Most recently published stories in Poets.
Sitting in bed at 11 pm, Wishing you were living in 9 am tomorrow That’s what homesickness is all about my friend Full of longing, wistfulness and sorrow.
By Kinza Ahmed8 years ago in Poets
She clutches the mossy grass in her little hands Her hair falling soft and full around her shoulders A halo of sun circles her small head
By Clare Strayer8 years ago in Poets
I washed myself in water, not the kind that is sugar sweet. The kind that makes your throat close up, makes your skin shiver,
By Alexia Villanueva8 years ago in Poets
"All you need is love" was the biggest lie ever told to me. Because you can love love so much it kills you Love so much
By a. k. rand8 years ago in Poets
Friend: I heard you had surgery, I wanted to do something to help speed up your recovery. They say a picture's worth a million words,
By Ruth Garnes8 years ago in Poets
Eyes as red as roses Watered by the sea Grey as 50 shades Crows chirp at thee Pulses stopped The soul freed Death by and by with me
By Alexus Parker8 years ago in Poets
Love has no purpose in a world full of no purpose. Warm embrace. Soft lips, spoke and asked, is it worth it. Looking for love in a room full of hate.
By Brenée Carey8 years ago in Poets
I'm hurting So I write The pain gathers In my head My neck My shoulders My back My mind My soul It gathers in my hair
By A. R. Ambrosi8 years ago in Poets
Breathe in the musky scent of dirt as you are slowly buried alive. Place your fingertips against the smooth wood of your final resting place. Pound your fist against the roof of your coffin as the space begins to shrink in your mind. Scream 'til your lungs burn with fire. 'Til your voice gives out on you. Maybe someone will hear you... But no. Once you are buried alive, you will never be saved for no one will hear your screams for help. No one will hear the pounding of flesh against wood as you try to force your way out as the oxygen slowly fades and you realize... You will die here...
By Sui Gizz8 years ago in Poets
How she sees the trees Depends on her mood Depends on her intention Depends on which crystal She's stuffed down her bra today
Time. Time is every second that turns into minutes, every minute that turns into hours, every hour that turns into days, every day that turns into weeks,
By Cindy Nguyen8 years ago in Poets
Kicked in the fucking chest, Time and time again. This feeling is all too familiar. Occurring on a bi-weekly basis, A steel toe boot introduces itself to the sternum.
By Kyle Ross8 years ago in Poets
