Stream of Consciousness

Now You’re Gone
This poem is about absence. You are no longer here. There was no dramatic ending. There was no final speech. One day you were part of my routine,
By Lori A. A.21 minutes ago in Poets
The Sovereignty of Silence
their tongues are busy carving a version of you that makes them feel less like a wreck. they call you cold because they could not handle your heat. they call you lost because you no longer answer to their name.
By Anuroopabout an hour ago in Poets
𝔸 𝔾𝕠𝕕𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕕
You know everything about me but how..... I don't know how you know but you know but I'm pretty sure you know what I ate for breakfast
By Colleen Waltersabout 2 hours ago in Poets
Crystal Rainbow Dance
Dance in the reflection of the crystal mirror inside a bright and shimmery room, spin across the floor, across the rainbows that are pirouetting with you
By Andrea Corwin about 3 hours ago in Poets
It Rains
The raindrops Hit my window I try to sleep They wake me up *** As if they say: "Get up, son" "Do something with yourself"
By Livia Caciabout 4 hours ago in Poets
𝕠𝕗 𝕠𝕔𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕤
I've been such an open book but regrets and "what if"s and " if I'd only known" still kept in a hidden place tempered by
By Colleen Waltersabout 7 hours ago in Poets
I Have No "Credit Left" - This Means I Will Never Have Anything Left - How Can I Work To Make More Credit - What Must "I Do"
Sometimes I imagine, if I just had the best person in life - I wouldn't be "poor" ! I mean, I've really followed the eyes, and it said he or perhaps she is the "LOVE" of my life !
By 365poetryabout 9 hours ago in Poets
Let Us Be Us
Let us just be us Not bound to the words or phrases Strangled in the worldly limits Calling each other this or that Confused what this connection is?
By Mubarik Ahmad about 10 hours ago in Poets
the inheritance
when my mother left in the middle of december i searched my hands for what she had given me. i didn’t find gold or a map back home. i found the way she held her breath to keep the house quiet. i found the way she softened her voice until she became a whisper.
By Anuroopabout 10 hours ago in Poets
Ode to a Killer. Content Warning.
Be it day or night The killer’s always in the detective’s sight Hunter or hunted Which one will it be to this killer’s activity Stunted.
By Cassie Mooreabout 10 hours ago in Poets
how to get down to the cafe
I like to find Different roads to stroll Between the cafes and bars Hotels and apartments Different paths with Different sights
By Roderick Makimabout 10 hours ago in Poets
Birth
Throat choked, sweat-soaked lines; Fingers primed—fingers prising. Primal sound: release.
By Claire McAllenabout 14 hours ago in Poets