Writer’s Quote: Erin Hanson

Writer’s Quote: Erin Hanson

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And then, there are writers like Erin Hanson. She is a twenty year old Australian (according to google) with hands that weave magic in form of poetic words. I initially came across her works on Pinterest and noticed her initials were E.H . I automatically assumed they meant “Ernest Hemmingway” due to the wisdom and flawlessness of her words. I was quite impressed by Hemmingway, for walking in the skin of a girl and writing from the female point of view for a lot of the poems. Turns out, it was actually written by a female named Erin.

Erin Hanson is one of the few modern poets I enjoy, a second is lang Leav. Every single one of her poems, leaves a message with me. When I hit that dry spell of writing, her words are an inspiration. I find myself thinking, it’d be nice to be as good as her; plus another bonus, she rhymes. If you’ve written poetry before, you’d know it’s not an easy feat to make complete sense, all the time, and still rhyme. Erin Hanson makes it work and I admire her for that.
She has also released a book titled: “The Poetic Underground” which is available on Amazon. Without further adieu, after talking the talk, here’s a poem of hers to walk the talk.

You can write for hours on hours,
Of all the things you wish you could be,
But the truth of the matter is simple,
People are not poetry,
And I know that you wish you weren’t awkward,
That sweet words could roll right off your tongue,
But your time here’s too short just to worry,
How each single sentence is strung,
It’s okay to be rough round the edges,
To be bruised up and broken and scarred,
But it’s not okay to let people tell you,
That it’s a reason to change who you are,
Your hair doesn’t always seat nicely,
The way a poem sits so neatly on line,
And sometimes you might feel like a word,
That nobody has learnt to define,
You might not be a star that lights darkness,
Or a bird that can teach us to soar,
But it’s okay, because you’re too complex,
To be crammed into one metaphor,
It’s okay not to know what you’re doing,
Since your feelings don’t have to all rhyme,
Though a poem once complete is eternal,
You have the freedom to change over time,
You’re much more than can ever be written,
There is no title to say, “This is me”,
You can’t be trapped in the lines of a notebook,
Because people are not poetry.

This post is In response to Writers Quote Wednesday, hosted by Silver Threading.

Paranoia-

Paranoia-

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She spent her days in darkness,
Her nights were filled with fear;
The rays of the sun she avoided
From the sight of the cloud- she hid;
Broken trust from way back
Her vision of life- it killed;
And she lived her days with the notion,
All she sees, isn’t all it seems.

Image credit: Vaiennut.tumblr.com

Fragile-

Fragile-

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If there’s one thing you’ve taught me, it is not to expect, from lovers or friends. Love leads to expectation, and inevitably, hurt. Tracing your words backward, I chose to love; It wasn’t much of a choice, I had already fallen. You said I was fragile, how I wish you weren’t right. How I wish my heart was a bounce ball, bouncing back after every squash. But it’s not and I’m fragile, like a mirror, like a glass. Never broken by a single smash, merely a compilation of cracks.

Here I am, now, in the present- a compilation of cracks no one would rather see, rather come close to. In fear of being cut, scarred. You tried to smash me into the wall so i’ll fall back in pieces, but I didn’t. I won’t. You May hurt me, crack me, imprint your scar In me- but you can’t break me. Or maybe I’m just unbreakable. Too frozen to be thawed.

In anyway, you’ve shown me one thing- how badly and desperately I am in need of magic. They say it’s a powerful thing. I need magic to taper down the scars you’ve left on my frail self. I need magic to remind me broken doesn’t mean damaged. I need magic in my life, to ease the hurt, to tame the fear of imprinting others the way you did. But mostly, I need magic to remind me, every moment your memory comes flooding back, why in the first place- i let you go.

I need magic to scream in my head, every time your face flashes back, why you are wrong for me in every possible way. I need magic’s reassurance that I am me and maybe that was too much for you to handle. I need magic to confirm what I already know, maybe letting go isn’t so bad after all.

P.S: this random is now on twitter @wordsofarandom. Let’s connect 😀

Of a broken heart…

Of a broken heart…

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And she wondered how one heals, from a broken heart. What if the pieces flutter to a far away land? What if the holes burnt deep, fibrous and scar? What If the saying was right, love lost can’t be back? Under the glistening moon, her reflection stared back. And the memories storm bringing moist to her eyes. And she cursed at herself for falling for a man, whose heart was incapable of loving back.

