Stream of Consciousness

Anthology of A Fractured Heart
The end of it all is a silent acceptance, or flipping of a switch to suppress the storm. At some point, the storm that doesn't leave you ends up calling you it's home and finding secret places to hide and devour your heart one beat at a time.
By Jayni Cole9 months ago in Poets
What it’s like
Rubber souls on asphalt echoing through the air. Headlights cutting through the darkness. A deep blackness of a moonless sky waiting patiently for to be lit up with hues of orange, yellow and pink when the sun peeks out from its nap.
By Amanda McGuire9 months ago in Poets
Interests!
There is no Love the power of being is . There is no life but dream is living . There is no substance just spirit
By Diana9 months ago in Poets
Loved While Full
I was loved when I was full. ** When my chest was tight with air they called it value, called it importance, called it power.
By Aarsh Malik9 months ago in Poets
With This Ring
With this ring I thee wed To honour and to hold, To live a life until the end Until we both grow old. 💍💍💍💍 I promise I will do my best
By Calvin London9 months ago in Poets
Twenty Years
Twenty years since the second time I packed my life into a rucksack and taught my heart how to beat quieter. The first war took my innocence—
By Edward Val9 months ago in Poets
Perfectly Aligned
A small affirmation for the body to feel good and move as designed. 👤❤️‍🩹💯 I am perfectly aligned as God designed all is well within
By Andrea Corwin 9 months ago in Poets
Spontaneous Steps
A life shaped by choice, each step taken through signs that lead us to follow the universe - down a road we desire. Felt deeply in our hearts;
By Denise Larkin9 months ago in Poets
Write!!!
I’m hungry I want fried chicken Or cereal Wait did I write a poem this morning like I said? No. Should I eat first or write
By L.I.E9 months ago in Poets
Overworked And Underpaid
Overworked and underpaid Is that my fault or a problem I made I'm old and should have stayed working for another decade before retirement, but no
By Denise E Lindquist9 months ago in Poets
God Gifted
I used to stare at my hands and wonder if they were meant for anything. Nothing felt like mine, not my smile, not my voice, not even my mornings.
By John Smith9 months ago in Poets
Hollywood Night Walk 1970s
This was written, created, edited by Vicki Lawana Trusselli I wrote this to escape the 2026 political atmosphere of hate. So, I slipped into a dream. SWEET!
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 9 months ago in Poets