surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
What Other Name But Anxiety
I’m fighting an imaginary battle vines becoming roots and skies cracking like pavement a tenebrific warzone of rashes under my skin the plaque is caking on these eggshell walls and it sounds like anger but I assure you it is sadness it is the loss of life loss of blood loss of my future glazed in sweat not tears but waters have always been nugatory rivers do not flow without an incline and my eyes do not shut when you are away every piece of dust that breathes is a different shade of green but they are running together now forest and hunter and olive all one giant bilious disaster growing within soil shedding skin and teeth biting into glass waiting for the crunch that says this is the one to leave a mark
By Olivia Dodge4 years ago in Poets
Centred
The centre of me feels stale like the loaf of bread I refused to throw out last week. The humdrum of consistency is making me restless and yet the slightest change will throw me off balance for weeks. I do not understand myself, I have never. Even now, writing this, I am doing it to prove I am worthy of being alive. I am exchanging my sentences for validation that I am allowed to exist, no matter how quietly or unremarkably. There is no emotion that cannot touch the sides of me, yet I am desperately afraid of feeling purposeless. I don’t want to talk, I don’t think I could catch the right tone.
By Katy for Kings4 years ago in Poets
