World's Medicine
Just call me Rupi Kaur because I am the...
Happy men and their unloving hearts.
Don't try to invade or make it change. They will never
give you what you want
even when you think they might.
When you find one that is guarded, you'll find it doesn't matter anymore because it has been broken or spoken for.
Never before had we been so joyful, now they say that I'm sad.
I turned to my father, my mother, to anyone who would listen to me cry.
My Lord, please give me something that my
heart can bear.
Rid me of this tear and hurt,
my Lord, please give me something to show that it is okay to still care.
My Lord, please show the world that love is not harmful.
Love is not bad. Show these people that love is all they need.
Give these people the love to give to me.
About the Creator
Taylor Coffey
Student at the University of Alabama, lover of all things music and dogs.
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Whiteboard
Everything is gone and there is no way to get it back exactly the way it was before. There is still a trace of all of it left behind on my skin, in my mind, on my heart. The only way to wipe the slate clean is to wash it out by the rain in the spray bottle, but how am I supposed to make the weather when I cannot even create happiness from something good in the past? I’m only here for others to write on and to get up and leave after affecting me. It is the only way of life that I know. The words you spoke, you wrote, they stained my heart and now you’re gone - never coming to claim them; although I wish you would. Allow me to create the happiness every human craves and then come back to me. I promise, I won’t hold a grudge; I’ll learn to create that rain of a spray bottle and give us a clean slate. The rain will take some time to dry, but we can learn how new we are, how different we have become. Your ink will glide down my front and we will see that this will be difficult for the both of us to be new, but virtually the same. From the outside, you are just a marker, losing a little of yourself every time you write. You are close to dying. I am just a whiteboard who is unwilling to retain your mistakes, but all too willing to relearn you every time.
By Taylor Coffey6 years ago in Poets
Golinda and Gallopatrot go to the Emerald Isle
The short days were getting longer. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the blue hour created the magic of the darkest phase of twilight. It was time to put Oliver to bed. Yaya felt the muse come alive when he asked for a story.
By Katherine D. Graham6 days ago in Wander
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