Stories in Poets that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Despair, Why must you kill my smile? Why must you take my face? Why have you trapped my mind?... and taken my heart?
By Josh Morganabout a year ago in Poets
A void. I thought I was fixing the broken pieces in my heart, turns out I was creating illusions in order to feel whole again.
By Angel Adagioabout a year ago in Poets
Left! soldier boy, soldier toy you gave all you could Left! soldered toy, soldered boy your grave - all you could Left!
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
Chess’s nuts are roasting on an open fire Jack Frost punched him in the nose Auntie Carol’s being hung by a wire Cousin Moe is strung up by his toes
By Cathy holmesabout a year ago in Poets
i am an embezzler of embellishments and i've come for many things you won’t even know i'm there not until you feel the sting
By Brenabout a year ago in Poets
One who asks questions, one who takes action, both engaged in the realm of powerful women. Psychotherapy and fashion intertwined.
By Moon Desertabout a year ago in Poets
My phone is charging, and it seems the notifications have returned. A rhythmic ringtone jingles. And here is 'Colossal.'
By Pauline Fountainabout a year ago in Poets
Wandering through city streets in a trance as the changing forms of our silhouettes grow taller in the reflection of skyscrapers—each passing dimension of composite and steel warping reality.
By H. J. Levonabout a year ago in Poets
The delightful vision of you so surreal as your amber tresses flow and flicker in a flame-like manner underneath the enchanted Aurora Borealis.
By Tony Bacaabout a year ago in Poets
How apropos For writers and poets That ‘womb’ and ‘tomb’ Rhyme so effortlessly. And it's morning, and I'm mourning
By Bex Jordanabout a year ago in Poets
Dip pen in grape juice Watch it splotch down ungracefully, drunk Like a writer who choked back too many words But still managed to blurt out all the right things at the wrong times
By Oneg In The Arcticabout a year ago in Poets
There’s a block in my ribcage So this pen with all of its ink Can’t speak And I use those empty lines like a coping mechanism saying
By Jay,when I writeabout a year ago in Poets
