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.

The Words That Choked My Heart
✍️ Poem: I wanted to scream, But I smiled. They asked how I was, I lied. I wanted to say: "I'm tired of being strong." That pretending hurts And nights are too long. I wanted to admit — That I miss who I used to be, Before I became A ghost in front of me. I wished I could say: "I'm not okay." That hope doesn’t always Survive the day. I wanted to confess That I still think of them at 3 AM, That forgiveness is hard And love feels condemned. But I held it in — Like I always do. Because sometimes, Silence is safer than truth. Because when I speak, They say: "You're too much." And when I’m quiet, They call it a crutch. So I write my truth In unsent letters. I bleed it in poetry Where nobody judges. Because some things — The real things — Can’t be said out loud. Only felt. ---
By Moto Khanabout a year ago in Poets
One Life, One Chance
In silent robes and quiet grace, A child with peace upon his face, No noise, no race, no worldly game, Just stillness whispering his name. A bird so small, in hand it lay, A fragile breath of sky and day, It did not fear, nor try to flee, For love spoke more than eyes could see. No riches held, no grand parade, Just soft exchange where trust is made. A fleeting life, yet full of light, In simple moments, hearts take flight. No second round, no reset key, This life is all there’ll ever be. So hold it close and choose it wise— The truth is found in silent eyes. One life, one chance — and oh, how deep, The seeds of kindness we must keep. 🌱 ---
By Moto Khanabout a year ago in Poets
Stranger
I’m a stranger in a strange land The fan chugga chugga chugs As it blows away paper thugs The world shrugs As we slink like slugs
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
This Poem is an Apology to Myself
I don’t know exactly when I stopped being kind to myself. Maybe it was the first time I looked in the mirror and believed someone else’s definition of beauty instead of my own. Or maybe it was the quiet moment I didn’t speak up in my defense—thinking silence was strength, or that pleasing others was more important than preserving myself.
By Jawad Khanabout a year ago in Poets
i hold the matches
memories behind plywood, broken glass, and chain-link a cage, to define what is inside relative to the world providing certainty and detailed meaning
By ⸘jason alan‽about a year ago in Poets
Molting Season
I crawl into my skin, letting my soul sink behind a barricade of my bones, folding my sleeve-worn heart into origami cranes
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
Shadow of Goodbye
Streetlight casts A shadow on the walk Is that me down there? Outlined in the chalk? Where was I going? I really don't recall
By Raine Fielderabout a year ago in Poets
Supplication for Inspiration. Top Story - July 2025.
I know there is no ownership Of inspiration One cannot keep the wind in their hair Or trap a goddess On the head of a fountain pen
By K.B. Silver about a year ago in Poets
How to Disappear Without Leaving
First, wake before the sun remembers your name. Open the window. Let the wind rearrange your thoughts. Take nothing with you—
By The Arleeabout a year ago in Poets
The Dance of Creation. Content Warning.
I feel the energy start to brew Clouding up ⋆｡°·⛆⋆ ﾟ Crowding me Billowing inside my soul ─── ⋆⋅☁️⋅⋆ ─── Instead of fretting unconsciously
By K.B. Silver about a year ago in Poets
Lustful Dance
My hindbrain whirls As her hind end… twirls On the dance floor —- Her ass is perfect.. Shapely. Taut Her tits are what my libido hath sought
By Andrew C McDonaldabout a year ago in Poets
Before the Alarm
Dawn breaks through the morning glass, an unwelcome intruder, golden light tickling my eyelids. I want to brush her off,
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets