fact or fiction
Is it fact or merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores the myths and beliefs we hold about what makes a good poem and the poetry rules that were made to be broken.
Viola's Purple Veil. Top Story - August 2025. Content Warning.
This was created by Vicki, me. I am no longer producing a paranormal channel with my friend. It is all about Trusselli Art, music, art, film, and progressive politics. I like to create art reflecting truth, fantasy, metaphors, innuendos and manifestations of art and dreams. I bring my dreams to life through my art. I want to share, be cool, creative, paranormal, and be in a paint bucket of life.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
Is True Acceptance Found, or Forged?
Living in this world, the hardest thing is to satisfy everyone. No matter how good you are, some people will hate you. No matter how sincere you are, there will always be those who doubt you. Sometimes, it's not that you are flawed, but rather that you haven't met the right person. To those who dislike you, you might be the worst sight. Yet, in the hearts of those who appreciate you, you are the brightest star.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharingabout a year ago in Poets
Political Twenty-Five
Uncle Sam...listen... Is it the time for a change? Give us the hammer! Are we there yet? * Thank you for reading! If you liked this, you can add your Insights, Comment, leave a Heart, Tip, Pledge, or Subscribe. I will appreciate any support you have shown for my work.
By Kendall Defoe about a year ago in Poets
Unsent Letter
I wrote you a letter I’ll never send, Folded with tears I didn’t intend. It sleeps in a drawer beside my bed, With words I meant, but never said. “Dear you,” it starts, with shaking hands, “I hope you’re safe in distant lands.” I speak of nights I dreamt too loud, Of memories hidden in a cloud. I wrote of smiles I still recall, The way you laughed, the way you’d fall Asleep while talking, eyes half-closed— Those little things I miss the most. I didn’t send it, couldn’t try, Too scared to hear no last goodbye. But still, it rests where no one sees, A paper hug, a heart’s release. If someday you feel a whisper near, It might be my words you hear— Carried by wind, soft as a feather, From the pages of my unsent letter.
By Solene Hartabout a year ago in Poets
Before Fire Took the Last Photograph
I held it like a last breath a moment frozen before everything shattered The photo curled as flames whispered secrets I never knew a face half gone, a truth half shown Not all pictures speak some scream silently and no one dares to ask what burned away There was no storm no broken glass just the slow betrayal of paper and ash Her smile faded first then the corners of her eyes as if even the fire couldn’t bear to see them cry Smoke climbed gently like it knew this memory was too heavy to fall to the floor I smelled lies in the burning ink half a promise left behind in the fire The photograph never blinked but I did and when I opened my eyes it was gone Some memories choose to burn themselves before someone questions what they hide She told me once that not all love is light some love lives only long enough to leave a scar The frame cracked just before the fire kissed it as if time itself refused to hold the truth any longer I stood alone but not cold because fire doesn’t only destroy it teaches And what it taught me was this: the past never disappears it just waits for fire to set it free
By Hazrat Usman Usmanabout a year ago in Poets
