Borrowed Spine I wore my fear like a second skin, all wrinkle, no design, until the day I stood up straight on someone’s borrowed spine.
By Milan Milic11 months ago in Poets
Grandmother moon I thank you for shining down on me each and every night I know you're smiling down on me your light it so bright coming from those pearly whites
By J.W. Baird11 months ago in Poets
I speak in rhymes and mysteries Because that’s how I think My brain shittles riddles because it titillates my neurons It is how I do my best to get along in this world
By Atomic Historian11 months ago in Poets
Candles That Don’t Beg I used to strike a match for proof, to bargain with the night, to hold a trembling halo up and call it borrowed light.
My Beloved moon, I stand under your iridescent light, in awe. Your beauty enchants me, your silver glow bathing me in such serenity.
By Jennisea Standing Rock11 months ago in Poets
The Sky Forgot Blue This morning, the heavens wore borrowed gray shoes, a sepia ceiling that swallowed the views. The gulls looked like erasers smudging the light,
We were the trees Sturdy on the land We gave life to one another We lived hand in hand The core of us the tree trunks Arms embracing, leaves
By Raine Fielder11 months ago in Poets
Nocturne in Bare Feet The house exhaled; I slipped the clock and wandered off the sheet, Let midnight find its lullaby in nocturne, bare of feet.
The words are etched in stone, My mouth is full of tar. What can I say to you that hasn’t already been said? Are you lonely?
By Trinity H11 months ago in Poets
Ink Under Fingernails My hands confess what pages hide—black half-moons, stubborn trails; The honest proof of midnight work: ink under fingernails.
What does a muse do to a person to make them paint like Picasso in this style? Picasso In Estrus 10/25/25 I am in the heat of my moment
By Victor Mendez11 months ago in Poets
Windows Learn to Breathe I woke to glass that held its fog, a quiet, milky sheath— as if the night forgot to leave, as if the walls had teeth.
