art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Starchild
She used to dance around with eyes closed, but the music had stopped and her eyes had to face the room that became her world. Silence reigned intact. To look around seemed pointless to her after seeing the colorless walls, bare. Her feet to the ground, sleeping with chains. Humpbacked with her head nailed to her arms, folded up in the corner where the last song had left her. Her mind was nowhere near the room lost in melancholy to past melodies, and down laid the sun countless times without seeing her move. Sorrow was as much hers as the world’s for her missing grace.
By Gonzalo Otaola3 years ago in Poets
Words Chapter 1
I. It was something that contradicted itself, over and over and over again. At the time, my arms and legs were smaller versions of myself, and my fingers and toes were even smaller versions of myself; I liked to think of my body as a plan going accordingly. I liked to think of my brain as skipping ropes. These were things I used to describe my mental state. I was stretchy. We took our first unbundled breath, long and bendy. This was before I decided that grass came before the seeds, and trees came before the soil.
By Jamie Ramsay3 years ago in Poets
Between the Covers
In between the covers is a world of fantasy for me. Role playing and play acting- pretending my life is far more exciting than it truly is. I don't need to travel to exotic places to live out my delusions. Between these delicious covers my deepest, darkest desires become reality.
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Poets
The Sky Split In Half
Tonight made itself known inside of my stomach, whatever I swallow doesn’t sit right. This morning and my body are two different things, but this evening and my body are the same. My mind disrupts the water and what it’s supposed to do, my mind interrupts what people are really thinking, my mind puts all these things together when they don’t belong there at all. The water is separate from the people and the people are separate from me. Am I allowed to find peace even if the people I know see me breathe for it in a place so open? If I speak to the water will they cringe at what I say? Will they hear what I ask?
By Jamie Ramsay3 years ago in Poets
