love poems

Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.

Threads Of The Self: A Biodigital Elegy
Summary: This poem explores the intersection of fashion, technology, and personal identity in a biodigital age. As garments become interfaces, and fabrics hold code, the poem reflects on how we construct and express our evolving selves through augmented clothing and digital skin. It contrasts organic memory with synthetic intelligence, questioning authenticity, transformation, and what it means to be “seen” in a hyperconnected world.
By Jacky Kapadiaabout a year ago in Poets
Broken Beauty
You say you’re afraid that you may be too broken But darling, I see who you are Light magically shines through the parts that are open
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsdenabout a year ago in Poets
To the One Who Stays
Dear you, the one holding more than a baby tonight, the one who whispers psalms into the dark but hasn’t opened her Bible in weeks—
By Carolina Borgesabout a year ago in Poets
to knowing a problem. Content Warning.
to all the fried fish, and the fresh ones. to the ones who take the bait. to the hooks, lines, and sinkers taken to the pain.
By ⸘jason alan‽about a year ago in Poets
Live from New York, it's
Tried for 4 weeks to write a poem about going to SNL and this is as far as I've gotten. Jamming these words into line after line
By Jada Fergusonabout a year ago in Poets
i sometimes
I sometimes pen lines about the ache you left in your wake— not to linger, but because mending forms this way: raw, ongoing,
By ♡about a year ago in Poets
Flowers In the Sill
I drew a line in the sand today took a step and just crossed on over Grabbed some flowers the food bank gave away on the corner of Cleveland and Dover
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsdenabout a year ago in Poets
When the Light
You looked at me like gravity didn’t apply— like the floor could give out and we’d still land softly, somewhere between a sigh and a second chance.
By Printique Studiosabout a year ago in Poets
What We Had is done
What We Had is done Man, woman, sad-eyed grace, what we had was ours, our place— it was fun, it burned, it shone, we had the sweet, we had excitement.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
The Last Goodbye
The Last Goodbye He didn’t beg he’d done that once Five years of stolen time a love not loud, but real. He pressed between silence
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Red Tears falling like ketchup
Red Tears falling like ketchup She didn’t weep like others do no sobs, no gasps, no reaching through just silence, thick as drying paint
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
My love… The Lady Irene
One bright night, in the month of June, I stand alone, above all, upon a quiet mountain top beneath a bright mystic moon.
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶about a year ago in Poets