Young Writers Society

Welcome to A Poet Bleeds Ink.

Where every word is a drop of my soul on paper. This collection is a journey through the depths of my heart and mind, exploring the emotions that color my existence. From the whispers of nature's beauty to the tender embrace of love, and the shadows of introspection, each poem reflects a piece of my inner world. Through my verses, I hope to bleed my words into your hearts and beyond.

Goals for NaPo:

Write 30 poems!
Comment on others' poetry at least once everyday day!
Participate in Poetry Jams! (If I can!!!)

Index:

1.Title: On, off, On, Off.. OFF.
2.Title: Three words I can’t say.
3.Title: Answer me moon.
4.Title: Inkless.
5.Title: The art of ugly.
6.Title: Untitled.
7.Title: Behind the facade.
8.Title: The Sands of Time
9.Title: Because we choose to forget.
10. Title: Do you ever
11.Untitled
12.Untitled.
13.Title: Reasons I think I can love you.
14. Title: Two homes can't fit in one bag.
15. Title: Overthinking in my lover
16. Title: My thoughts scare demons
17. Title: Who are we?
18. Title: T-shirt
19.
20.

1. Title: On, off, On, Off.. OFF.

As a child, I learned to hide,
Emotions buried deep inside.
In a world of uncertainty and fear,
I built a fortress, year by year.

With every tear that I refused to shed,
Emotions silenced, like words left unsaid.
In solitude's embrace, I found my peace,
But little did I know, it was a fleeting lease.

As years went by, and time marched on,
The walls I built grew ever strong.
But now, as a teen, and then as an adult,
I find myself trapped in this emotional vault.

For try as I might, I cannot unlock,
The floodgates of feelings, I once did block.
They remain dormant, like ghosts in the night,
Haunting my dreams, haunting my life.

Oh, how I long to feel again,
To break free from this emotional pen.
But the scars of the past, they run too deep,
And the price of freedom, seems too steep.

So I wander through life, a hollow shell,
A prisoner of my own emotional cell.
Yearning for a glimpse of what could have been,
But forever haunted by emotions within.

Locked in a cycle of numbness and pain,
I search for a way to break this chain.
But the echoes of childhood, they linger on,
A reminder of battles fought and won.

Yet still, I hold onto a flicker of hope,
Someday, somehow, I'll learn to cope.
And though the journey may be long and slow,
I'll find a way to let my emotions flow.

Thought this one up a few hours ago- and being the impatient carrot I am, had to post it or I'd go insane thinking about it-

2. Title: Three words I can’t say.

I love you. Three words I've never said,
Such sweet words, but distant in my head.
(Un)known words, like knives on my tongue,
Yet you say it so sparingly, like it's fun.

I try saying those three words into the mirror,
But the feel of I _ you, makes me feel dumb.
I can't even say it to my own reflection,
How am I to say it to someone like you?

You in all your glory,
Yet, I _ you is just a story.
Something I’ve only read,
Fiction, fantasy. Just in my head.

I hope I can say those three words,
Maybe one day I’ll find a lover,
Who let’s me discover,
That I can say, I love her.

@avianwings47 Thank you sm!! Glad you liked my poems, keke! <3<3

3. Title: Answer me moon.
Title: Answer me moon.

I stare at the moon,
It shines like a beacon for lost souls,
Looking for solace,
Looking for home.

I once screamed at the moon above,
Pleading for reasons to love,
Questions swirling, tears in my eye,
Asking the moon, "Should I live or should I die?"

I was high on tears, drowning in pain,
But the moon's reply, I can't explain.
Soft and gentle, its words did flow,
Yet, in my mind, they refused to show.

***

Perhaps, forgetting is safer,
For fear lingers in the unconfessed,
What would haunt me more, I can't decide,
The silence, or the truth denied.

4. Title: inkless.

(TW: Suicidal themes)

5. Title: The art of ugly.

I painted myself in flames,
Hoping to burn to the ground.
I wanted to live,
Just not as much as I wanted to die.

It was hot,
The pool of flames.
Not hot enough to burn me,
Just hot enough to hurt.

Like the eyes searing burns into my flesh,
Watching me with such intensity,
That I wanted to burn,
Right then and there.

They never saw me,
Not the real me at least,
They saw the me that I hung up,
Like a painting.

I let them see all of me,
As they pass by.
Let them poke and prod,
As if they knew what I was about.

I wouldn't compare myself to the Mona Lisa,
More like something Picasso would paint.
Abstract, weirdly insane.

You can try to fit all the pieces together,
To create something beautiful.
But in the end it's just as ugly,
As it was in the beginning.

Pablo Picasso's paintings,
Are one's that I relate too.
Etched lines, refined, magnified.
To create something dignified.

Something beautiful.
Blurred lines fuse together,
To create faces, akin to the Mona Lisa.
Considered art, but still ugly.

6. Untitled.

In the stillness of night, whispers of dreams do dance,
Echoes of hopes, like a fleeting romance.
Each passing day, the longing grew more intense
And time slipped away, as if under a pretense.

Through the corridors of memory, I wander alone,
In search of solace, in search of my own.
The ache within, a silent plea,
To break free from the chains that bind me.

Yet, reality beckons with its unyielding grasp,
Pulling me back to the shadows, from the past.
I must heed its call, though my heart may protest,
For in its embrace lies the truth, the rest.

For time marches on, relentless and cruel,
Leaving behind scars, a relentless duel.
And though I yearn for what once was mine,
In the depths of despair, I’m resigned to resign.

For as much as I yearn, as much as I crave,
The cruel hands of fate refuse to save.
And so I stand, on the edge of despair,
Lost in the abyss of silent prayers.

7. Title: Behind the facade. (This one's super short, but who's to judge me? >:I)

They smile, they speak, they seem to care,
But venom lurks behind eyes so fair.
Their lips, a mask of deceit they wear,
A touch that binds her in despair.

8. Title: The Sands of Time

In vain we grasp the sands of time,
As fleeting as a whispered rhyme.
Through fingers slip the moments fleet,
An endless dance, a ceaseless beat.

We strive to hold, to grasp, to keep,
Yet time, relentless, does not sleep.
For we, mere mortals, flawed and weak,
Can't halt its flow, nor silence speak.

(I forgot to post yesterday's poem (FORGIVE ME T0T) But here it is :,D