Life as a Poet Knows It
Industry tips for new poets. Welcome to the Poets family.
Growing Self-esteem Through Poetry
I'm 21 and I've lived with insecurities my whole life. I'm not going to lie, I still have some. Having a nice body, clear skin, and cute clothes was the most important thing in my life for the longest time. I mean, it is always good to take care of yourself, but we should do it for the right reasons, right? A year ago, I wouldn't go out without make up and let people see me looking "gross." I had breakouts and, even though my boyfriend is the sweetest person and calls me beautiful always, it did not matter to me because I was not able to call myself beautiful. I would spend two hours getting ready, then I would say "well, that is all I can do." I think it is really sad when all you see in yourself are flaws, and you feel like you are not enough. But I was tired of it.
Fernanda SantistebanPublished 6 years ago in PoetsThe Slam Poetry
Much can be said about poetry. Structure, rhymes, and play on words. All part of the poetry directory. Much less than calling it direct to me.
Crissy DXCIIPublished 6 years ago in PoetsPaper & Pen
poetry is an art — a very troublesome, annoying art. sometimes you go weeks wanting to write but have no muse and other times
An American Dream
I looked around the nice restaurant. There were not many people here, just a few couples scattered around the room immersed in their own conversations. I could not remember the last time I had been in a city bigger than my hometown. My cousin, Christina, had moved to New York City a few years back. I rarely left my small home in rural Massachusetts. She convinced me to come and visit her. When I arrived, and we had caught up with each other; Christina told me that she knew a man that I should meet. I was not too anxious to meet a man. I had some unsavory encounters in the past. She believed that I was too shy. To make her happy I agreed to go on the blind date. Christina told me that he was a poet and that she had met him at one of his readings. I guessed that since he wrote, too, at least we would have something to talk about.
Almárëa LaurësilPublished 6 years ago in PoetsHow To Write a Poem
First you stare at some furniture as you let yourself feel every ounce of everything from a stubbed toe to the truth. Crying in the shower is also acceptable way of meditating on these things.
Belle DenkaPublished 6 years ago in PoetsWriter’s Anonymous
Hello, my name is Marv; The other day I realized I had a problem: I've been getting high off of pure visceral poetry. I've been looking for something that isn't there.
Joke MarfskyPublished 6 years ago in PoetsWhy Am I Now Writing?
Why am I just now putting my thoughts out, Timing is everything And I'm not speaking of the time we tell, The time that we follow
Christine LopezPublished 6 years ago in PoetsGibberish Limerick
The first verse of this limerick was originally written in 2014 while the second verse was written in September 2017, with the final three verses composed in October 2017. Verse one is the original, while the new verses were all composed specifically for this publication.
Sapphire RavenclawPublished 7 years ago in PoetsPoetry's Mysterious Ways
Poetry has been around for centuries. A lot of questions come to mind with poetry, especially to those who don't write poetry. Even people like myself who actively write poetry find ourselves questioning what poetry is and what it's purpose is. There's a huge interest in how it's made, where the ideas come from, and the hidden tricks beneath each technique used, if there is any. Many are frustrated, as the response is always the same: I don't know.
Chloe GilholyPublished 7 years ago in PoetsI Don't Believe It
Ma I wanna be a poet But I don't wanna be like Dad I ripped up all the writing I'd done Cuz you said he was famous for journaling
I Like to Poem
(Yes. I'm going to be using "poem" as a verb; there's worse things to focus on. :p Also, I'm free versing here.) 34 Lines on... enjoying one's hobbies/interests/nonsense and letting go.
Craig HendersPublished 7 years ago in PoetsFarewell Poem
I sat in the orange chair attached to my desk, twirling my tan wooden number two pencil between my fingers, impatiently waiting for my teacher, Mrs. Hope, to begin class. I was
Dawn ColemanPublished 7 years ago in Poets