Rachel Steinmetz

Joined May 2024

167 stories

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Written expression is emotion at its peak; delve into it.

Stories (167)

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Perfection does not Impress Me
Perfection does not impress me, for it's only in shrouds of pretend. Dancing to a tune of lies, Where I cannot fix or mend.
By Rachel Steinmetzabout a year ago in Poets
Wisps of Beauty
Place beauty in a basket and weave it further round the side. Won't the unlucky ask it for just a crumb to abide. * Stretch the straw enough to gape
By Rachel Steinmetzabout a year ago in Poets
Steal Me
Steal me if you dare, rip my heart from my being. Mold my mind with the bloody spare, Try to convince me of what I'm seeing.
By Rachel Steinmetzabout a year ago in Poets
Rise
I stumbled on air. So I inhaled all of it and flew my baloon
By Rachel Steinmetzabout a year ago in Poets
Scars
Bear your scars as stars And live on with thier burden. That is letting go.
By Rachel Steinmetzabout a year ago in Poets
There is no song of truth
The tune of truth Won’t echo within a song. If they attempt to sing it, The beat would go all wrong. * A single note you may find
By Rachel Steinmetzabout a year ago in Poets
The best Stories are the ones we Write Ourselves.
Write yourself a story of how the wind blew fears away. Tell a tale, so gory of how flames lived on at the bay. * Sing an impossible song
By Rachel Steinmetzabout a year ago in Poets
Hope Deceived me
Hope deceived me with its whispers of light. I had placed myself in her mistaking her as a weapon with which to fight. -
By Rachel Steinmetzabout a year ago in Poets
We flew the World
We flew the moon and then the world then all that we discovered. We left our memories behind and all that we had mothered.
By Rachel Steinmetzabout a year ago in Poets
Anger
Truth upon my rage, Too real for anger to accept. Too pure for egos to confront, Too vulnerable to connect. - Aint the red just on my lashes
By Rachel Steinmetzabout a year ago in Poets
The Europe of old
Strayed from the hearts of those who have already forgotten. Illustrated by only silent blood invisible to the human eye. Lest, the legacy of those innocent souls be doomed to the new world of freedom.
By Rachel Steinmetzabout a year ago in Poets
The Europe of the Past
Where the stones whisper of the past and the rivers of the blood been shed. Where every echo is of lives now lost and every breeze murmuring of a pain now known in silence.
By Rachel Steinmetzabout a year ago in Poets