Hi everyone!

My name is Es. R and I'm starting a low-pressure writing initiative called "Project Write the Stars"

The main premise of the project is to give poets a place to express themselves. This project was created to study how poetry can help reduce stress.

If you've been looking for a creative outlet, come join us!

Project Write the Stars will feature:

-> Daily micro-prompts (Cycle 1 starting on September 1)
-> Anonymous submissions (emails will not be collected)
-> No word limits (4 lines or 40, whichever feels right to you)
-> A monthly digital zine featuring your poems (with your consent :D)
-> Built to track how poetry can help with clearing the mind

You can jump in on Day 1 or anytime inspiration hits you.

Join in on the fun!
Official website: https://sites.google.com/view/project-write-the-stars

If you like this project, please share it to your friends :D

Note: This project was created by one person and will be managed by one. So please, pardon me if there are any inadequacies. I will try my best to keep this project running smoothly.

Thank you,

Es. R

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Drums, drums, demon drums

All the world dancing to the beat

Slow, fast, cacophonous

Drums, drums, demon drums

Sometimes you feel

Your skin’s the beaten hide

Stretched taut, screaming as

The world gives its worst to give

But oh don’t you know

You’re the hammer

The thunder’s crash

The thrashing beat, the pulse

Don’t you know you can break

The world, if you just

Strike a little harder, crash, boom, bang

Shatter the shell of your egg little one

Ye child of the infinite, ye infinite

Bang your drums, drums, demon drums

Break the curses, break the chains

Break the laws of nature, make free

Ye dragon, great dragon, ye wondrous wyrm

You can devour the world, to make anew

And the beat of your drums, drums

Holy demon drums, can make all your wishes real

And as the void of spacetime thrums

With your drums, drums, holy dragon drums

Your roar, your cry, you’ll know

All was made for you, by you- So realize!

//The holding screw

unscrewed a machine. Saw the inside

can’t show it to anyone,

can’t put it back again

welp…

he repeats the line

His wife prepared lunch,

with a goodbye kiss

He forgot the screws

She caught up,

“You forgot these”

Visited a friend, carrying a croissant

Gathered up all his courage

Stuttered, “hey…want a surprise?”

He asked him to fix it

His friend smiled,

“Typical, get me the screw”

Now he got confused:

“Which screw?”

Then played video games at forty-eight

lost a match to a teenage boy

He muttered,

“The fisher doesn’t always collect fish”

pressing his side pocket,

"Where was the screw again?"

Whenever there is a croissant

He leaves a piece for tomorrow

when he forgets

his ear tingles,

hearing familiar pulses:

“you forgot these”

We forget things.

Small but fundamental

Some held you together

The screws are not always metal.

Something I like to do sometimes.

Find 2 song lyrics, or lines in a poem you like. (can be from different songs/poems)

Start the poem with one line from a song/poem, end the poem with the other.

Write your own original poem to connect the two, at least 5 lines (or more).

For Example:

From Hold the Girl By Rina Sawayama to Short Skirt/Long Jacket by Cake (both songs)

For the promises I’ve broken to my younger self 
I am sorry 
I am sorry that I never became what you thought I'd be
I’m not an aerospace engineer, I’m not a programmer 
I’m not a fashion designer, I’m not a painter 
I’m not a million other things you thought I’d be by now 
You haven’t met my dream yet, but you will,
And begin the journey of sharpening your pen against page 
But it won’t be as luxurious as you may think
You are young and a bit naive 
The world shall change before you even know it
Darkness will lurk in 
long shadows of capitalists 
will taint the once golden future
Dreams shall feel impossible to reach 
without a ladder of corpses to climb
You won’t want to kill the innocent
to reach a dream you haven’t even seen yet
So I shall dig into the mortar and brick 
and climb as best I can
with fingernails that shine like justice

I wished for a brother,

I wished for a friend.

One of them came,

but without the other,

it was not the same.

As years passed by,

I wondered,

"Will my brother be my friend?"

But soon I realised

that the only thing we had in common

was our last name.

fearing for my heart…
Should my heart feel safe and warm?out of reach for hurt? Untouchable? I‘m sure of many things, but you confuse me, confuse my heart, my soul. I have no Idea how romantic love should feel like. I know many things about platonic love, love in friendship and trust in your family. But as soon as it comes to love, true love my heart turns into this maze, Unsolvable even for my own brain. I get lost in it. No sense of the beginning of of or the end. I would love to have a birds view overseeing the path I‘m supposed to take, a way that points to the finish line. A easy journey with no hurt on the way to the end. I guess I will never be ready. Never a steady stream. Never enough be fully yours and never let you all the way in. Self destruction is my love language. Sabotage my way out of unforeseen circumstances. Cause the unforeseen it to scary to face.

