Want to submit your work? Request an invite

i didn't think of dying until i considered my options,
like weighing a gun in my hand thoughtfully;
this way or that?
tell myself i'll feel once all of me is in pieces
& she can't hurt all of me then,
not like i'd ever feel hurt again.
my threshold took me out of my body,
floated somewhere then hoping angels
had come & caught me,
take me far away to a dreamland only then
would i feel safe but the fire was too strong
& i'm left there in the morning wondering
how i got there & when did all of this go wrong?

Emily Dickinson


To die—takes just a little while—
They say it doesn’t hurt—
It’s only fainter—by degrees—
And then—it’s out of sight—

A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
A Crape upon the Hat—
And then the pretty sunshine comes—
And helps us to forget—

The absent—mystic—creature—
That but for love of us—
Had gone to sleep—that soundest time—
Without the weariness—


Angharad said you were her only love
and later they get married
but it didn't work that way for us
you jilted me
and pulled the rug out from under me
like I was som thief trying to hurt you
but I don't know what motive I would have?
Did you not think I had not forgive you
for ignoring my letter for eight months?
that I was writing to you on purpose just to piss you off
I was just terrified of my feelings for you
the feelings I still have for you

Winter Frost

I wonder what it feels like
Flying like a lost kite
Holding on to a string attached
Keeping up for air to grasp

Twirling like a ballerina
Tip toed, not touching the floor
Twirling like those ballerinas
Behind close doors

I don't want to try
Because I know I'll regret
But I wonder what it's like
Hanging in a thread


why don't i feel anything
i look at the pictures of the dead
i should feel something
they're dead
they will never move again
so why don't i feel something

why don't i feel anything
it's been five hours
but all i do is furrow my eyebrows
unable to call because it's all broken
and feel nothing

no feeling is blooming between my chest
i want to feel the painful thing in my heart
so i know im truly here
and not just a pile of dry lips
broken diseases
and mental illnesses


i used to be
afraid of death
isn't that funny
because now
i like killing myself
i like the feeling of
being torn apart by
other people's opinions
i beg them to tell the truth
even when i know
it's not what i want to hear
tell me
tell me you liked my hair longer
before i cut it short
tell me
tell me i'm too skinny
that i should put on some weight
tell me
tell me you're shocked
tell me i should know these basic things
i want the truth
not a sugar coating
and i don't exactly want it to hurt
but i'm starting to think
it is better than nothing


My dear lovely muse,
I thank you
For being the moon,
For bringing ink

Those sleepless nights
Became my fire
Lit up the world of words
Brought me to the peak

Let us see,
My muse,
If this path I walk
Will again be the path to you

Alexandria Tatiana

I greet 2 am tumultuously
my leg aches with pain
while my soul aches to dance
to be free
without constraint
without restraint
just wild
I have class at 9am
but I don't even want to sleep
I just want to dance
all I've ever wanted was to dance.

Cordelia Copson

i keep searching for you
in the lyrics of songs that you play
when we're lying side-by-side in bed
like we're not close enough already

i get you like this,
your skin against mine
and i need more,
i need my thoughts in your veins

i need you gasping for breath
as my blood fills your lungs
i need you drowning in me
i need your soft smile

i need you beneath my hands
gasping before you pass out
i need you scowling at me
i need you looking at me

i said this would never happen
so it happened
i don't fall in love but

but yeah
Lauren Christine

2007 misty grey prius
roommate in the front
new friend in the back
soft and kind music fills the spaces
between our skin
my right hand on the wheel
my left out the window
feeling the wind
that weaves
running through us
and binding us together
his face lit by street lights soft
his chin on the window sill
watching the town drift by
her eyes closed gentle smile
plays on her lips
as she soaks in the moon's rays
the laughter of the day still echoing
in our minds as we drive


the story of the mechanic's hands that only knew how to break things
starts small and quiet

a feverish night in june
reaching out for the first time
in balled up fists
then palms opened to the world
in demand

then, pressing into linoleum
then, gripping the handlebars of a bicycle
then, wrapped around yellow number 2 pencils illuminated by fluorescent light bouncing off white brick walls

then, for many years, nothing but the cold metal of a rusty wrench

i said, i like your filth
teach me how to be grimey
you're only allowed to touch me with dirt underneath your fingernails
i said, i'm young but i know what it's like to be covered in black grease

these hands have touched many
held onto some
left none clean and pure, or easy on the eyes
in their calloused glory, lifting the pleated skirts
two parts of a whole that's only purpose was to destroy

i wonder in the time i have spent
hands under sink
body in bubble baths
fingers down my throat
purging a gasoline stained, black grease, mangled-with-wrenches childhood

were the mechanic's hands pressed together in prayer

did they ever get scrubbed clean?


