They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
emotions draining… feelings rusting… tears clocking in like they’re on payroll. guilt takeovers… sits on my chest like rent’s overdue
By Komal2 months ago in Poets
We filled the apartment with houseplants the way some people fill it with children— hopeful, underqualified, carrying more Pinterest than practice.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
You imagined I’d welcome your wicked words, You imagined I’d respect them—even abide You wrote that God’s going to curse me, leaving me feeling so scared and denied.
By Chantal Christie Weiss2 months ago in Poets
not gonna wallow, holdin' my head high scowl, roll your eyes, it won't lessen my pride seen bad things in my time, aint gotta lie
By John Cox2 months ago in Poets
The Fire We Walk Through We walked through burning seasons, Where nothing stayed the same, Where love felt sharp and heavy,
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
Your side of bed still holds a shape that clocks refuse to know, a shallow moon where gravity remembers how you go. The sheets have learned your silhouette, the dent your dreams once made—
The Keepers of Small Things” I have learned that life is made of the quiet things we gather— moments that slip through the world
By Ishaq khan2 months ago in Poets
It was the morning that you left me Abandoned, alone, for dead That I realized I didn’t need you. — I said it abandoned, I said it alone
By Emma Mark2 months ago in Poets
I took on the role of protector When that was never my job I told myself I had to be there Like I was some sort of God —
We stitch raincoats for our secrets out of half-remembered nights, from shower curtains, childhood quilts, and hand-me-down goodbyes.
~ i swam the depths of amber glass oceans of desire pulling me under caressed by waves of whiskey and malt; i stroked your ego with my drunken mouth
By Heather Hubler2 months ago in Poets
I keep a ring of metal moons that never learned my sky, a jangle of old alphabets that no more doors reply. They’re fossils of before-times, love—of locks we used to share,
