What about pain?

Does the best art come from the worst pain?

If my mind is clearer than tell me,
why do these letters feel heavier to write?

I am thinking more rationally, aren’t I? 
Then why to I despise everything I write?

If love describes my life, 
why does fear reek from my art? 

Tell me why do I feel incompetent
without my pain, my crazy?

How can it define me, 
how can it be this visible?

Am I me without pain?

Am I an artist, a writer? 
Without pain! 

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Cliff

There is a cliff. One that I walk by everyday. It is so near where I live and I usually pass by it with my little dog right beside me.

There is a cliff. One that is very high. It gives a spectacular view on the sea that I learned to cherish as a child.

There is that cliff. One that always stood there, since I remember. It didn’t change but I did.

There is that one cliff. That one which, when I walk by it, shows me how well I deal with my life.

You see on some days I childishly admire the view and on others I admire the fall.

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Face

Writing 101, day two task!
Giving alliteration a try!


My lover’s face is full of lust,
When our lips lock in a luscious kiss.

With legs intertwined laying in light linen,
We are lost in our little dreamland.

Kiss me once more before our parting
Say a goodbye by taking me in your embrace.

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Memory

Memories.
Something we cannot live without.
Yet we often forget the ones that mean the most.

Where do they go?
Is it inevitable to be left with just those bad ones,
Or those whose significance is almost none existing.

Or does our constant memory loss help us?
Maybe that is why I can remember,
Remember the scent of dandruff on grey hair.

Maybe that is why I know,
Know the aroma of my lover’s sweet touch
And my mother’s warm embrace.

Memories.
They serve us more than we know.
They hold so much pain and love.
They are the purpose of living.

In response to Memory!

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