Tag Archives: poetry

Writers Write…

At least that’s what they tell me. At least that is what I remember. Eccentric seamstress knitting together times and places. A magician creating reality from daydreams. It has been a while since I have bled. Years since my heart poured into a keyboard and I deemed it worth the pain.

immortal     Pain… I used to joke that my poetry came from a dark place, that my best words were tears I thought no one would ever see. Now, I’m not so sure. I have happy moments. Have memories turned melodies and dried in ink, but do I deem them worth the smile, the laughter, the immortality of a paragraph?

Some may argue that happiness is fleeting. That it deserves remembrance. That it deserves to be savored and set in the stone of books that line shelves for future generations. But happiness has always been–at least for me–a battle. Beauty found in a dying Daffodil, love found in a headless Barbie, and a chorus line in a bad song. I must fight for every bit of happiness.

I guess it may be worth the pain after all. My best words come from dark places.

And here I am again, dark and bittersweet. Now, what will I write?


Source: Fatalwoman.tumblr.com

I thought of you today.  Normally, you sit just on the edge of memory, slightly out of reach.  Barely a shadow, yet tangible enough to teach.  You remind me of a lesson it took too long to learn or match left way too long to burn.  You take me back to that victim of before, scarred for your love and craving more.  You were the drug and I was your addict.  Well, you know what they say about old habits…

I thought about you today and I caught myself dreaming…

You are the drug that I am no longer fiending… 

Writing Me

I Can't Write Stories by HQHeart

a poet unrefined yet amicable
thought frivolous by the masses
a student once
confined by society’s classes
and still none of the above
a woman a mother
friend lover
a writer beyond the labels
a writer as long as i’m able
i am my pen
i am my words
i write
i fight
i free the masses
stuck in countless classes
i write because it heals
it conveys the way i feel
a portal so I know the world is real
it is all i know how to be
my mirror
through which the world sees


Posted for Writing, 3WW Week No. 411, and Me.  Please view and comment on some of the other poems posted as well!  Enjoy!

I Remember…

Artwork by Joseph Lorusso
Artwork by Joseph Lorusso

I remember your cologne and the way it made me feel.

I remember how the scent lingered for hours,

reminding me that I was yours;

that I had experienced some semblance of passion!


as in one hundred degrees and rising!

I remember…


I remember sneaking home all those nights.

I remember the rampage dad went on when caught;

reminding me how cumbersome it was to have parents.

Too many years before adulthood and freedom.


Three years and counting!

I remember…


I remember the first ring you gave me.

I remember how committed we were,

reminding me of all the years I spent chasing;

good fun-loving years, yearning…


It’s all I really wanted.

I remember…


I remember the years of broken promises.

I remember the wasted youth,

reminding me how many nights were spend grounded;

just for a few extra moments with you.


morbid,I know,

but I remember…




Posted for Sacrifices3WW CCCXVI, Scents, Committed, Mag 155, The Poet’s Toolbox. Come and enjoy other great poets!




Sick Woman, 1665, by Jan Steen

Friends and loved ones from miles around

sent healers and priests both insane and sound

to heal my ailment and bid death depart

but sadly, there is no cure for a broken heart.

© Day Dreamer

My post for Mag 138 and Poetry Pantry – #118.  Come link up with us! Hope to see you there!


Photograph by Truly Scrumptious on Tumblr.com




his conversation led to a love

hinged on lethal obsession

a sad tale of a friend’s need

for everlasting possession


© Day Dreamer


Not a true story.  Simply playing around with words and pictures.  Find this poem also posted for 3WW and Theme Thursday!  Hope to see you there!


It’s Hard To Say

© Aniram | Stock Free Images & Dreamstime Stock Photos

     I can’t say how I feel at this moment, looking over everything that we’ve been through.  I can’t say when I fell in or out of love with you… I know the text-book answers and the ‘it takes time’ speech.  I know my heart takes time to heal and that the length is different for each.  But the strange part is that I feel no pain, in fact, I feel quite free.  Just not sure what to do with myself.  Forgot how to just be me.  So I will continue on as I have been and smile at each grinning face… Just don’t ask me “how are you feeling?” My answer will be: “It’s hard to say…”

© Day Dreamer

Posted at Poetry Jam and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.

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