The moon is hiding in
her  hair


Too many times to count,
I've changed
My mind.
Too many of your doubts,
Caused me to stay caged,
Disappointed to find,


It's like I am my own friend and enemy.
Pagan Paul


The melancholy sound of a trumpet seeks refuge in the night,
as a snare is brushed gently and cymbal tapped light,
the far away strum of a guitars dreamy soft strings,
playing music that compliments what a lonely voice sings.

© Pagan Paul (17/09/17)

* Excerpt stanza from an unfinished poem. PPx

It's selfish to taste your morning all at once
knowing you had passed
but that was yesterday when you touched all those babies
when they breathed deep and smelled San Diego

I stared too long at you, into your echoes
your masturbating old age into oxygen bottles
stroking out to door handles you twisted to leave here

When you cinder
I will give you back to Mexico
with all my pulverized bone wrapped in plastic
sealed tight enough for you to gnash your teeth on

Child molesting fathers die alone

I will love you but not forever
Because time will not define a feeling so divine
But this is not the reason why

I will love you, but not as strongly
Because slowly and surely, commitment will be the key
But this is not the reason why

I will love you, but not as consistently
Because my eye cannot vye with two to compromise
But this is not the reason why

And the reason why must not shock you
It must not phase or break you, this is not to contain you
It will never mean to release you
But hope, to engage you

I will not love you forever
Because of another
And this is without hesitation, nonchalant
One who may be a little ignorant
But will always be more observant
Deserving, learning, and maybe even infinitely more important

Because as you will see,
And I hope you know what this means
Together we were never meant to be two souls in a constant tether;

I will love our child forever

Chantelle Watson

Everyday i died.
Everyday i doubted
Everyday i felt insane
Everyday i lived in fear
Everyday i hated myself
Everyday i didnt eat... sometimes.
Everyday i bent to your will
Everyday i suffered in silence
Everyday i hated you
Everyday i couldnt take it
Everyday i thought of running
Everyday i dreamed of what it could be like
Everyday i lost my trust in everyone
Everyday no one could understand
Everyday i lost myself
Everyday i crumbled
Everyday i felt ashamed
Everyday i couldnt recognize myself anymore


Everyday i get a little stronger,
Everyday i get a little braver,
Everyday i hurt a little less,
Everyday i feel a bit more free,
Everyday i trust a bit more,
Everyday i feel a little wiser,
Everyday you control me less and less,
Everyday im a little happier,
Everyday i find myself
Everyday i feel proud
Everyday i follow my heart
Everyday i find a bit more of myself
Everyday i put back pieces you stole
Everyday i heal...
Everyday i grow...
Everyday i am reborn...
Everyday i am more me than i was before
Everyday i am thankful for what ive survived
Everyday i am alive...
Everyday i am living in spite of you.

Kyle Bailey

In the coastal town of Echo Thorpe
A very cool jazzy wind howls like
coyotes faking injuries to lure lost
dogs and stray cats. Fog sets along
the quay, where restless little flies
dote along the John Day and talk
among themselves about the under-
tow; leaving moral impressions
about harvesting natural energy, and
abusing those that can't speak on
Shi Shi beach.

R M Grahn

Rolling waves, little vibes.
Subtle words inside the mind.
Relax…step back...ride the tide.
Seek to find what’s in your mind.

Little ripples flow in a rolling sea,
Gently washing over me.
Watching you as you pass the time.
I’m reaching out to make the climb.

We’re celebrating new-found worlds.
Choosing words as yet unheard.
Building mansions in the sky.
Dreaming…believing…asking why.

The tales you tell,
They rise and fly.
Wisps of clouds…wet and dreamy…
Floating by.

