I'm yet to write a poem which I think is the best
I'm yet to create my masterpiece
Maybe it's hidden in the third or fourth draft which I'm yet to write
Maybe it's lost with the discarded first draft
A crumpled ball of the best poetry I could ever write
Lying discarded in a pool of filth
Maybe I have written it and don't know it
Maybe I'm struggling every day to write a better one
Maybe my words are now too caught up in vanity
Maybe there's never going to be a better one and I never realize it
Maybe I fight till my last breath for the right words
Words which have already spoken
Words that were hidden in plain sight
I think I am yet to write a poem like that
But what do I know?

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"For any written piece to have impact, it needs to have a foundation of honesty. It can be two lines or twenty, if they are not true feelings, it's no longer worth it. That is the first step to writing an impactful piece, to choose a topic that is closest to your experiences. Don't write something just because it's trendy. Don't write because you don't want to feel left out. Write because you can't get any sleep if you won't."


More in my earlier paid post which is for writing advice on "Impactful writing".

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One of these nights
Lights will guide you home
But if the fireplace ran cold
And the emptiness of your home
Daunts you
If it's one of those nights
Stay
With the lights of the city
Stay
Under the full moon's light
Stay
Watching the shining waves of the sea
Stay
If it's one of those nights
When you know the way home
But your feet feel like lead
Not wanting to find home
Stay
The lights will guide you home at dawn
But for tonight
The lights will keep you company instead

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We look for stars in famous faces and distant skies.
We forget to see the light within us.

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I'd rather have the world flooding with "okay" art made by good people than "masterpieces"made by assholes.

Fuck you, Stan Lee.

May you never rest in peace.

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Nobody:

Me: An epic monologue about human rights, women rights, LGBTQ rights, existentialism, how if Ant-Man goes up Thanos' behind, expands, and kills him, we won't have Spiderman back.

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Feminazi

Nazis rounded up Jews
Locked them in concentration camps
Lined them up in gas chambers
And performed genocide

When I am asking for equal pay
Equal opportunities
No judgement
And right over my own body
How is anything,
Apart from your fragile male ego,
Getting killed?

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"What? Oh you are so easily offended!
What now?
Will you write a poem?"

Oh I won't just write a poem
I will pull alliterations out of your ass
And metaphors out of your morbid mouth
I will spin similes like you spin lies
And my rhyme scheme as random as your judgement
Or sometimes, even non-existent
Like your stupid brain

So, one bitch to another
I will not just write a poem
I will write it on the lines of my metaphorical palm
And slap you
Till your metaphorical cheeks
Turn into my chapbooks

Now tell me
Do you really want me to write a poem?

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