Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Poets.
Free
Free things come with a price tagAnd we are stricken with poverty.Some of us are so far in debtThat we cannot afford the time to waste.We cannot feed the minds of childrenBecause books and lockersCan't simply be borrowed.Freedom itself is a luxuryAnd many pay for it with their livesAs they've got nothing left to giveBut literal arms and legs,Pledges to a fiat cloth flagThat was more than likely made in China.We spend everything we canOn the cost of livingAt the cost of dying.
By Jessica Snow8 years ago in Poets
My Basement
There is no way for me to come right out and tell you all the things that I think inside my head. It’s a messy stingy basement full of odd smells and dirty laundry. I can try to find the words to explain how I wish that my hamper wasn’t overflowing with towels soaked in tears and t-shirts stained with memories that I don’t want to remember anymore. Mismatched socks scattered like ideas that end up full of holes. Tired, ragged clothes filled with hope and dreams and lies and fear. Unwearable, but I hold onto them like I hold on to the ideas of people and who they were to me if only for a moment. A stagnant smell of wasted time is overwhelming, a mixture of anxiety, panic, and the inability to let go of things that hurt me. The flickering light that swings from a chain on the ceiling, like me it isn’t sure if it's bright enough to shine light upon this darkness but it still tries. It may be broken but I'm still here. The door is locked from the inside. Closed off from the world no one can see my mess. I sit alone. In a stingy basement full of odd smells and dirty laundry, the light goes out
By Emily Lane8 years ago in Poets
