Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
POEM STARTER
Confession.
Write a poem, with a set structure, which centres around the theme of confession.
Writings
Maybe when it comes to the next day I’ll see you again Maybe you’ll wait for me til the days end The way I ascend, At the sight of your eyes that hold little pride Take my hand let us dance Around the city around the clock Til it turns night Beneath the stars, Let us lye awake Together, hand in hand Let me hold you close Let me love you And let me be your best friend Could you ever love me the way I love you Could you ever love me, —your dearest friend
I have a confession to make With everything that is at sake My family is fighting My friends are crying
Everything I've fought for On my knees, praying on the floor "God, help me" I mutter under sobbing breaths
The things that I've said The blood that I've bled I didn't have You in my heart "Help me, God, where do I start?"
I want to clean up this mess I've made I didn't deserve it, but You still stayed I'm so sad and just broken But You still call me beloved, a token
In my worst time, so afraid I heard, "your debts have been paid." God's got me, his plan is the way He reminds me: all I have to do is pray
On my knees, praying on the floor "I repent of my sins Please forgive me, God I have a confession to make."
Fearful and agitated I’m pacing, my minds racing How can I face him anymore?
A God fearing man But is there other forces at hand What shall I do when the ball drops?
A master manipulator that’s me I fell in love, I thought I changed Programming my mind to envision progress
I’m still pacing because a secrets about to come out Will he still love me even in the drought? Can he love the truth? I guess not.
(this doesn’t really go with the prompt!)
I chose you. I chose you, And that should mean something. It was like picking a flower. But not because you’re beautiful, Or smell nice. It was because you made me feel something, As a flower does. Though, in the end, The flower dies. Similar to the love I had For the idea of you and I. I chose you. I chose you, And that should mean something. Though, in the end, It really meant nothing.
I’ve held this secret deep within A quiet truth a gentle sin That when you smile the world feels right And every star ignites the night.
I’ve whispered your name in silent prayer Wishing you’d know how much I care But fear has kept me far away Afraid of what you’d have to say.
Yet here I stand with heart laid bare No more to hide no more despair For love though timid knows no end— And in you I’ve found my truest friend.
So hear me now if only once This love I’ve kept my soul’s deep song: With you I’ve learned the art of grace And in your eyes I’ve found my place.
I must confess, okay
I lied.
I lied, okay.
about my personality
natural introvert
I was shamed into being “the quiet one.”
throwing a 12-year-old into a new world
would do that
I was shamed into quiet and shyness when
Certain words I said
were made incomprehensible
Though I spoke the same language
When my English was not American
and you could hear the African in me
Shamed into silence
because my voice was different
So I went from
being known as a talkative
a personality I had been given in Nigeria
to be known as the quiet one
Because I could not bear
to share my words,
to share my voice
With
those who would
look at me different
those who would
make fun of my voice
those who would
see the African in me
and then I could no longer fit in
Now, as a grown-up African
I call myself an introvert
Like I've always been that way,
an excuse to be quiet and not questioned
Truth is, I was made that way
From constant anxiety
that my accent would make me stand out
when all I wanted was to blend in
Growing up some more,
I now think of myself
As an extroverted introvert
because I love talking,
being around others
where my accent no longer matters
where I can make fun of my pronunciation
American or African
where my voice has been made comfortable
Though I love the quiet, too
The quiet of listening
The comfort of silence
The silence of solitude
I have a confession to make
I am a lone flying crow
My home is in the gallow
I make peace with my friend, sorrow
With bones of hollow
I fly solo
No murder to follow
So here I go
I fly high as I can With the world below
I am one with the fallow
I am one with death
So don’t follow
I only take your time, that’s only borrowed. My heart you asked of, is with a merrow
I’m not worth the trouble
I am peace with solace of isolation
I only bring uncertainty sorrow
I’d rather be with a scarecrow
To scare myself off into the depths of my shadow
Sorry to mess with your alter-ego
To fall for me I am a meaningless crow
So now, you know
I am a lone flying crow.
I crave the peace I was once given. Feeling light as a feather in the wind. The freedom to think without worry, Breathe without catching my breath.
I crave the peace I was once given. So deeply so that I must confess, I’d do anything for it. I have done anything for it.
I’ve done so much that the smoke still fills my lungs, The pills still burn my nostrils, And my breathe still gives hints of alcohol.
The pain of all of done Sits with me everyday. I put on the mask of contentment, Trying to hide the suffering, the mistakes.
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