Embers in the heart. Burning. Suffocating, smoke filling the chest. Heat swelling in the head. Sparks stinging every inch of the body.
By Muhammad Al Rifqiabout a year ago in Poets
Mirrors in Motion The words you speak, the way you stand, The kindness offered with an open hand, The anger flung like stones at night,
By Gabriela Toneabout a year ago in Poets
It's easy to be depressed, Who wouldn't be? Writing is a noble act, and you get pittance. On Medium, you pay $15, and get a ridiculous $30.
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Poets
Let me make my own decisions Everything will work out in the end Anger don't move me Violence don't scare me Eventually, we'll see what's the right path for me
By L.I.Eabout a year ago in Poets
When we are kids, it seems time lasts forever, and we are free to run outside with our siblings, cousins, and friends. The sun watches over us as it starts to sink
By April Kirby.about a year ago in Poets
The weight of silence is often the heaviest burden I have ever carried. It is a silence that doesn't speak of peace, but of an invisible war—a battle that rages within. For years, I hid behind the façade of normalcy, pretending everything was fine, while inside, I was crumbling.
By Sen Sababout a year ago in Poets
I always thought love and grief couldn’t co-exist, but in the two years I’ve spent navigating them, I’ve learned they aren’t separate—they are one.
No, I’m good Don’t need your help Just leave me alone Don’t force me to do anything I'm good Don't disturb my peace Don’t put your insecurities on me
Everything hurts Everything broken Everything dark Everything twisted Everything corrupted My head hurts as it pounded by the voices in my head
Don't you think we are born knowing how to disappear— how to smile even as the hourglass bleeds. * Every promise is a stitched-together thing;
By Lou Holzabout a year ago in Poets
They gather like storms behind my teeth, Heavy and heaving, without release. Each syllable held, sharp and raw, Scratches the walls of a clenched maw.
I walked where shadows made their claim, A path unnamed, a world untamed. No sun to guide, no silver thread, Just echoes of the things I fled.
By Richard Baileyabout a year ago in Poets
