Here

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I sit here,
unheard, unnoticed.
I wait here,
invisible almost.
I lay here,
hidden, waiting.
I'm here,
still, silent.
:):):)




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Points 1880
Reviews 81
Hey there, squirt! This is a nice and simple poem. It's nice the way it is and still it could better. Poetry is about emotion (or lack of depending on exactly what message you are trying to convey). You've got to smear it on like icing. What you've got here is a naked cupcake.

squirt886 wrote:I sit here,
unheard, unnoticed. And how does that make you feel?
I wait here,
invisible almost. And how does that make you feel?
I lay here,
hidden, waiting. Waiting for what? How does waiting make you feel?
I'm here,
still, silent.


You get the point. Expand on it. Decorate the cupcake your mind has baked :D Pm me if you have any questions!

Veritas
The words you write reflect your soul. Make every word count.




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I agree with Veritas, it feels underdeveloped - perhaps not like a naked cupcake because God knows those are still RAVISHING, but I still think you could do with a bit more description and a little more power. It's marred by it's simplicity, instead of being pulled along by it. Apart from that, not bad - I think it could be great with a little expansion.
Being children of a cruel reality, we fall prey to the greater powers.
To envy.
To madness.
Betrayal.
Love.
And yet without these things, we cannot remain human. Without these things, we are nothing.
But it is the greatest sacrifice. To envy. To be mad. To betray. To love.
To be human.




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Points 5010
Reviews 133
Shoirt, but emotional. I can't say I did not enjoy it, although I would have rather read a more complex poem. It somehow reminds me of haiku poems, although I know it has no relation to it.

You could've used better words though, and not only just adjectives, in order to describe your feelings. :)
Julie, a sucker for romance, historical fashion, medieval fairs and blues music. Add photography and you already know me 50%. The rest of me you'll discover through my writings and my photos.

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What holds you betwixt panic and serenity? That is, if it's not among the many querulous quagmires unfit for elaboration.
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