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  • Question about a life decision?

    I have two options: 

    A) I take an ESL course and travel to Europe and teach. I would use my savings to study at Miami Ad School Berlin and study copywriting.

    B) I take a two-year photography course that can help me get a job in the creative industry.

    The problem with teaching is that I'll be a teacher, and I don't want to be a teacher and I don't know how long it'll take to save enough money for school again.

    The problem with the photography course is I don't know how I'll make money throughout the course but the job prospects are good after the study. 

    What should I do? 

    2 AnswersHigher Education (University +)2 months ago
  • What do you think of my short poem?

    None of the brains

    all of the stains

    it's not unfair

    it's a pair of goggles that I need

    to pick out the rock

    My socks are wet

    it was raining yesterday

    now it's not

    but I'm still in a rotten mood

    do you mind?

    Kind, smart, good-looking

    I had all three

    now it's won or lost

    and I've cashed my blank cheque

    so don't check me out

    don't hover

    man, I've got a big snout

    2 AnswersPoetry2 months ago
  • What are your creative platforms? ?

    Your creative platforms 

    So it's all about storytelling right? It's all about being creative? Yeah, yeah, we've heard it all before. 

    The way businesses sell us these jobs can be tiring. The jargon becomes our fresh batch of lingo, and the hopes and dreams start becoming hinged on the mood and nudged opinion of a stranger (an HR director to be exact). 

    What's the problem with that? Nothing, really. But something, too. Marketing writing is not a creative endeavour but it requires creative writing to stay up-beat and wanting to do the work. So find your creative platforms of expression so that you can stay on top of your game. Because, writing is a passion. Writing is our lifeline - but don't let them know that. 

    My personal creative outlet is Yahoo Answers where I post my poetry and it's doing wonders to my writing. Not only have I regained my voice, but my imagination has been perked up, and I enjoy writing just as much as I used to when I was younger posting my poetry then. 



    1 AnswerPoetry5 months ago
  • Any opinions on my poetry? ?

    Forward me your info 

    forward me your deets 

    I can't hold my breathe for those tears 

    because I know fears hold a place

    in your chest. 

    Best if we don't study our lives 

    best if lies are left unturned 

    and this music stays untuned. 

    Come on and hurry with your feedback 

    lack of lust and passion on my cracked-

    -up brain 

    don't stain the window. 

    2 AnswersPoetry5 months ago
  • Wrote a poem. Thoughts? ?

    Late-night snack 

    Stepping into mud is a dream 

    the mundane has no more seams 

    the threads of nightmares tie up my brain 

    in the night. 

    I am collected in the midst of bravery 

    when I imagine a stage 

    the phases of phrases left for the deranged 

    my poetry has no remains. 

    The skeletons of my past never last 

    they quiver, shiver, and dissipate 

    I don't wait till I'm late 

    I grab a coffee and snatch my fate 

    It's 3 in the morning and I'm over-drawn 

    maybe the day feels better at dawn.  

    2 AnswersPoetry5 months ago
  • What do you think of my poem? ?

    Break away from the End 

    Untie the knots 

    And turn at the bend 

    Those white sweats could be cropped 

    Numb at the trigger point 

    Sometimes I come alive 

    It makes me want to die. 

    Numb at the mind 

    Once one thought comes alive 

    I sneak past each word 

    Earth has lost its pearls. 

    White sweats need to be cropped

    Long legs need to be swapped

    Dangly arms and the angular form 

    Behind him he stands

    Behind him he snarls 

    He's tied to his friend 

    At the bend 

    They walk along the supermarket 

    His friend is happy to be there 

    But he doesn't know I'm here 



    Numb at the trigger. 

    He's got more to him than meets the eye. 

    Maybe it's that bread

    Maybe it's the rye. 

    He holds him tightly

    He holds him snug 

    He smokes a blunt, outside. 

    Glaring at me he stands

    An affront to his denial 

    That I have a will of my own 

    I won't stand in his way no more

    I wont' take what I'm owed 

    I won't break what I'm told 

    into pieces. 

    For lunch or for dinner

    But maybe we could be friends

    in the end, 

    at the bend. 

    1 AnswerPoetry5 months ago