What is life if we don't create? Is it truly living if we don’t ever break? How can we live if we don't let the fear wash away?
By Allison2 years ago in Poets
Bitter greens Slithering unseen Through my dreams A strenuous subcutaneous existence Complaisance in a crime of the mind
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
Hidden under the covers, Pink the flesh . Pink the lovers. Sethe as a bud waits to be bloom, Touch through the fingers, Long caresses short lingers.
By Sayaam Harz2 years ago in Poets
Listening to slow jams in other languages I don’t speak their language But they hear all that languishes in my heart They cut through the pain
The atrocious contradiction of existence How ironically does existence glare at our agony Drawing its muse in the hours of our ecstasy
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Poets
I don’t know what this is about It is the worst poem Without a doubt In my mind To be alone can be sublime But to feel alone
There is a scar on my heart’s ears It’s from all the years of abuse I got used to It makes it hard to hear when someone says
In forests deep where sunlight plays, Nature orchestrates its grand ballet. The rustle of leaves, a gentle sway, A timeless dance, night to day.
By Ashiii2 years ago in Poets
In kitchens, where secrets hide in spices' embrace, Where pots simmer melodies of aromatic grace, There lies the heart of life's vibrant ballet,
I am the first born I’m worn out and scorned out Bearing the weight of all expectations The weight of a family on my shoulders
In the caverns of a shattered heart, Where whispers of love now depart, Echoes of laughter once danced free, Now drowned in tears, a silent plea.
In the dance of hearts, we find our rhythm, Two souls, entwined, in love's prism. With each step, a story unfolds,
