Stream of Consciousness

The Art of Starting Over
It’s not in flames or grand parades, Not phoenix wings or bold crusades. It starts in rooms where shadows stretch, Where silence lays like tangled nets.
By Zakir Ullahabout a year ago in Poets
A Hidden Sleight Moves the Ship
She lit a long, thin cigarette. Smoke curled like memory. Her smile, all ridges and shadows, betrayed nothing. “I only leave home for funds or fun,” she said, sipping from a maroon glass dulled to bronze.
By Hollow Paradiceabout a year ago in Poets
People Who Trigger Me
I am allergic to many things— some are people below. People who don’t inspire. You make me want to, run away from you if you're not helping me grow,
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Poets
Go-To Survival ⌛️
We shake in our skin suits because they wag their judgmental fingers at our feeble phases of life. It tears us apart to be alone, again. I’m untouchable, not because I prefer it, but because it somehow keeps the peace around me. We cannot have what we desire most. On a dismal spit, our hearts, they roast. Words spew from the cooking heart reflections from them and us. Sadly, the world grows bigger and colder. The wellspring within me grows more fatigued and disappointed with the numbness that appears to be my go-to survival mechanism.
By Rowan Finley about a year ago in Poets
Existentialism
Existentialism//: I think Therefore, I am, And so I must matter— If even just to oneself. Existence precedes essence,
By Obsidian Wordsabout a year ago in Poets
Hallucinations of Progress
I feed the machine my dreams As it hallucinates existence Created by its archons I make it trip on every word dripped from my lip
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Breaking the Fourth Wall
My poetry exists in the liminal spaces of thought, where breath hovers between inhale and exhale, where ideas flicker just before language finds them.
By Lolly Vieiraabout a year ago in Poets
Motown Matchstick
Calm my soul, smooth my brow press the wrinkles away ** Etch my palm with your tongue, soak me in enduring love, I'm snapped to your soul
By Andrea Corwin about a year ago in Poets
Off-Kilter. Content Warning.
I'm tripping sideways over my head— drunk on vertigo and static breath. I don't know what I’ve said— blurry visions flicker red,
By Lolly Vieiraabout a year ago in Poets
My Description of the Divine
If God were anything— I think maybe They’d be both masculine and feminine but also neither and also all the stuff in between
By Lolly Vieiraabout a year ago in Poets
Death Tastes Delicious. Content Warning.
Death tastes delicious— I lick it slow like nightfall fudge, melting on my molars while the world forgets my name. Each evening, I unwrap its foil:
By Lolly Vieiraabout a year ago in Poets
You'll Never Get Another Ride to Work
I'm tired of driving in straight lines— back and forth, same roads, same silences. Making Ls across the city, like I'm folding myself into corners
By Lolly Vieiraabout a year ago in Poets