Stream of Consciousness
in Sync with you
You aren't just a moment, truly. you're more like a SONG stuck on repeat in a playlist full of noise. You are the quiet a r c h i t e c t of my unspoken peace. the way you listen like silence has a voice, and your presence alone makes the chaos feel like HOME. the way you S H A R E your storms, hold them in your palms, and set them down so gently beside me like SAFETY learned your name first. sometimes i think, if my life were a half-written letter, you'd be the ink that makes the words worth reading. if the world is a crowded train station, full of hurried goodbyes, strangers, G̶h̶o̶s̶t̶e̶d̶ texts, and lonely platforms then finding you was like discovering the one seat saved just for ME ◇. leave your unspoken fears here. i'll CARRY them. leave your tired dreams here. i'll CHASE them. all the fragile versions you hide behind "i'm fine." let me SEE them. i k e e p them close, folding them gently inside the quiet drawer of my soul. i'd choose you always.
By Muhammad Yousaf 4 months ago in Poets
Meaning of Life Scavenger Hunt
What are we eating? He asked to a fleeing ‘us.’ That crunched beside was beyond biblical, done by a thing God sicked death on and has them running faster than the miserable masses. Calls us monsters, I don't have to hear it, as it remembers its ethereal end and poof, goes back to the end of justifying means as time resorts to only the fleeting final spark dying; end-of-time jowls are always waiting to snap back shut, we'll restart the carousel. Ground quakes, fucks up the sprint, every stutter, I wonder where it went right and how. Can’t think and find the right turn at the same time, at some point in the hall of doors, that one the Scooby Gang will see six times before the trap is set at the ‘RED one this time.’ I died, didn’t I? Is this limbo!? Unseen, haven’t dove further in this fading realm yet. Oh well. So far, in every glance, there are flickering lights, and every glint of hope is a breath down the neck with a firmly whispered, "never." “I hope you’re back there? Groundlessness won’t stop me there!”
By Willem Indigo4 months ago in Poets
SITTIN' IN MY BLUE ROOM . Top Story - June 2026. Content Warning.
SITTIN IN MY BLUE ROOM 1967 This is a 1967 poem from my archives. The world in the 60s was a different place. Girls were 2nd class citizens. Boys were perfect in every way. I am sharing these poems to focus on staying in 2026. I believe in equality for all. Let’s learn to love not to hate. Girls need college and careers not top to just rattle pots and pans.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 4 months ago in Poets
