Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
Roots stained red with Ancestry Stability slipping Through my Capillaries Founded in Fear Lacking for Love My DNA holds these codes
By Danielle Helms5 years ago in Poets
Sundried boxes n’ bolts; strip-cloth, near Franklin @ Vine Hot-sticky summer’s sun itching tender skin holding breath Yellow Viole, elegantly calling frayed edges to billow
By Keri Bowers 5 years ago in Poets
And in my mind, you live on as a dragon, breathing crimson fire on any who deign to bully or belittle those of us born different.
By Rachael Lee Lipson5 years ago in Poets
One-hundred billion people have walked the earth. Meaning one-hundred million Queer folk have blessed the planet. I am not special, nor am I unique. Though sometimes they still call me a freak.
By Miguel Rodrigues Fonseca5 years ago in Poets
"I know this is the cheapest, dirtiest type of emotional manipulation, but there's too much on the line here." ♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬
By Ceo Of Dying5 years ago in Poets
Cyan, magenta, burnt sienna and black cover brown lips curled into a smile behind a face mask. My eyes are kind or so I’ve been told, but I've been painted as an aggressor, a robber, and a criminal before.
By Adam Carnes5 years ago in Poets
Some day soon, I’ll decorate the world, in the colors of my soul. Cities drenched in flaring hot pink, and streets saturated in gold.
By ak 5 years ago in Poets
I dream in colors Each one a flavorful experience A palette of emotions Rushing through me. I’ve tasted the sweetest lips
By Ethan Sanchez5 years ago in Poets
Darkness defines me It is a comfortable mantle Like a familiar sweater Or the best blanket I wrap darkness around myself
By Lindsey Rainwater5 years ago in Poets
It started in the classroom. Among model planets, times tables, chapter books still illustrated with magic trees, I started to slowly notice a small stain
By Meng Yu5 years ago in Poets
When I look at a tree, I see me. The green, the brown – it’s natural. In a sea of blue, I see you. The eyes of my family.
By Calista Marchand-Nazzaro5 years ago in Poets
If you cut my skin, what would you see within? The local perception, calling it a deception. Seeing my doctors’ mope; My blood resembling a kaleidoscope.
By Christopher Stiner5 years ago in Poets
