Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Poets.
Black and White Canvas
I believe the world is a canvas. I can paint it how I want, change the direction of flow, create details that makes it extraordinary. But the lack of paint brushes is what is stopping me. In another sense, I mean my mind. A high school graduation of a few months, currently enrolled in school, still living at home with no stressful responsibilities. Yet I feel sad. The world is mine right? I am young. I am perusing a path. But why am I sad? I cannot control the way the water will hit the paint every time. I cannot control my mind from thinking of a boy I love who is far away. I cannot control the canvas cracking from age. I cannot control how tired I am all the time. I cannot control the fact that I feel I cannot control anything. One makes choices but sometimes choices are made for you. Sometimes the blue will blend with red and make purple. Sometimes people leave to find themselves. Sometimes the brush gets to hard to use. Sometimes the world works against you. Sometimes, you are stuck in a place that is a black and white canvas. You want color, but sometimes it is not provided for you.
Ashlea AmberPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Fire
Do you remember when we watched the farmhouse burn? its old tan paint sluicing in dark crumbles to browning grass,
Teyana JacksonPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Creature
Hi, I'm not usually the kind to open up I promise it has NOTHING to with imminently being put down don't worry, this creature knows it's not enough
Pippa RamirezPublished 7 years ago in PoetsLost Spring Home
Pebble dash walls, lined with cold black gutters. Blue slate floors clash with red brick walls. Bees hum around the rosemary, basil and chives whilst plant pots sit guarding in all different shapes and size.
Fred HermesPublished 7 years ago in PoetsOut!
Aw crap I’m out! That makes me want to shout! Turn my face into a pout. I do not like it when I am out. But I’m out! Gonna have to take a different route. Gotta get me some amount. To keep myself from runnin out.
billy boylesPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Mind Of A Stranger
Each and every one of our minds work in a unique way and is personal. This page is dedicated to introduce the reader to two perspectives when faced with one circumstance. The girl with the glass of wine is an immobile scene depicted by two different mindsets. It is for the reader to create a third one based on the two given below.
Charlotte M.Published 7 years ago in PoetsCopper
The way he looks at her, Is like looking at magic, Complete awe and astonishment, As to how someone (Something) Could be.
My Past
Why did my father leave me? He made bad choices. What choices did he have? The Army was one of the choices he made. Is it because of my deafness or doesn’t he love me at all?
Casey Lynn RiddelPublished 7 years ago in PoetsYou Will Never Be Alone
When the moon is faded from sight And nothing is wrong or right When only confusion wins And people cannot hear within
Victoria PaffrathPublished 7 years ago in PoetsWhite Noise Insomnia
There's a soft buzzing coming from somewhere It could just be the fan Or it could be something else I bury my face into the pillow
A. R. AmbrosiPublished 7 years ago in PoetsGrass
Green, yellow, brown, sharp, bent, straight, cold, dry, wet, calm, cool, relieving, frustrating, everywhere, nowhere; it's as much a part of the scenery and nature as anything else, and it's as varied and interchangeable as everything.
I Won't Say it if You Don't
Goodbye is the foulest word I've ever tasted. It's chipped bark crumble on my tongue leaves the organ stiff and bleeding,
Teyana JacksonPublished 7 years ago in Poets