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thepensword

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About thepensword

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  1. ocean canvas

    Uh wow I didn’t even see I put that in there so thanks for pointing it out.
  2. ocean canvas

    Mmph thank you so much! It’s been a boring day stuck in the car so it was really great to get this feedback! Yeah the marsh grass line bothers me too so I’ll probably tweak it somehow. About the “white dots”...what if they’re the birds AND the sea? I don’t know how well I conveyed this but the “pieces of sea foam detached from the sea” was attempting to still represent the birds. Yeah the ending...I don’t know, I usually don’t want to put punctuality on my poems because I think it interrupts the flow of my writing, but then I’m always left staring at the final sentence and feeling like it needs a note of finality so I always stick on that period as an afterthought. It doesn’t really work for me, which I thought was just a me thing, but I guess if it ALSO doesn’t work for you I can go with my initial instinct and just remove it. Again, thank you so much for the feedback! I just want to mention that I’ve read a few of your works and they’re AMAZING.
  3. ocean canvas

    i want my paint the color of the sea i want the salt blood and the brined lungs i want the bird-cry voice and the dull gritty crunch between teeth. i want the ocean on my canvas and i want it to feel like freedom i want the marsh grass scritch scratch grass and murky, boggy mud i want bird wings as delicate strokes small white dots that aren’t clouds pieces of sea foam detached from the sea free spirit and flashing, splashing silver wriggling and swimming and sparkling scales i want the underwater flight and the midair swimming floating through air or water, what’s the difference i want paint the color of the sky on a clear day the color of the wind rushing, roaring, blowing hair caught and flung like kite strings and the kite flutters away in the wings of the gulls i want the waves on the end of my paintbrush i want the ocean on my canvas i want a moving portrait of the sea.
  4. words i cannot say

    sunshine of my life with eyes that sparkle with joy i haven't the words you are my support but do you even know that you're my beating heart i cannot tell you because i am so afraid that i might lose you but oh, if you knew how much i deeply loved you i think i would fly
  5. your flower in the snow

    I want to be your flower in the snow. in a day of darkness, when you are drowning, when you’re on the edge of breaking down and screaming to the sky, i want to be your salvation. i want to be your stranger on the street, a smile and a kind word turning your day back to the light. i want to be your island in the storm. i want to be your sunshine behind the clouds. i want to be your flower in the snow but I’m not. People say that I’m sweet and it’s flattering. it is. but it’s not true. oh, thank you, i smile, and it tastes like a lie. my sweetness is a carefully crafted falsehood a mask, to hide the jealous cruelty of my thoughts. he’s ugly, or her voice sounds so awful or i could do better. i am better. I am your spice to your sugar and you don’t even know it. i am the acid burn of lemonade down your throat once you’ve gotten past the sweetener. i am the wilted flower in the snow, the posturing balloon-girl blown full of air that’s hideous. what is she wearing, she looks like a SLUT. and then no, no, she can wear whatever she wants. screw the patriarchy. you go girl. you look great, i say, and you blush. thanks, you’re so sweet! I am poison. i am the delicate flowers of nightshade, the inviting pain of a wooly caterpillar. I want to be your flower in the snow i want to be your flower in the snow, your bright spot. i want to be your restoration of hope in the goodness of humanity. i want to be liked. i need to be liked. your irritation is pain, your dislike torture. so I am quiet. i sit and watch and smile, because to be silent and delicate and kind is to be your flower in the snow.
  6. sometimes

    Sometimes I want to scream. I stand in a crowd of my peers and look up and out and think, what’s stopping me. what’s stopping my mouth from opening wide, jaw dropping loose like the unhinging lips of a snake swallowing its meal, what’s stopping me from shouting and screaming and bringing the world to its knees with the force of my voice and the breath of my lungs. Sometimes I think, what if I changed the world. i am strong, and I am willful, and my best friend’s voice echoes in my ears: you can do anything you set your mind to, you can do anything you want because you are strong. And sometimes I think, I could. I see the media, and it says, get out there and do something. change the world and shape it in your own image like clay on a wheel or mud between your fingers. paint it on the canvas of your life with oil and pigment and let it dry so it sticks. I hear the voices of my peers rising up and fighting, see their posts on social media, see articles written about their ingenuity, their bravery, see our elders condemning and praising the initiative of my generation and I think, I have a voice. Sometimes I open my mouth and try to scream but all that comes out is a squeak. Sometimes I try to hit that high note but I didn’t take a big enough breath, sometimes I try to jump but my legs just aren’t quite long enough. Sometimes I try to change the world and all I get are the self-same responses that I’ve always gotten, relative’s commentary on my own maturity, when really what I want is to make waves. Sometimes I wish my voice was a megaphone. Sometimes I wish I was famous, that I could stand on a podium and speak in a whisper and still be heard. Sometimes I stand on a stage, in the spotlight, and scream at the top of my lungs, but all they hear is the character I portray. Sometimes I wish I could change the world. Sometimes I am angry and I am powerless. Sometimes I write meaningless words to give to no one. Sometimes I write speeches I know no one will read. Sometimes I want to scream.
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