I am sorry but I cant I am sorry I know I dont understand I can not meet You I know I dont understand I cant explain this feeling yesterday I really wanted to meet today I even cant
By Lightness8 months ago in Poets
They mined my marrow, feasting on the delicacy, licking clean the bones and drinking from limber veins, laced with corundum,
By Ellie Hoovs8 months ago in Poets
I used to race the ticking hand, Chasing goals I didn’t plan. Breathless mornings, restless nights, Living only by deadlines.
By Fazal Hadi8 months ago in Poets
I used to know laughter, how it echoed in the corners of small rooms, where eyes met without fear and hands held on like promises.
By Mahmood Afridi8 months ago in Poets
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. I walk and I walk and I walk There is no one to talk to. Just my thoughts of remorse. I should have stayed, I should have listened, I should have...
By Clifford Kincaid8 months ago in Poets
He wasn’t searching for anything. He was just scrolling. In the morning — between the sink and the tea. At lunch — instead of eating.
By Ella Morgan8 months ago in Poets
Sleep… what is sleep? Right now, I don’t know. Maybe someone else can go— Go to sleep, of course. I wish I could. But I’m not tired.
Beneath the roots of time’s old tree, where breath and silence wed, I wandered lost—alive in name, but not in heart or head.
By That ‘Freedom’ Guy8 months ago in Poets
Just read it honestly and present your idea about Quran. O Holy Book, O speech divine, Forever in this heart of mine.
By Rayyan Joseph 8 months ago in Poets
The Shimmer That Called My Name There was always something gleaming just ahead. A promise. A whisper. A dream dressed in gold. They called it happiness, I called it purpose, but it was only ever a mirage.
By Asad Khan8 months ago in Poets
I used to believe my body was a thing to be conquered. I thought if I worked hard enough, punished it fiercely enough, shaped it into some image of perfection, I would finally feel peace. I would finally feel worthy.
By Jane Smith 8 months ago in Poets
The night sky splits open not from wonder, but from war, each crack of gunpowder pride a siren call for every wounded thing
By Lolly Vieira8 months ago in Poets