I love you more than time can say.
Beyond the mountains, we can stray.
Dwelling here inside your waves,
Love evolves in special ways

Tempting fate…
Our ripples flow.
Tossing stones into the hole.
The echoes ring throughout my brain.
Your rain pours down, removing pain.

In hues of blue,
It seems to me a pleasant scene.
That timeless dream you paint for me
Is sprawling here for all to see.

I’m all absorbed,
Never bored with what you say.
I love the way you look at me,
Just how your eyes divine on me.

The world is tossed, our love is bound.
Rumbling over this hallowed ground.
All we’ve shared and all we’ve seen
Is what we’ve found and can believe.

The trees have seen our blooming dreams.
Nothing means so much to me.
That warming fire inside your eyes.

To my surprise, it’s no surprise.
Your flame, it warms my pulsing stream.
The heat that’s raging in my soul
Is whole with you, your role is true.

The only moment we can ever spend
Must last for now…and now…and now.
Please remember that you please me so.
Just grow with me as the river flows.

As with the previous poem. This was written in the hospital.
Austin Evergreen

A Kickstart in the morning
Coffee at midday
Latte in the afternoon
An evening soda

Caffeine running in my veins
Dripping from my brow
The scent of it in my nose

It is a being
Symbiotic to my self.
Believe it or not,
I hear it breathing inside,
Compressing my heart
Rhythmically to stay alive.
Without it I'd die.

Dependent but satisfied


My heartbreak takes place in the dark.

Nobody deserves to see how ugly it really Is.

A lot of my poems are about heartbreak and misery.......sorry if that offends. Heartbreak or sadness are  an emotion I have personally felt more than any other.

there is something to be said

- (something beautiful)

Lizzy Sharples

I have always worked hard
But never found work hard
Never before
Has it felt such a chore
My job is engaging
But I'm changing
I feel I'm a pale reflection
A mere fraction
Of me is present
I'm absent
My mind is elsewhere
Struggling to care

I used to care

It made it easy to be there!

This apathy
Is draining me
It's exhausting to smile
Too much energy required
I'm shattered before I arrive
Just trying to survive
I never used to pray
For the end of the day
What used to be easy
Now takes all of me
Shouldn't be this hard
It's like I'm swimming through tar
Empty of everything
Not just energy
Empty of all the things
I need to be me
To be here
And I fear
You'll see what I'm thinking
On the brink of sinking
Can't trust this shell
Can't tell
If you can see
The battle in me
Do you know what it takes
To be this fake
I'm angry through and through
While I'm smiling at you
This facade is tiresome
Back in the rhythm
Have you heard my sarcasm
I'm so numb
Detached and chained
Deranged but refrained
A turbulent storm
Has my insides deformed
This dusty barren show
Takes every ounce of strength I own
I can only hope
That no one really knows
But I wish they knew
Just how few
Pieces of me
Are left trying endlessly
To be all I was before
But with the passion of a corps
It's torturous, agonising
This hollow chattering
Exhausting, debilitating
Laborious, my patience is failing
Back to the grind they say
It never used to grind this way!!

Returning to work after my brother was murdered
Rick Stachemore

There are 30,600 seconds in an
      eight and a half hour day of work.
           Each subsequent is a sharpened
              tool of useful motivation to help me
                  alleviate my inventiveness...but
                      the value of my individuality
                         is ejected into a bottomless
                           pit of redundancy and wasted
                               on slave labor and dolor.
                           The duration of time with my
                        12 eyes is pillaged and plundered
                  by the imperialist pirates of propriety.
               They kick you when you're down
             and make you smile about it.
          That's why you need a day off
        before and after your weekend.
     Mercifully, half my work day
   is spent in the bathroom,
    where all the business and
      communicating with the
         outside world gets done
            and I can write my poems
              and escape into the abyss
                 of my own creativity.
                   All of my poems have
                     either started, finished,
                        fully written or re-edited
                           in the bathroom.
                             If I told you this poem wasn't
                          written in the bathroom than
                        I'd be lying to you and there's
                      no reason for that.
                   There's not much to look at except
                 two bare walls, one bare stall door
              and a toilet paper dispenser but
           that's more motivation than all
        the dullard coworkers combined.
      ......And if the
   shower is cold and
the hobo's clean and
  the beer is warm and
    the grass isn't green and
      the whores are dry and
        the weed is wet and
          the money is scare in the
            rich man's eye and
             the air is breathable,
              religion is believable
                and the mosquitoes are
                  tolerable to the young
                    man's mind, then....
                      me and the popcorn man will sit on
                    the highest skyscraper of wet hair,
                  eating flavored ice and watching
                the yellow skies as it rains snakes
              into my gums and I can live a life
           without fear and have prosperity.
         It's better to live a local
        legend without notoriety
      and be discovered
    after your death than
  to die a sell out with
global stardom
of longevity.


