Stories in Poets that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Dear Plastic, Dear? Well, yes, you must be dear to me. You have been with me every step of the way. A fondness is formed in that.
By Calista Marchand-Nazzaro3 years ago in Poets
And there I was Sliding out the womb Breath of fresh air, expected Delivered into stale air and a slanted room Apparently after my father’s pump and dump,
By The Shattered Poetabout a year ago in Poets
I toss a line into my stream of consciousness, cautious about what I’ll find with the hook of my mind I draw a line against a stream of conscience,
By kateresaabout a year ago in Poets
The pink and white stick is faced down on the off-white toilet seat and I stay far away. It is a ticking bomb, I wait for its explosion.
By Hela Babout a year ago in Poets
It's just a broken door. It's really not that bad. I mean, it still opens and closes, you just need five times the strength you used to if you want it to actually move.
By Lolly Vieiraabout a year ago in Poets
I am a work of art I'm a vase Shattered and rejoined with gold I am a broken dish Fragile Dainty Porcelain I'm small fragments put together for daily use
By Meagan Dionabout a year ago in Poets
I was always dancing in the backdrop of your dreams Whispering truth to in your ears While you reclined with half-closed eye lids
By Julia Schulzabout a year ago in Poets
I’ve heard people say this hundreds of times over now, “It’s going to be a lifelong process.” Is this what they meant when they said it?
By Tressa Roseabout a year ago in Poets
Nope. Not that. I have a pen It's these blasted ideas They keep popping up at the most inopportune moments Thoughts crashing into each other, leaving me exhausted in the morning
By Tina D'Angeloabout a year ago in Poets
I am not sure I want to have 'favorites' anymore; the idea that a powerful (love for / enjoyment of) one thing must jostle other well-liked contenders out of an upper tier of my appreciation
By Gabriel Huizengaabout a year ago in Poets
Calling out my name, as ancestors did before, a time filled with ruin and war. A beg, a plea, a prayer, their voices filled with despair
By Angel Adagioabout a year ago in Poets
the first sunny day in a week (even here in this city of clouds and winds it also rises) and I stand embarrassed by my own intrusion
By Katarzyna Popielabout a year ago in Poets
