Top Stories

Stories in Poets that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.

1977
1977 - I remember the year like it was today. Newly nineteen and newlyweds. Your hair was like goldenrod. Your dress framed your body perfectly. Your lips sang to me all the way down the aisle. We were young and smart, not dumb, I think. You are still my sweet everything after all these years. It brings tears to my eyes when I think about how well we still suit each other. You make familiar look gorgeous! Thank you for trusting me and caring for me the way you always do. I sometimes get lost with dreams but you always do the best to make those dreams reality.
By Rowan Finley 2 years ago in Poets
The Dance Class
He painted this twice, didn’t he? I don’t know, did he?
By Sean Bass2 years ago in Poets
Blood Sport. Content Warning.
“you make me sick” i look up at the sound of her voice, tinged with fire and venom she’s glaring at me - what’s the phrase? hell hath no fury?
By M.B. Arthur2 years ago in Poets
Been thinking about hate and anger
been thinking about hate and and how, even with so much on my plate I still find time to hate we all do, to a lesser or greater extent
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets
Curl . Content Warning.
As you curl and tighten your twisted rope around my neck and stare with your twisted smile, into my soon-dead eyes,
By Cathy holmes2 years ago in Poets
the gaps
is it the flush of pimples there on my chin or more to the point, the curve of my hips? you don't know the names of every scratch and scar
By Ruby Red2 years ago in Poets
Morning Flight
A bee in the sticky stillness of the morning Circling my coffee and my head Bright colors draw him to paper flowers and the false hope of something sweet
By Archery Owl2 years ago in Poets
Deep thoughts, on a Sunday night.
I need to dispose of this sock. There's a hole at the toe, Through which fleshy bits show, And it causes those near me to mock.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Poets
Prehistoric Love Stories Are For Wusses
As far as spinosaurids go I would say I’m pretty easy on the eyes, though paleontologists call me, "The Irritator”
By The Dani Writer2 years ago in Poets
It never was
How can I be sad over something I never had? Fondness that, for me, had started to grow, my emotions were playing catch and throw.
By Christina Vanhaerents2 years ago in Poets
SMD
I hate the way you touch me Not because I find you repulsive
By Jennifer David2 years ago in Poets
Ventriloquist
Just because you can throw your voice, doesn’t make your words mine. I’ll never be your little puppet on a string, you can’t just drag me on a line.
By Josey Pickering2 years ago in Poets