I want to empower others with my writing. I have always dreamed of seeing my name, on something.
Mrs. Mars has a whole solar-system Inked- Into her inner arm INTERSTELLAR Her eyes beautifully blue as a butterfly. Mrs. Mars’ fine hair,
By Saroyan Coles4 years ago in Poets
Triangulate a prosperous future- No longer romantic entanglements With fuck boys IMMUNE to being used. Intimacy, refuses to warm
I let out steam, like the top of a pressure cooker. My thoughts salivate, as If, I am a fresh rack of ribs, left to marinate.
How lonely are you? Whispered the boogeyman under my bed... Strumming, TAPPING my spinal chord like a xylophone I feel loss, deep within my bones
Woman of twenty-three lost her pregnancy glow, As her water broke, With three more months to go. Mrs. Glass-Smith, gave birth
To the person, I thought I was I am sorry, for the times of disrespect The nights, I curse under my breathe Countless, wishes to be someone else
When you come down, from anxiety The surge of energy, That makes you’re heart do cardio You’re brain turns, into its own personal podcast radio
Just as a lioness has a pride, A group of females Strategizes and hunts with, for life Female , Homo sapiens Takes pride in having friends
Dear future mother in law, You brought up the man, I love, by hand You’re heart, the first rhythm, he hears You’re arms,
Death of an era, No, flapper styles Or feather headdresses A resounding uproar Of a stay at home order No, bathtub Jin
I can compartmentalize my heart Throw my emotions in the glovebox Along with the spare drive thru napkins I can resign
To the friend , I lost along the way, I am sorry for- my anxiety and depression, That put a wedge, between us It’s like a fire demon,