And she wondered how one heals from a broken heart? How a one sided love could make one feel alive? How a person could crush her without even trying? How she broke all her rules falling for that one wrong guy? How reality could be, so cruel to her side? How she knew but didn’t say No the very first time? How she let her heart lead her straight to it’s down fall? How all shades of wrong could feel so right at the same time?

The face in the river, she didn’t recognize. She yearned for the innocence of her past life; where love was a stranger and her heart was intact; life dealt her a blow from which she still shuddered. She fell for an angel, in the blink of an eye; forgetting every coin has got two sides. Now she sits at the bank wondering, how to heal from a broken heart.

IMAGE CREDIT: deviantArt.com

Behind a mask-

Behind a mask-

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She was…
The mirror
Of self destruction;
An epitome of imperfection;
To him… She was-
A rainbow
In a stormy weather;
An oasis
In a desert.

To her… He was-
The world
On carefree shoulders;
A reminder
Of all she wasn’t.
He was…
A time bomb
Hiding in plain view;
Tormented
Masked and caped up.

She grew…
She Learnt-
To embrace her
broken pieces;
And tear up
To show emotions;
She lived.
He grew…
Still hiding
From his reflection;
Pretending
He was all but broken;
He didn’t….

Deadweight-

Deadweight-

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Let’s pick up the pen,
And write down our worries;
Our deepest fears,
The past we keep buried;
Words left unsaid,
And hearts we have broken;
words said- regretted,
chances Untaken.

Pick up that pen,
And bleed out emotions;
In Black and red,
Relief all your burdens;
bold out the ones-
That sticks pins far deeper;
italic the hurt-
Imprinted on others.

Now pick up the pen,
And notice the inkwell-
dried out, like the past,
Can’t be resurrected.
It’s a deadweight, a tool
With no use in presence.
Drop off the pen,
In it’s right place- history.

Image credit: Yolinemd.com
P.S don’t forget, If you’ve a got a story needing to be told, I would love to hear it. Let’s join hands to talk about Mental illness and blur out the stigma associated with it. You can send me your Stories at my email: mykahani@yahoo.com For more information, visit this post. Looking forward to hearing from you.

One and the same

One and the same

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To the broken hearts,
And the withered souls;
To the ones unwanted,
The golds, world has thrown;
Here- a poem I send,
To soothe your ache;
May winds so serene-
Dispatch at your place.

To the wilting flowers,
And the flickered flames;
The pure hearts ignored,
And voices unheard;
Maybe words and phrases,
Aren’t much anyway;
But I hope they remind you,
We are one and the same-
Bunch of broken winged birds-
Determined to fly their way.

Image credit: word by Pictures. PS: Mental Health Friday is launching tomorrow with two stories I can’t wait to share with you. See you then 🙂

In Metaphors-

In Metaphors-

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She didn’t need to rhyme,
To speak out her mind;
Oh what a relief!
To find she could write-
About all the heartaches,
That keep her at night;
Without sounding cheesy,
When pouring her heart;
And so down she wrote,
In phrases, far apart;
Of a rose petal smashed,
On the concrete pillar;
Of a flower abused,
‘Stead of loved and adored.
In metaphors she wrote-
Of the holes in her world.

It didn’t clean the darkness,
It didn’t fill the holes;
Didn’t burn back the cracks,
It didn’t make her whole.
But it did make it better,
One metaphor at a time;
With the sun down, she wrote words
Which in turn, lit her heart.
In the story of a petal-
Was the hidden, tale of her life.

Image courtesy: Through Two blue eyes

Mask over tears

Mask over tears

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The moist in her eyes,
Told a different story,
The grin on her lips-
A perfect disguise.
The sass in her walk,
As she strode the hallways;
A perfect cover-
She hid all her life.

Now where was the girl,
Who wept till morning;
Afraid of the silence,
That comes on with dusk.
When dawn goes to day,
So does her real self-
A blinding spotlight
The pretense begins.

A mask over tears-
appealing to the universe;
At the cost of herself-
And on the story goes.
Yet a loophole it has,
If you were to look deeper;
A broken girl you’ll find-
A bird awaiting to fly.
If only we did look deeper-
Past the facade, past the smile.

The above image courtesy of The dynamic turnaround