my mother’s hands are cracked like drought season, lines that split into stories she never wrote down. stories told in oil-splatter scars,
By Marvelous Michael11 months ago in Poets
Can we be obsessed with You, not in the way they warn us about not in the thundering persona that seems too hard to reach,
Battle behind me, Battle ahead, It’s such a shame, They left me for dead Angels around me, Divinely protected All plots and all spells,
By Jennidoll of (jennidoll.inc)11 months ago in Poets
For Dani and everyone else who's ever felt like they had no voice. So maybe I romanticize my life. Maybe my head is full of dreams and my heart is full of the frustrating feeling that I’ll never arrive.
By Mezmur11 months ago in Poets
You carry constellations in the pockets of your hands. planets on your knuckles, tides that answer your commands. My doubts are tiny satellites that think they’re free to drift—
By Milan Milic11 months ago in Poets
There’s a counter in my chest with bins and labels hand-made, neat, A lost and found of all my selves, where past and present meet.
I found myself today. Not in the sense of finding your keys per se But more in the way I floated through this timeline -
By 𓍢ִ໋. ✿ Ghislaine ✿ 𓍢ִ໋. 11 months ago in Poets
I come from dirt that remembers every name it swallowed. Red clay under the nails, a rusted plow singing in the wind like it still believes in work.
By SUEDE the poet11 months ago in Poets
What withdrawal feels like It feels like my heart being shaken against the walls of my rib cage when I see how easily you've moved on,
By Lola Sense11 months ago in Poets
A winter’s age spent In avid agonizing atrophy Now I dust off The sagging coat Hanging from my Meager frame Cast a drooping arm
By K.B. Silver 11 months ago in Poets
Bread tastes better with butter and pizza crust needs some too Utterly smooth and soft, or cold from the fridge Thinly layered, even beneath peanut butter, or
By Andrea Corwin 11 months ago in Poets
Writers write, Artists paint And musicians just make noise Each and every one of them Are just following their dream. A writer writes a story
By Calvin London11 months ago in Poets
