Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Poets.
What Does It Mean?
If I were a bird I'd fly away but I don't have wings I have arms and they don't do much. If I were a fish I'd swim away but I don't have fins I have feet and they don't move so fast. I could run but not fast like a cheetah and honestly how far would I get? Not very. I'm just laying here lost and alone not moving or speaking. Where to go what to do? We're all going to die. When? When am I going to die? How long do I have? How long do my loved ones have? There's never enough time. I need more time with them. I want more time with them. What about death? Is there life after death? What's that like? Is it beautiful? So I reunite with my loved ones? So many questions with no answers. I lay awake at night wonderful what it all means. The purpose of life, my purpose in life. What does it all mean? I don't know.
By Roberta Bennett8 years ago in Poets
Street Lights
On these nights, in the middle of the street or the middle of the sidewalk, whether we remember what happens on these nights, holding hands, who we accidentally made out with when we were drunk, how many headlights came at us, getting bigger and brighter the closer they got, the number of porch lights turned on when we passed, the songs we danced to but didn’t know, we find a bed somewhere in one of the three hotel rooms, but not the one we were assigned to, or maybe our own bed we place our hands under our heads, curl our knees up to our stomachs, blink once, blink twice, until our eyelids are too heavy to hold up anymore, we blink a third…
By Bella Harris8 years ago in Poets
Lines
On these nights, in the middle of the street or the middle of the sidewalk, whether we remember what happens on these nights, holding hands, who we accidentally made out with when we were drunk, how many headlights came at us, getting bigger and brighter the closer they got, the number of porch lights turned on when we passed, the songs we danced to but didn’t know, we find a bed somewhere in one of the three hotel rooms, but not the one we were assigned to, or maybe our own bed we place our hands under our heads, curl our knees up to our stomachs, blink once, blink twice, until our eyelids are too heavy to hold up anymore, we blink a third…
By Bella Harris8 years ago in Poets
Mirror
I stood staring at a mirror which lacked a reflection beaming back at me; forsaken. It was like I could almost see my reflection, I was reaching out and pressing my fingertips to the cold reflective glass in hopes of seeing anything that could shine the light within.
By Christine Alarcon8 years ago in Poets
