Poppy the Poet
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Stories (82/0)
A Song of Sorrow
I saw him as someone he wasn’t – someone filled with goodness instead of the festering calamity that actually inhabited him. His touch was like lightning, and I’d always loved storms. I thought eyes seeing me meant a heart loving me, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
By Poppy the Poet4 months ago in Poets
The Word We Fear and Crave
Love is the letter I wrote to you but never sent because the words meant more than the little moments you never cared to notice. Love is the warm tears pooling in my eyes when your smile falters. Love is the healing that trickles through the gaps in my fingers when I hold my hands out to you.
By Poppy the Poet4 months ago in Poets
Your Boomerang
It will happen in math class when the boy next to you touches your leg and electricity freckles your skin like fireworks. You’ll be holding your breath and hoping the people around you can’t hear your heart as it riots in your chest. And you’ll smile at him because he won’t be paying attention to anyone else and his closeness will feel foreign to you, but he will feel unnaturally familiar, like déjà vu and a new recurring dream.
By Poppy the Poet4 months ago in Poets
Kindling for a Fire
I am running around in circles, chasing my heartstrings. The road ends in spike-strips and screaming brakes, I turn up the music and press the accelerator anyway, not caring about the rain slick bitumen or the cars that crash around me. There is me and there is my heart, and if you can't have both, please at least accept this broken thing beating in my palms.
By Poppy the Poet4 months ago in Poets
Sinking Safe
He is the type of person to hold all his cards close to his chest, not knowing you can read them anyway. He doesn't mark his arrival and departure with a postage stamp or airport scene like the others. Instead, he slowly fades away like morning mist, not realising you admire him like a sunrise.
By Poppy the Poet4 months ago in Poets
