Mental Health
Cracked Knuckles. Runner-Up in Say It Plainly Challenge.
Popping through dinner in a fancy restaurant Under the the white linen table cloth joints full of air, ah, sweet release In the bathroom stall twisting side to side, just enough to feel tensions break
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)8 months ago in Poets
The Mercy of Distance
Often, the ones you love but cannot have are actually being kept away by fate for your own protection. The distant dynamics you don't understand—the ambiguity and the mixed signals—are all shields, preventing you from falling into the wrong relationship. The person you loved deeply, but couldn't be with, was a deliberate detour. Fate separated you to give you the clarity you needed to avoid being hurt.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharing8 months ago in Poets
Discarded Souls: The Old Woman & The Old Robot
INTRODUCTION In the year 2230, faces are no longer fixed things. People shift. Machines shift. Even memories shift, flickering like old film reels caught between timelines. The characters you meet in these fragments — the Old Woman and the Old Robot known as Echo — may appear in different forms, bodies, or styles, depending on which recovered file you’re viewing. This is not a mistake. It is the nature of shape‑shifter stories.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 8 months ago in Poets
Pornographic Venn Diagramming
It's all performative, all damned to death and back. Born we are into this system of crippled development. Portrayed as enlightenment, but the reality is anything but. . I have long rallied against such realities, despite the burial of my past innocence, forgotten sanctity. . I wrote down some thoughts: . Well hallelujah Spread thin Tongue twisting tautogrammic takes of trauma and triumph Male shame and toxicity mixed with a little alienation and Oh oh the resentment Wafer thin . Xenophobia and the hardened husk of hatred and illegitimate anger and distrust we have become . . Desperation . . The secret language of the sextape . . Pornographic Venn diagramming . The shame, oh the . Shame? . Generation after generation closed off and colder . Heart unresponsive as the irresponsible as the moral vocal cords for the majority . . Minorities kerbed, chided . . We become the grotesque we loathe . . All our yesterdays forgotten The abstract replaces the grounded In an instant . . We become the loathsome grotesque . . All our tomorrows forgotten The grounded replaces the pure In an instant . . We become the grotesque we loathe . . I have become that which I hate. As I bring down the hammer of the gods of inconsequence and their wards, the stupid and stationary, I feel the shame. . . Shame? . . Slàinte. . . Merci beaucoup Oui, oui Ventus, ventus. . . Lilith adores. Diana engorges the might of Artemis and the cynicism of Perseus. . . As I look to the mirror and dismay shoots through like a sgian-dubh of truth, claidheamh-mòr, I lift my Lochaber axe and punish the impure because I dare not face my own. Targe laid down. The dirk plunges into my neck by the phantom of reason. . . Fire. Fire. Fire. . . Water. Ice. . . Novocaine. . . Any D&D players available.
By Paul Stewart8 months ago in Poets
