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.
sunshine (10)
I should go.” Eva nodded. “Tell her… never mind.” He hesitated. “You wanna know where he’s buried?” She looked up. “Would that help?” “I don’t know,” he said. “But I go there sometimes. Feels like he’s still listening.” Eva stood. “Then yeah. Show me.” thank you for your time. i really appreciate you taking time for me. this is the end of my story sunshine. They walked together, past the basketball court, past the creek where she’d once waited for a boy who never came. The sunshine followed them like an old friend—silent, warm, and a little bit forgiving.
By bart santosabout a year ago in Poets
sunshine (9)
“He said he wanted to say goodbye but thought it would hurt more. That he wasn’t brave enough. That you deserved better than maybe.” The tears came faster than she expected. Not sobs, just quiet streams down her cheeks. It felt ridiculous, crying in front of a kid. But it also felt honest. “He was wrong,” she said. “I didn’t need better. I needed the truth.” Jace fidgeted. “Maybe he knew that too late.” They sat in silence. The sun climbed higher. Eventually, Jace stood. “My mom’s gonna be looking for me.
By bart santosabout a year ago in Poets
sunshine (8)
“He didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” he said softly. “He just… couldn’t stay. He was scared.” She blinked. “You’re thirteen. How do you know that?” Jace shrugged. “He wrote letters. I found them after he died. They weren’t to me. Just... thoughts. He talked about a girl he left behind. Said it haunted him.” The sun shifted. The bench, the swing set, the path—they were all brighter than before. Eva couldn’t breathe for a second. “What did he say?” she whispered. Jace looked up at the sky like he was searching for the right words.
By bart santosabout a year ago in Poets
sunshine (7)
“He used to live here,” she said quietly. “I know,” Jace replied. “He didn’t talk about it much. Said it was all a blur.”A blur. The years of friendship, the hours lying in the grass, the kisses that left tremors. A blur. “Do you look like him?” she asked. Jace shrugged. “Mom says I have his stubbornness.” Eva laughed, a sound sharp and sad. “Yeah. That sounds right.” Jace tilted his head. “Did you know him?“ I did. We were close. Before he left.” The boy looked at her for a long time.
By bart santosabout a year ago in Poets
sunshine (6)
“You know a guy named Malcolm?” she asked, voice tighter than she meant. Jace’s mouth curled downward. “My dad’s name was Malcolm.” The world spun a little. “Was?” “He died,” the boy said, simple and very unbothered. “A few years ago.” Eva sat down hard on the fountain ledge. “How old are you?” “Thirteen.” Thirteen. Not sixteen. Which meant Malcolm hadn’t disappeared. He’d escaped. Her thoughts knotted fast. He hadn’t been abducted or killed—he’d left. For real. For good. And this boy, Jace, was proof that Malcolm had built a life elsewhere. Started over. Without her.
By bart santosabout a year ago in Poets
