There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
I see the way You paint my life In tragedy Sad eyes And curious Stares wanting To offer me Up a dish Of pity But you don’t
By Michelle Renee Kidwell3 years ago in Poets
The scars Both seen And unseen Aren’t a map Of tragedy. You look at me And assume my life Is spelled out In brokenness and grief
I had comfort once I remember havin’ it all before she was born ruinin’ it all * I had parents once they turned into monsters
By Moon Desert3 years ago in Poets
1 he’s got a little pimp jacket for his little pimp life he’s got a bloody great big bouncer for any kind of strife
By Bren3 years ago in Poets
ever since that day that i found out i could make my dick hard i beat it, really beat it i showed em at all school one time
We awaited eagerly The innocence of first fallen snow, The cool frost That would sit upon sleeping earth, The stiffened bark
By Katrina Thornley3 years ago in Poets
Mugs offer hand held hugs for free – day or night. * Shape-made for hands to embrace, Emberless warmth from within,
By Helena Adeloju3 years ago in Poets
There are two types of humans living on this planet. The first human type Is capable of empathy and compassion. They are able to feel emotions and can self reflect.
By Carolmae Hinrichs3 years ago in Poets
god isn't dead!? she sure did fake it tho... she may have changed her name, but not her ways. some call her a savior, others say she's oppressive.
By ⸘jason alan‽3 years ago in Poets
My American Lenses British scientific oral stimulation Narrating the narrative Documentation is imperative Here is me translating the hieroglyphs
By SiAire3 years ago in Poets
we find the sadness in the happiest of faces we find madness in the sanest of places in a room full of colour we notice the grey
I glanced in the mirror, Only who did I see? None other than me, After a blink to focus, I plainly see it is not me,
By Kristen Renee3 years ago in Poets
