Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
Flowers Grow in the Heart of Me Flowers grow in the heart of me, where no one else can see, they bloom between my memories, and everything I used to be.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a month ago in Poets
Why can't I remember? What am I avoiding? Why do I hide from the truth when I know you're not a good person? Why do I keep coming back when everybody tells me,
By Dylan about a month ago in Poets
I Am A Crazy Thought I am a crazy thought inside your head. I dance around when you go to bed. I pull your memories out one by one. Then hide them away just for fun.
Flowers of the Mind There are flowers growing in my mind, They have no garden they can call home, They grow between my strangest thoughts, In places where my memories roam.
a forest can take centuries to grow and only a few days to burn if you notice or if you don't see the smoke enter only do not enter
By ⸘jason alan‽about a month ago in Poets
The Ink Ink sat inside a bottle, As quiet as a lie, Until the clock struck midnight, And darkness opened one eye. It squeezed beneath the silver lid, On forty little feet, Then dipped itself inside my thoughts, And wrote them on the sheet.
POETRY Poetry moved in on Sunday, Without a bag or key, It climbed inside the cupboard, And ate my bread for tea. It slept beneath my pillow, And snored in perfect rhyme, Then stole the hands from off my clock, To give itself more time.
On and off relationship If anything, ours is what people call a situationship I could lie to myself and say I am mad at you
By Harydo Neonabout a month ago in Poets
Around the fire her tale is told The curse of Cathrine May A cackle rises in the flames Each time you say her name The ravens call and crickets sing
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsdenabout a month ago in Poets
The Elephant That Could Paint The elephant picked up a paintbrush one day, And nobody knew what he planned to paint, He dipped his long trunk into a pot full of blue, Then painted a picture of the sky he once knew.
THE SNAKE, THE AXE AND THE HEART I drew a snake of leaves and twigs, With twisting curves and little sprigs, It curled around with watchful eyes, Beneath the ever changing skies.
You will always be capable of being a monster. It is what you have chosen over and over again. - You will
By Sara Wynnabout a month ago in Poets