Raw liver and butter
                           Soft and fragile
Like my heart

I'm sorry for that

I am the sky and you are my stars
We're better together, there is no doubt
But I am beautiful with you
And beautiful without.

Nini Harb

You stepped in and
Out of my life like an old photo booth
Took a couple pictures, our first and last photo shoot
First the smile, then saying cheese
Then a kiss, then crying, and sweating with fear
How could my love corrupt you
It's just as simple and sweet as the flesh of a peach

In the middle of writing this I got interrupted but I'm feelin what I got so far ~(^-^)~
Lawrence Hall


For Eldon Edge

An empty chair beside the fireplace waits,
And lamplight falls upon an open book,
Pen, pocketknife, keys for the pasture gates,
Dad’s barn coat hanging from its accustomed hook.

But he will not return; his duties now
Transcend the mists of the pale world we know,
And you in grief must carry on, somehow;
Your duty is here, for God will have it so

The good man takes that chair reluctantly;
It is a throne of sorts, and one imposed,
Not taken as a prize, triumphantly,
But in love’s service, and in love disposed.

An empty chair beside the fireplace waits
For you, whom doleful duty consecrates.

Chloë Fuller

when did your eyes turn from blue to grey?
what a beautiful grey
a cold grey
a wet October grey
an "I forgot my umbrella" grey
a "Should we stay home?" grey
a day consumed with nostalgic sadness grey
a familiar reminder of rejection grey
a hopeless new romance grey

as grey as the ash from your cigarettes
as grey as that woolen hat that I'd wear while I waited wondering when you'd wander home
as grey as my best shirt you stripped off of me on a grey night

i fell in love with a mixture of black, blue, and muddy pearl
it sparkled against me when the sky clouded up
and we kissed until our vision blurred

I don't remember how vivid colors were before you.

amina a

where do they go
when i erase my words
that just weren't
meant to be here

where do i go
when i hide
my self
that, what if,
was not meant
to be here

Eliza Noxon

It, is so, unbelievably easy
To trick people into thinking you’re smart
I’m pretty sure the only person who says I’m not smart, is me

I am not intelligent.
But I know big words, and how to put them together
So I sound like I know what I’m saying
How to say things like;
The text was too overburdened by prose to present a coherent and reasonable defense, the author’s attempt at subtext failed to appropriately suggest their point and only lowered its overall value.
Which is just a fancy way of saying the book was bad and I didn’t like it.

I’m not an intellectual,
I’m a performer.
Stringing a series of simple statements with severe synonyms
Trading in tongue-twisters that turn the tide to treasure
Rapidly ranting, rejecting restraint, my reward is the right to a requiem when I repose
Vividly view me as verbose, vocal, vociferous, even villainous may be a verdict but never vulnerable, unvaried, or vanilla
So I speak fast, fabricating fame, faking face and faith
Alliteration is amazing, an awesome affectation of an academic

I’m not intuitive.
I’m not clever.
I’m not astute.
I’m not

I just know the phrases and the dates
How to use diction and grammar reminiscent of the classics
I know how to mimic the people with stars in their eyes
And the flavor of their voice.

I can mold my voice to fit a scholarly cadence
Flipping words off my tongue, the way they do
Words like notes in an orchestral discussion,
Yet I’ve never really felt all that smart.
Just, faking it.

Isn’t that the point though?
Fake it till you make it?
I tell myself all the time,
I’m not, I’m not, I’m not
But why am I not

I walk, talk, and act like I’m intelligent
I understand theories and the classics,
I can hold my own in discussions and
Formulate my own opinions
Hell! I’ve won awards and helped tutor
So Who says I’m not smart?
I can be! I will be!
I am!
Who say’s I can’t?
Who say’s…..

