All pain is not poetry, Please spare me the depression, I hate self-brutality. To karma, I have paid my debt. You think I owe her..?
By Uncledee'about a year ago in Poets
I rise from the ashes of a childhood Scorched by neglect and indifference, A sapling that refused to wither In the drought of affection.
By Ravi Dabout a year ago in Poets
split soles dinky roles potholes be bold! run here, sprint there don't stop moving. go everywhere tattered ribbons rude opinions
By crayoncreativeabout a year ago in Poets
Perhaps there has been a rhyme to this reason … a point to this nothing In the pit of loneliness and longing it can be hard to see, hard to accept
By Savannah K. Wilsonabout a year ago in Poets
i’ll tell you we weren't angels but what THEY did was wrong and that that they got away with so much brutality for so long
By Brenabout a year ago in Poets
In the hush of fluorescent lights, I stand, a sapling among redwoods, Roots seeking purchase in foreign soil. Each glance, a gust that threatens to uproot,
By Winryabout a year ago in Poets
Sun dried locks and denim skin, robust and cheeky,grinning. Gravel in his mouth, a heat of graven mercury; eclipsed heart, defective and maleficent. Mothers bruising
By Natasha Collazoabout a year ago in Poets
Simply speaking shackled are the voices of those who dream of freedom If there were an iota of blame to place it would be in insolence inciting
By Dan-O Vizziniabout a year ago in Poets
Seated city balcony side in lotus position Inhaled peace, exhaled noise Levitates my spirit above hustle and bustle lifestyles
By Marilyn Gloverabout a year ago in Poets
Silence? Not quite, but something similar. Isolated? Not exactly, but somewhat the same. Loneliness? Not that, not in the slightest.
By Dylan about a year ago in Poets
Iron fist in a velvet glove Wrapped as cuddly coercion Wishing to pluck myself out Of my humanness Too sickish from soaking up
By Diana C.about a year ago in Poets
I come from true stories of pain from A past that would have been enough to break even the toughest of people. I come from being kicked about, like
By Carol Ann Townendabout a year ago in Poets
