each movement, each blow
A craft to my hole.

Where I yearn to see the open sky
Where my music can soar and fly

Just let it go,
Uncage it,
Let it flow.
I'm sleepy af when I wrote this
KNOWER Jun 2020
she ruffles thru' the written rows,
line by line, she sifts thru' prose
intent on catching with her knows (nose),
the timeless scents of dainty rose

her eyes affixed to gems in ink,
the precious words adeptly linked
by (her) lover's mind that ever thinks
of her thru' night without sleep's wink

in penned down verse she does find peace
amidst the words of (her) lover's piece
she is the muse that brings him bliss,
and with these words he sends his kiss
"Why don't you be the artist, and make me out of clay?...
Why don't you be the writer, and decide the words I'll say?... "
- Ellie Goulding

I hope you enjoy(ed)!... ☺️

may L💜VE, L🌹FE, and L🌞GHT always be with you... 🥰

God bless ☺️
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