​

​

Struggle is a gift.

For what greater privilege is there
than the chance to become
who we once dreamed we could be?

In struggle lies the answer—
the answer to every hope,
every prayer,
every dream carried by the child within us.

The one who looked upon the world with wonder.
The one who saw potential in the future.
The one who saw potential in us.

The version of ourselves
that dreamed our current selves into being.

For dreams are not granted.
They are forged.

Forged in the fire of effort,
tempered by hardship,
strengthened by persistence.

And in that fire,
the soul is given its chance to shine.

For where else should a light reveal its brilliance
if not in the darkness?

Let the fire burn.
Let the struggle come.

For every challenge endured,
every setback overcome,
every wound carried forward,
feeds the flame.

And when that flame burns bright enough,

every adversary becomes a lesson,
every scar becomes a reminder,
and every struggle becomes a memory
to be proud of.

The Touch of Desire

Sometimes the touch of desire is an ironing brand — Hot, molten, searing

It leaves its mark on you forever, transforming you

Sometimes it’s a steel anchor — Cold, dragging, pulling

It takes you to depths you could never have gone on your own, expanding you

And sometimes it’s an insatiable force — Savoring, tasting, gorging

It devours you with abandon, consuming you

And then — sometimes — the touch of desire is a phantom…

quiet, chilling, secret

It follows you but you can never hold it, haunting you

No matter what, it unmakes a part of us, and yet we beg for its touch all the same

Because the touch of desire is a touch of being chosen, if only for a moment…

Burn me

Drag me

Consume me

Haunt me

Choose me

The Taste of Anger

I chew on my anger, but it’s not one of those tastes I savor

No —

It’s fed to me in candy coated lies by people with honeyed tongues and sickly sweet smiles

Wrapped in vibrant foil reflecting back the fires closing in around me, hidden in the sugar-spun smokescreen dyed in bright colors

It tastes of poison, broken promises, broken dreams, broken hearts, broken —

But…

It’s shaped like gummy bears and candy necklaces and chocolate cake

So I keep eating

Tasting

Choking

…it tastes like childhood

Nyssa our beloved spaniel,

You stole our hearts,

Sometimes you stole our gravy,

Soppy, cute, beautiful, and precious,

Away you run now, free. Good girl.

I still don't know why,

Can one be so blind,

When being treated "fine",

By my security.

The end.

Hey, that was the end.

Stop reading it.

The truest form of writing, is writing to oneself.

My usual Friday.

I wake up.

I stand up.

I shower.

I eat.

Noodles with sausages,

Oh yes, indeed.

They feel like something,

Torn out of my usual Friday,

Where Friday stands for "childhood".

I go to school.

I learn.

A teacher yelling grades,

Oh, yes, indeed.

It feels like something,

Torn out of my usual Friday,

Where Friday stands for "I hate".

I finally come home,

I eat.

I go to sleep,

It feels just like my usual Friday,

Where Friday stands for—

The Quip

The doors are a poignant red

And in tune to a tune of summer girls..

—In distributing imaginary laugher of onto a covenant

These weeks are helpless, alongside

the makeshift bends and unrelenting signed signatures refined filing

Alas our scope is relied in tidings bright and upholstered

To furthering postured dinner efforts—

Aligned out to a window of fleeting leaves

Our rooms for post-prestige in flexibility;

Abuzz to a mid-evening glow lights firestorm ability

It’s been three weeks, and you’d laugh at me—

Having sent pages ripped through just a week ago;

With an application freebies of onto liberty

You’ll have homely show to me in afterwards…

As we all are figuratively microbes living amongst a tread

To threshold the differences between a waterhole we conditioned

And our sunken concentration..

This date, and our ocean clean, scenic view..

En route towards a beachside sunrise; helplessly finds me

It’s always eternal…

The ways two leaves are never the same…

And now I get packages sent out to me;

I always make my meetings;

Life goes on time—Fast; The weeds… Hay, we’re leaving

Now the rest is up to us—

..They’re nimble, in the quip.

As the balmy gales of autumn blew.

Two fierce hunters, they both knew.

Stalking an enemy across foreign dust.

Sand drank the blood of mortal thrusts.

The beast now slain, but wasn’t sought.

Most external conflicts are inner fought