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always the poet, never the poem [ dark academia playlist ]
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84,346 Views • Apr 21, 2024 • Click to toggle off description
Spotify Playlist: open.spotify.com/playlist/0Bd7MyQdxjAkGlih45YHLd?s…

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Tags - #darkacademia #studymusic #study #music #aestheticplaylist #classicalmusic #rain
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Views : 84,346
Genre: People & Blogs
Date of upload: Apr 21, 2024 ^^


Rating : 4.934 (47/2,781 LTDR)
RYD date created : 2024-05-03T17:09:28.345632Z
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YouTube Comments - 144 Comments

Top Comments of this video!! :3

@helderboutens

1 week ago

Just made a Discord server for the channel! Feel free to join here: discord.gg/66JWM6ga

7 |

@Jennanoelle143

1 week ago

“Always the poet, never the poem” Wow that hit hard 😔

247 |

@TvChixken

1 week ago

“A toast to Emily! Always the brides maid, never the bride.”

95 |

@redtoxic8701

1 week ago

I used to dream And write poems of my dreams And live the poems in my dreams Until dreams ran out Of dreams So then I ran out of poems Now I dream of having dreams And I write of writing poems. What a poet

135 |

@amgh007

4 days ago

was solving biology papers for my exam next week and suddenly overwhelmed by an intense urge to cry, I scribble furiously under the dim lights words i can not bring myself to recite

15 |

@somyari

1 week ago

I just wrote a small poem: Am I too soft or is love too hard? Or is it just because I feel too much even though I'm empty and numb? So what is the point of having a heart? The point of having a heart is to pump your blood through your weins not to catch feelings for someone who would easily let you bleed out - just a random sad person to another random sad person

128 |

@shakreenbinkhalf8966

1 week ago

In a perfect world Im the art, the artist and the muse In a perfect world Paint run in my arteries, and on my skin words bruise In a perfect world My love is complete, i have nothing to lose In a perfect world Beauty follows my footsteps, and within grace i diffuse In a perfect world the poet, or the poem, i dont have to choose

60 |

@wandy9223

2 days ago

He was always the poet, never the poem. She was always the artist, never the art. But he was her art, and she was his poem.

6 |

@JayvianT

1 week ago

I, the poet? I once read poetry, and thought: what a weight to feel so deeply as these poets do, to seek the slightest relief through bleeding ink. Yet, here I am now, scribbling my burdens and emotions, ink seeping through every page, trying to remedy my heavy heart.

21 |

@darkaca

1 week ago

The haunting beauty of dark academia melodies lies in their ability to capture the essence of unspoken longing and quiet contemplation, weaving a tapestry of emotions that linger long after the music fades

38 |

@somyari

1 week ago

Why is it so hard to find another poetic soul

55 |

@laura221B

1 week ago

Love is a cruel companion When you expect it the least, Love lights you up, Makes you think you have found life - Life in its purest essence Makes you forget yourself Makes you care When there is no going back, Love stabs you, Right into the stomach Drains the life out of you Makes you realize you haven't found life - Life has left you long ago When you bleed, Love doesn't stitch your wounds It makes them burn Burn with the pain of caring Until you crumble into pieces That's when love decides to be a villain

5 |

@TheLifeofmydogMichi

1 week ago

Just a short story 😁 POV: You’re sitting in the back of your boarding school library and hear the faint melody of a violin in the distance. You look around surprised by the lovely melody, but you continue reading your book thinking it must be coming from another room. But you’re in a library how could the swift notes be hitting your ears? You get up and let your ears lead you through the bookshelves finding the violin growing louder and louder until the music becomes so clear you can pick apart each beautiful note. It was almost like it was right next to you. You leaned your head against the books closest to the music. It’s a secret room! But how to get in? You start to feel the bookcase looking for a latch or a door nob to pull. The violin ends and you hear gentle clapping and small chatter. Your hand feels an all too sturdy vase on a top shelf. You lift the heels of your feet and pull the vase. “Yes!” You say as you hear a satisfying click. As the bookcase opens into a door, you’re fueled with curiosity until you slowly open the door and realize the mistake you just made as a small society of schoolmates stares back at you. This is my first time writing publicly so please don’t hold back any critistsim I need the tips!🥰

8 |

@ToxicDrunker93

1 week ago

To the person reading this, Good Luck! Don't stress, everything will be fine. No matter what difficulty you are facing right now, you can overcome it! You are strong and brave.

