First Draft

Playing God
Reconciliation running late, off-schedule: compassion derailed into a drainage ditch, spillways littered with mangled metal,
By Harper Lewis about a month ago in Poets
THE DAY MY HOUSE WENT MISSING
THE DAY MY HOUSE WENT MISSING I woke up in my bedroom, And something wasn’t right, My house had disappeared, Some time throughout the night.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a month ago in Poets
Living Dead Poet
My friends say, "Your voice matters. Someone needs to hear this. Keep writing." They heart my poems then scroll past to a woman in beige
By Tina D. Lopezabout a month ago in Poets
The Hills of Hickory
I will ascend—go up, up into the hills of Hickory, And find a home there, built before I was born; I’ll have a football team there, and a library and a theater,
By Harper Lewis about a month ago in Poets
Walking These Shores
Along the quayside Cold winds, crashing waves abound With you, peace settles A/N: Shout out Paul (and others) for inspiration.
By Matthew J. Frommabout a month ago in Poets
Many Doors
Our rhinestone angel sang love behind many doors You'll be missed, Dolly! I wrote this on 8/25/2026 after hearing about Dolly's passing.
By Tina D. Lopezabout a month ago in Poets
We Remember
From January to December We remember Every yearning thought wanting to be heard Every emotion Every word They burn them
By Atomic Historianabout a month ago in Poets
What is a Man?
The same hands that destroy Can care and build Careful how you raise your boy Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook , Twitter , and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here .
By Atomic Historianabout a month ago in Poets
Nowhere
I’m sorry I don’t know what happened It’s just gone I don’t think we did anything wrong But it wasn’t right either It wasn’t planned
By Atomic Historianabout a month ago in Poets
Prom Politics
In 8th grade, all of my friends went to cheerleading clinic, came to school so sore they couldn’t move, practicing herkies and toe touches
By Harper Lewis about a month ago in Poets
High Tea for Werewolves
High Tea for Werewolves Both real and imaginary we navigate bodily change on an emotional and psychological level, it is too dark to read
By Alyson Smith about a month ago in Poets
Rough
Can you imagine me having conversations about china patterns, being pretentious about the tournament and genealogy in lipstick and chartreuse?
By Harper Lewis about a month ago in Poets