“This poem is told in the voice of a child learning how to disappear in plain sight.” 1. Start by holding your breath when someone says your name. It makes you smaller, like air under a door.
By T. E. Door6 months ago in Poets
I can’t remember how old I was, maybe ten maybe eleven. But I remember her voice, not what she was wearing not what I was doing
By Diani Alvarenga6 months ago in Poets
A mother's life, is so full of strife. I know the responsibilities, perching on my shoulders, so I try to study and earn,
By Seema Patel6 months ago in Poets
It starts with slow steps not dramatic, not loud. Just the quiet unraveling of threads no one sees. You laugh, and the sound is real enough
By Cadma6 months ago in Poets
This is how I remember it: not with clarity, but with color — a bleeding watercolor afternoon, sunlight slanting through broken blinds,
By AFTAB KHAN6 months ago in Poets
“The mother wound is the deep emotional pain that stems from being raised by a mother who is emotionally unavailable, neglectful, or abusive.” — Bethany Webster
By Chantal Christie Weiss6 months ago in Poets
A few weeks ago my mom and I spoke of Christmases gone by. She told me of a year still stuck in her mind. New house was being built,
By Cristal S.6 months ago in Poets
Everyone usually complains about their life. It comes and goes, and at every moment, it disappears in an instant. Thoughts usually remain constant within a person.
By TheNaeth6 months ago in Poets
They’ve just left, the house is finally quiet. Sitting here, one hand holding the handle of my coffee mug. One hand hugging its toasty side.
By Sandy Gillman6 months ago in Poets
Dissappearing snuck up on me One stealthy step at a time Obfuscating my vitality By cloaking it in normality. First the family drifted away,
By Terry Roe6 months ago in Poets
There’s a pair of shoes near the door, Still waiting like they did before Untied laces, silent and still, Echoes of footsteps that time won’t fill
By Emma 6 months ago in Poets
The morning, she left us behind, I learned what emptiness sounds like. Silence fills every corner, heavy and unforgiving.
By Tim Carmichael6 months ago in Poets
