Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
I don't remember the day the exact hour or place Or the song that was playing as I scoured your face Trying hard to recall
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsdenabout a year ago in Poets
It started on the rooftop, beneath a sky swollen with silence, where broken satellites blinked like tired gods and the city coughed steam from tired lungs.
By Kevinabout a year ago in Poets
I wouldn’t defend myself I wouldn’t have left I wouldn’t have loved more I also wouldn’t have loved for so long I wouldn’t pick at my lips
By Ariana GonBonabout a year ago in Poets
I remember the walls— they didn’t see me exist, but they felt me leaving. The wooden floors held stories of midnight giggles,
By Emma about a year ago in Poets
The whirring of the espresso machine fills headspace at 6 in the morning Ghostly hands r e a c h for the top cabinet, pull at porcelain cup—
By Michele Nampalliabout a year ago in Poets
Like at a family reunion, you shouldn't speak politics you can't slam a religion, just to stir up conflict You can't slander a gender or say who might love who
A Rose for Rosey He brings her one red rose each week the same way every time no reason wrapped around the stem no ribbon, note or rhyme
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Sunflowers They don’t ask questions don’t beg for the rain they turn their bold faces to light once again No mirrors or make-up
The Ghost Girl at Samlesbury They say she’s seen near the chapel wall not often, and never when called just a flicker where light won’t stay
The Ghostly Bride at Newton Lake Uk They said she walked the water line when fog had bruised the edge of time a dress too white for sleep or soil
I buried my voice in quiet places, where no one dared to look. Smiles became my armor, but inside I was breaking— piece by fragile piece.
Bleed for me, sickly and sweet. The crimson sticking to my vile hands as i dig at you. Your stained form and flesh becoming slick to the touch.
By KatStokerabout a year ago in Poets
