Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Poets.

Her
I miss waking up to her every morning The only person I loved The only one I could talk to She understood me She never judged me for my mistakes
By Daisy Boone8 years ago in Poets
13
The idea of happiness. The idea of happiness tends to be nonexistent to many, because everyone is in this great need of approval to validate their existence
By d 8 years ago in Poets
Land of Olives and Pines
Land of Olives and Pines Land of olives and Pines in you my heart beat was heard, First cry escaped with the breath of life,
By Ochienga Yablé8 years ago in Poets
Natalie's Words of Wisdom, 2
You struggled to find it. Perserverence. Persistance. Hope. Chance. Even though there has been loss you must believe to prosper.
By Natalie Marie Stefani-Rice8 years ago in Poets
Cancer
A fit of laughter pierces her ears A sound memory of her torn childhood A surreal noise, a trigger The once angelic music ravaged
By Daisy Boone8 years ago in Poets
Awake
The sun slips beyond my troubled past, Making way for moonlight's new beginnings. Like the wolf howling up at the night sky,
By Jessica Auster8 years ago in Poets
My Body Is an Instrument
My body is an instrument played for only few Playing majors and minors and other lovely tunes played for only few are the songs I choose to hide
By Daisy Boone8 years ago in Poets
Cancerous
The colours flash before me Blinding, so I can't see Internally judgemental Is what I smell on your skin So pungent that all I can do is grimace
By Celious Blanc8 years ago in Poets
Shooting Funds
The Treasury’s own Policy is like A money gun. It Spits out currency Not to enhance the Economy, but Alter it somehow.
By Skyler Saunders8 years ago in Poets
Pure Soul
Bare your heart, hold it out to the world. Show them you're not afraid, let them see your soul. See, all the beautiful shades of the different colors you keep.
By Jenn Postma8 years ago in Poets
Escape
She was quiet For the moment All the torrents Of her turmoil storm Had ceased She was quiet Her tears had finally Stopped
By A. R. Ambrosi8 years ago in Poets
White Paternalism
My father was born with a name we cannot pronounce. Because we have been stripped of our language and culture. Naked under the thin layers of wooden monstrosities, charging through the waters which have loved us as children. Have these men, these others tamed our Gods? NO! NO!
By Luis Tomas Graveley Jr8 years ago in Poets