It, is so, unbelievably easy
To trick yourself into thinking you’re smart
I’m pretty sure the only person who can tell me I’m not smart,

Is me

helena alexis

feeling your lips against mine
so soft and angelic
moving in sync
with each other

you taste like fireworks
exploding in my mouth
each kiss feels different

rougher and rougher
our lips attacking
like they are at war

- kissing you

made out w a girl in Mexico over the summer this is ab her

I don't ask for sympathy.

I won't ask for love.

I'll wait until my judgement day to make peace with God above.

I don't take what isn't mine.

I won't kneel down to pray.

I've worked too hard for too damn long for far too shitty pay.

I don't know where this is going.

But I know, now, how it'll end.

I'll live, I'll work, I'll die and then-

I'll do it all again.


How can thoughts be real
They're not solid enough to touch
So how can someone manifest
A feeling such as love?
Can you
Hold it
Breathe it
Squeeze it in your hands
It's forcing us to trust
In the invisible
Once again

Because although you can't see it
  It can still disappear
Love is the sad song
That left you crying in your beer

Blind sided
It can hit you
And you best believe it's true
Love is as real
As the way I feel for you

Traveler Tim
Dedicated to:
Everyone in the known universe!

when you pass my way, know that my Wi-Fi network
requires no password to gain entry,
thus it comes with a security recommendation:

there is no security in poetry, only the unresolvable:

how came Excalibur into the rock,
will our children have better lives than us,
can we define accurately finite,
why can't we add new letters to our alphabet,
will my poems live longer than I

so when you pass my way
walk right in, sit right down,
greet madness,
thy new boon companion,
who will not ask you for the password...
8/27/17 11:43pm


I love him...
For God Sake
I love him....

I love him...
For whatever it is he's done to me
For whatever risk he took to treat me right

I love him...
For bad or good

I love him...
For today, still continue at tomorrow

I love him...
Like i said yesterday...

josh wilbanks

Being suicidal doesn't mean i'm going to kill myself

Being suicidal is having this unexplicable ache while you're living

It's waiting for your life to end, and wishing you didn't have to carry on

Having this ache, an incapability to feel happy living, doesn't mean that I am going to kill myself -

It just means I wouldn't mind dying.

I Barker

Death doesn't scare me
Hurting those closest to me
Scares me

olivia jade

food tastes better when nothing had to die for it,
cry for it, lose its precious life for it.

your burger tastes like murder
your bacon like lives that were taken, shaken, foresaken.

you dig your polished fork into pork as you talk
about how the oceans are shrinking, sinking, wishful thinking.

you serve fish on a gleaming dish as you wish
that numbers of whales, eels, sharks and seals were not dwindling.

you spend time crying for the polar bears dying
as your bacon is frying, and it isn’t the only thing.

you gorge on tender beef although you aren’t the thief
that stole it’s very life from it.

you chit chat about mass extinction and animals dire fate
whilst the crux of the problem sits on your plate.

Francie Lynch

When I'm seeking shade from a relentless sun,
And brush a rejected leaf off my shoulder,
I feel poetry.

When I brought my girls home,
From hospital, school, a bad night out,
I've experienced poetry.

Walking Front St., or  Centennial Park,
While the buskers are busy,
The children are laughing,
The dogs are barking,
I've heard poetry.

If fortunate to espy a shooting star,
Enjoy the fullness of an autumn moon,
Witness the dawn light up my lawn,
Like a diamond mine,
I've seen poetry.

I've tasted poetry on my lips
With kisses and endearing words,
And lingering tastes from what you've served.
Yes, I've savored poetry's flavors.

Who reads poetry,
When you can live it.

Tanna Holst

Don't try to love me
I'll eat you alive.
Don't try.

Don't get too close
You might catch my sickness
See the one thing that will make me happy
Is the one thing I'll consistently push away.
I'll do everything in my power
To make damn sure you won't stay.

I'm a monster,
A plague, a disease.
I don't deserve love
I don't deserve anything.
You can't save me.
Trust me, you'll leave.
They always leave.

So don't try to love me
I'll eat you alive
Don't try.

Please try.

Next page