Psychopoetic ward

I think I am not fit to poetry
Words are like boundaries with no entry
I stare at blank pages
Sit there for ages
It happens here, at the psychiatric ward
Do not pity me
It is not that hard
I live in joy in a world of missing words
Created by the real artists
Those that are also locked in here
With me
Within me
Casted away by those unlike me
By those unlike them
This ward is their kingdom
This ward is my salvation
And I regret it seldom
Praise the lord for this divination

Six Psych Wards, One Woman

PS - in March 2013 I visited Dublin, one night I wen't to the International Bar where they were having song writers, performers, poets, anyone with some kind of saying going up on stage. As I was hearing their inner beauty I wrote this but never had the guts to go there and read it. Today I salvage this page and move this kind of a poem to a proper place.

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Olá... estou-te a ver! Podes falar mal ou falar bem mas com juizinho sff! Beijinho e/ou Abraço

Escrito de Fresco porquê?

Há quem me tome por incontinente verbal mas a verdade é que a minha língua não tem débito suficiente para o turbilhão de pensamentos que me assolam a mente a todo o momento. Alguns engraçados, outros desgraçados, mas vários merecedores desta lapidação digital para a posteridade e, quem sabe, para a eternidade. Os escritos aqui presentes surgiram do nada e significam aquilo que quiseres. Não os escrevi para mim mas sim para ti. Enjoy
Ocorreu um erro neste dispositivo

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