Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
I’m in no rush to correct the rock gods But big money most certainly has soul. Just think of all of the different odds. Cash moves with proficiency as a whole.
By Skyler Saunders7 years ago in Poets
Six percent I need to write Something… Anything and all I have is six percent battery charge on my phone That’s all I need
By Dominick Morisseau7 years ago in Poets
I own my body and I own my mind and I own every little thing I've ever been curious about. I own my love for the things that I love
By Mary Grace7 years ago in Poets
A part of the process is understanding pain It’s finding yourself amidst the loss Retract your questions Enlarge your living
By Sand 7 years ago in Poets
New brain wanted. After some time together my current brain and I have decided to take some time as his current living habits are clashing with mine.
By Sean Macdonald7 years ago in Poets
It's a hard pill to swallow and even a harder pill to distribute What will hurt for a few days seasoned with deceit will heal never
By Tsholofelo Magwentshu7 years ago in Poets
A crash course with life, Is like birth and death alike. For moments come and moments pass, Their gravity hitting like falling mass.
By Bianca Wargo7 years ago in Poets
I’m thinking of my mom and what she thinks of me. Am I some fly-ass negro, or is she ashamed of me? It’s funny it’s the first time I’ve thought of this before.
By The Disruptors7 years ago in Poets
I’m not unclean, but I ain’t pure either. Smeared my lipstick and broke the mirror. I’ve been too low not to know the soil
By Carmen Fletcher7 years ago in Poets
A dark brown container Reeks of birch and rot. A rustic setting for an atelier, The artist dwells within Composing pieces of societal disapproval,
By Nick Speros7 years ago in Poets
In the beginning there’s always two, no matter your origin And the universe in all of her beauty takes years to handcraft you into what you are and what you’ll become
By Allyson Woody7 years ago in Poets
A flicker of candle flame, from the ledges of the porcelain, milky white, reflection-less window pane. The drop of water on a nearby leaf
By Wendy Wachtel7 years ago in Poets
