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by Mr. Darcy
locking myself in
for the second time felt like...
never know what...
by Ben Pickard
I longed for lust but only found
A map to love and pain...
by Jemia de Blondeville
Softly burns the candle
Bleeding a subtle bright...
When I look back over the years
I never find the poor me...
by Penned Parodist
A tortured mind lies within
A tortured soul it’s only kin...
The saddest tears are the driest ones seen in the bravest smile.
Don't tell one who writes of grief to rethink their "I" statements. When you know they had tears on their hands as they wrote, don't say the poem could be better. You might as well say their grief could be worse.
If someone shares a poem with you that is meant to help close an open wound, they don't want your opinion. They want your hand on their shoulder, gripping it tight.