Blotted Ink with a Broken Quill

United States

13 years old.
In love with books.
Ranger's Apprentice. 1
Dawn of Wonder. 2
Wings of Fire. 3
Warriors. 4
Percy Jackson. 5




Join Date: September 12, 2018

Message to Readers

Thank you so much for all the support on this site.

Growing Down (April Poetry Piece that I will probably forget about)

December 13, 2018


He begins with, 
Starting here, not began, haven't started, new lifespan.
Writing lines, black as coal, broken heart, mending soul.
Go to sleep, find light rest, open pages, I'm the guest.
Countless hours, spent inside, painting backwards, without a guide.
Puzzling pieces, shoved apart, finally fit, perfect art.
Simply honest, yelling loud, hitting pillows, no longer shroud.
Dashing snow, stringing words, laughing silent, singing birds.
Reclaimed innocent, back outside, rushing fields, taken stride.
Words are spoken, opened eyes, racing thoughts, ever skies.
Milestone here, doubly so, interesting premise, reality although... 
Music has entered, notes flying by, passing in colors, of sunset paved sky.
Cliche in a thought, clashing emotions, icicles standing, in a frozen ocean.
Back below two, open to change, almost forgotten, the fear and the pain.
Living in air, up near the sky, the ocean is seen, as white dove flies
Drifting in levels, of lego's and letters, reading is trivial, building is better.

Without complication, a thought of carnation, doesn't have to see, what is in me.
a thought outgoing, easily overthrowing, what it never really needed to be.
Vertigo isn't bad sensation, but in indignation, I took as something had to agree.
Incense filling spaces, candle smoke enlaces, sage and thyme with empty faces. 
Scorching tales, of dragons and mail, without anger and hail, holding up grail.
Leaving a place, where only temporary space, existed to be replaced, incased.
Just now arrived, left to be derived, but soon revived, and then alive.
Sitting in beat, a journey can't meet, snow with all it's sleet, tasting sweet.
Gliding down, on map with sound, without ground, to live upon. 

Five, Four
The memory will end soon, before I fully loose the tune, 
while sitting on my lonely dune, staring out into the moon,
carving out a sealing rune, when I see the light of noon,
and time is compressed to june.

Three, Two
Even closer to the end, now pictures are my only link, 
for writing this to you I bend, the rules that I do extend,
to be able to befriend, and not offend the godsend of love.

One. More. Year.
One more year of treasure.
One more year of sun.
One more year of sanity.
One more year of battles one.

One more year of living.

To put it straight, I have a different story to tell to then the rest of us, and I have done countless things nobody else has.
But wait. Don't we all?"
He finished as he realized the only thing he ever had in common with anyone else was that he was different.

Login or Signup to provide a comment.

  • Blotted Ink with a Broken Quill

    Thank you so much!

    9 months ago
  • rainandsonder

    Wow. This is such an interesting concept for a poem and the way you explored and expressed it here is so dynamic and intriguing. The countdown pulled me in immediately, and the ending absolutely floored me. I love how you sum up each year with a short list that somehow feels like it captures everything. Idk, I just really like this.

    9 months ago
  • Majestically Awkward Manatee

    Beautiful. :)

    9 months ago