15 |

@addypie4122

1 week ago

I’ve wrote so many poems about people, but I feel like no writes poems about me. I don’t even write poems about me.

3 |

@mrj6

1 day ago

I hear these songs, they tingle my note of truth, yet the girls walk, strutting out the bar door to another. Yet I wonder if it was I they walked into the next room to. Would we see exactly what we wanted to see? An eternal sand chest of treasure opening to me? Or would be yet another voice, continuously bothering another

3 |

@kyakarunmainmarrjaun

1 week ago

who caused the poet in me to die? or was it never meant to live? i cannot comprehend; was i a better poet when i was a free soul, when i had wings to fly but no reason to weep and pull them out, when i smiled till my eyes squinted? or now, when the sorrow in my heart has weighed me down? when i was the mesmerising aura everyone wanted to be around? or when i am cornered like a dark grey shadow of misfortune? when my hands quivered with excitement? or now, from the ghosts of trauma? when my laughter would fill the room and i would not hesitate? or now, when i suffocate myself with my hands and hide my thoughts on sheets of papers to find some solace? when i did not have to seek reasons to be content? or now, when i have to calm my poor soul and trick it into believing that my mind is not weathering, it's not out of control, and i won’t be the mad king in history? when mothers used to adore me? or now, when mothers in hospital corridors drag their kids out of my reach? when i wrote because i couldn't measure the love pouring out of my veins? or now, when my eyes cannot contain the tears they have long beheld? is the poet in me just sprouting? or has its bones too dissolved in the soil it is buried in?

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@Narya57

1 day ago

24:28 it's like you love someoneso so wholly and find someone so beautiful that it wreckes your whole being and takes away all your pride. and your love is just painfully there without the slightest hope of ending and is reflected in your every thoughts and everything you see. and you are utterly helpless. and she knows it. and then she is there, so beautifully, she is so unbelievably beautiful its gut-wrenching and then sometimes she looks back in your eyes for a single moment. and you know she knows. and she is so beautiful, abused and hurt, bleeding out in the open, abandoned, full of scars, hatefully destroying herself while searching for your eyes for that one moment. she knows it and she knows and she cant reciprocate and your heart is already in pieces but you are still unable to look away.

1 |

@eifos-zeravla

1 week ago

This playlist awakened some sort of story in me, and I decided to capture that in a poem! Here it is. :) The Poet - (roughly) a Kyrielle To pick my pen is but a chore; to set my lamp and write words bores The yellow-tinted light reflects on Always the poet, never the poem What I long for: a poetic partner One who writes of me as I write of departure. But newly, not nearly as ho-hum Always the poet, never the poem Shall I write for loved ones or foes? Or a note of what stands me on my toes? I ponder, there, in the glow of the lamp. Always the poet, never the poem Life: living, breathing, leaving When shall I write a thanksgiving, a letter, to that person—the one Always the poet, never the poem I shall meet, someday, thee beneath a grand willow tree The one who writes of me; always the poet, never the poem. Note: It's from the perspective of a poet who is kaput because other poets admire them, but never write about or appreciate them enough. The narrator (poet) longs for a partner to write with, but there are grim chances of that happening. By the way, (if you read to the very end) thank you so much, beautiful soul!! I know the poem is kind of long and not that well-written, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. <33

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@mellowelisa

1 week ago

Always the poet, never the poem.. Personally, I prefer to be the one that made someone the art they already were, I'd want for them to last longer. In the same manner, I'd much rather prefer to watch the moon twirl and stars dance from within the reflection of someone else's eyes, they tend to shine brighter there. I mean.. Anyway, lovely playlist

9 |

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