Prose
Panic Attack
It feels like my anxiety has anxiety applying pressure to my chest it’s hard to breathe when my anxiety's anxiety acts up not even coffee can reinvigorate the stolen energy thoughts cycling perplexing timelines exposed applying pressure to my chest it’s hard to breathe as society looks for an escape the world blurs colors eat away sight as pain blooms behind my eyes washing away all else a darkened room a welcomed friend as the pain ebbs and flows a migraine overtakes all -A.H.
By Ashley Houston3 months ago in Poets
BACKSEAT BLUES. Content Warning.
Backseat Blues I had a dream the other night. This morning, I was thinking about the world today in 2025. My thoughts took me back to 1955. My poppa owned a 1953 Chevy. We drove everywhere in that car. I remembered an event in 1955. I was five years old and as I watched the trees, mountains, deserts fade away as my poppa drove that Chevy like he was king of the road. Mom and Dad were cool. Now I am seventy-six. I closed my eyes today, drifted back to midnight as I lay in the back of that old yellow 1953 Chevy listening to Hank Williams on the radio sing, '‘I am so Lonesome I Could Cry.” I can still hear my poppa sing that tune softly. Mom would look over at Poppa, smile, then turn back and smile at me. I would hum the tune, then cry. I looked up at the stars, and I asked God, the Universe, “Was I Born Before?” For a day I dreamed about my archives, and I am now smiling at the end of the evening before midnight as I can still hear my Poppa sing to Hank Williams as we drove that old 1953 yellow Chevy down life’s highway.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 3 months ago in Poets
The Wardrobe
Dear you, The persuasive and pervasive illusion of the self is complexity. We imagine the self to be a labyrinth of prisms within prisms, an intricate hive of overlapping honeycombs, slowly crystalizing our thoughts, emotions, and habits, the aggregate of which is you.
By Steven Nelms3 months ago in Poets
