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.
Wrath
I am here where I'm supposed to be. I am ready now. For the wickedness to leave my pulse. For my arteries to stitch themselves back alive again. Decaying flesh can revive and reanimate. Necrotic bones can re-assimilate. Resuscitation is not just for coma death. Rediscovery is my favorite hobby. I aim for resurrection while you asphyxiate in dormant sleep. I have erupted beyond your corrupted fatalism. Rotting lungs grasp for solid breaths. Putrid blood gave birth to will power and tenacity. My persistence was always better than your flimsy arrogance. You used me to raise your progeny while you kept me timid and desperate. As if I couldn't do any better than you. Like there was no living beyond these barren trenches you kept me trapped in. There was nothing original, nothing tangible in your projected facade. You mimicked every emotion to pretend to feel. Your soul had fled but it was never really there. Abusers never care about the harm they leave in their wake. They weaponize incompetence in order to feed their massive egos. They sacrifice you in order to continue their perpetual cycle of dominance. Victims are always plentiful because we turn a blind eye to insipid narcissism. I am haunted by the truth because it is all I have. You refuse to acknowledge any mishandling of my naive heart. You couldn't break it because it was never yours to keep. I didn't adore you as much as you required me to. I didn't worship your footsteps nor did I devote myself to an altar of disbelief. You are not the saint you wanted to be. You're not the survivor I turned out to be. I face an unknown future unapologetic. I received no apologies from you. You will never admit any wrongdoing because you make no mistakes. You planned on me driving headfirst into disaster but I survived the collision. Whiplash and cataract vision could not alter what was meant to be. You didn't permit me to live but I annihilated that merciful part of myself. I continue to defy parameters you set up for me. I tried to penetrate your darkness for 15 years but you were made up of shadows. You were the virus that infected and invaded every aspect of my well-being. I was fearful of what a life without your malevolence would be like. I grew accustomed to your intolerable ignorance. I couldn't prove your injustice but I guess that doesn't matter anymore. The world may never be rid of your presence but my life will no longer serve your glorious purpose. Your damnation will be your downfall. Mayhem will abandon me and follow you instead. May you forever incur my infernal wrath. I am incapable and unwilling to process this any further. I don't have to wait for what's to come. I am prepared for the desirable Here. I'm already Now.
By Anna Torresabout a year ago in Poets
The Shortest Poem Is A Name. Top Story - August 2025.
8/5/25 THE SHORTEST POEM IS A NAME After Anne Michaels The shortest poem is a name. It is fewer letters than breaths, less thought, more familiarity. It is yours to have and mine to harbor, yours to sustain, mine to fatten with vows that hit your larynx like a medicinal drip. The shortest poem is a hum of every sound that has ever been, and it sounds like nothing at all. It is the quickest fleet of fleeting feelings, the smallest feeling of feat that eats at the things you eat— anything to obscure the sunset view through the windshield— anything to keep the light out. The shortest poem writes itself in agony, reaching around limbs and rooms of consciousness to cross a letter that makes no difference to the thing itself. It plugs its ears when I set the dinner table, holds its breath when I open the blinds, closes its eyes when I say its name. I cannot hold the hand of a thing too small to hear, but I can paint the walls with great reflections of life— too big to feed and too slow to feel for more than the fleeting fleet it takes to reach between a rib and write The End.
By Olivia Dodgeabout a year ago in Poets
