Cathedral of Cracks My heart was never marble, never spotless, never sure; It’s brick and plaster, rent-controlled, resistant, and half impure.
By Milan Milic5 months ago in Poets
I was born twenty years too late to save a woman already unraveling. the apparent and ignored firestorm I came into the world a decade after the warning signs,
By Cadma5 months ago in Poets
Letters to the Unsent I’ve written you in weathered ink and drafts I never name, in subject lines that start with truth, then backspace into blame.
Hands Full of Weather I wake with thunderstorms in wrists, with drizzle in my knees, a barometer behind my eyes that never quite agrees.
Tell me, did you show your face at night and smile the hours away, or, likely as not, avoid the light for blemishes on display?
By Will Ruha5 months ago in Poets
Quiet Like Fire You thought that strength was thunder—fists, a storm against the door, A battle cry on every breath, a boot across the floor.
The Deep Thinkers Who Breathe Through the Storm Part Two An Outstages Cafe They speak in sparks, not shallow streams,
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 5 months ago in Poets
Sometimes keeping to yourself isn’t the worse thing ever. Maybe the solitary life is really better. It’s scary at first. There’s no one but you around.
By Joe Patterson5 months ago in Poets
Borrowed Spine I wore my fear like a second skin, all wrinkle, no design, until the day I stood up straight on someone’s borrowed spine.
Grandmother moon I thank you for shining down on me each and every night I know you're smiling down on me your light it so bright coming from those pearly whites
By J.W. Baird5 months ago in Poets
I speak in rhymes and mysteries Because that’s how I think My brain shittles riddles because it titillates my neurons It is how I do my best to get along in this world
By Atomic Historian5 months ago in Poets
Candles That Don’t Beg I used to strike a match for proof, to bargain with the night, to hold a trembling halo up and call it borrowed light.
