Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Poets.
Neptune
Needles fall into my blue carpet soft but sharp red dots form on my bare feet blue paint cry's dye dripping off my fingers
Anonymous walrusPublished 7 years ago in PoetsPromise Me
Promise not forget The late night talks, Singing songs on crooked Sidewalks. Like I can't forget How you said you heard
Alexia VillanuevaPublished 7 years ago in PoetsSong of Myself
I’ll have anything that keeps me whole. I can no longer rely on self — self-love, self-loathing… sacred self. Always loving, always leaving, always returning to this familiar square one. It’s just as well — the offspring of my urges — the burial shroud.
Where We Are
The leaves are silver and gold Dancing in the light of the universe. When they fall from their parents arms And fall to the frozen ground of winter
To My Fans
To anyone who has read or appreciated my words and thoughts, I want to thank you so much. This site and you have helped me find myself, gave me courage and the strength.
Crystal KorpanPublished 7 years ago in PoetsOur Love
When you feel me running through your veins Stepping over every rock in the stream Taking every turn in the road This is what my love means
Other Worldly
We wish to speak to the dead. Mom? Dad? Are you there? You passed on the red lantern to light my way through life without you two. I wear my dad’s shirt and my mother’s robe, your smells intertwine and rush into my nose. I’ve never felt more at peace, more at home. The broom behind me are my responsibilities as the oldest of my generation. No one is there to guide me. My life’s in my own hands, and for the first time, I am free. I have become obsessed with the idea of freedom. My door is cracked open to free the demons trapped in my room. I punched a hole in the wall to free the Titans that live in them. Mom? Dad? I’m ready to set you free.
Jacqueline SchrothPublished 7 years ago in PoetsRemember
On NOVEMBER 11th we remember the Strong, the soldiers who fought hard and died for us. For our freedom for all our lives
Crystal KorpanPublished 7 years ago in PoetsAn Ode to Charlie
Charlie Farley is a cat. He isn't small, and isn't fat. One day Charlie climbed inside A circular box with more than one side.
Can I Just Be Me?
Can I just be me? Am I allowed? Why do I have to act and look a certain way? Why am I not good enough for you or anyone?
Unlikely Murderer
A stroke of happiness, A smear of new beginning. Fading away the old, Bringing out the new. A block between reality; The most unlikely murderer.
Christine Bickle-lilaPublished 7 years ago in PoetsBroken Vase
The only thing I can compare her to, is a broken vase. A beautiful boutique of endless different flowers it seems. All so individually complex and vibrant.