Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
No one, Nobody has ever seen this women inside, She lives with many things she hides, It still weighs on her legs, her ‘FAT THIGHS’,
By Rachael Frazierabout a year ago in Poets
We wear our faces like a second skin, smooth and practiced, tucked and pinned— the careful smile, the measured word, the laughter no one knows is blurred with something harder underneath.
By AJ CRYPTOabout a year ago in Poets
After the death of Kayumars, the throne passed to his grandson, Hushang. He sat upon the throne of kingship and began to build and prosper his realm.
By ALI ABBASIabout a year ago in Poets
I wake and find you there, still wrapped in the quiet light of morning, and for a moment I forget the years that have carried us this far.
By Printique Studiosabout a year ago in Poets
🏰 The Rise of Keyumars In the world, the first person to establish the ways of kingship and the throne was a man named Keyumars.
I grieve for those whose blue-black hearts dance — celebrating the chill of humanity. For they lack love — Untamed emotions
By Lakena McQueenabout a year ago in Poets
graduated from judgement and its consequences reflections of pagan paradise alleged with eminent religion allotted for life and death subjugated
By ⸘jason alan‽about a year ago in Poets
I’m miserable for adventure There’s lines that stain my brain Like every nation They exist only in our imagination They separate us from our true nature
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
They never see the sharp beneath the shimmer, the ache dressed up in art. I learned to smile like safety, while I’m tearing them apart.
By Brie Boleynabout a year ago in Poets
Finding peace Is what we aim Don’t know why they play a game Better things are out there get me…. They can hang their head In shame
By Haychie_Artistabout a year ago in Poets
Poet On A Piece Of Paper Enter Ideas In My Head Try to hide my thoughts Fictions Inner dreams in my mind Calling from beyond
By Mariann Carrollabout a year ago in Poets
I tried to whisper the warning… Child-sized hands tugging at grown sleeves, my voice a lantern with too little oil. “She is not who she seems,”
By Cadmaabout a year ago in Poets
