where we are
little could I imagine then that poetry would pick me at all, especially to write of words in dialects I don’t speak, but imaging their ...
22/F/Melbourne
Writing is my escapism. Only words formed in my mind can translate into my hand and produce the deepest part of something within my soul.
50/M/Timeless Ocean
My words are borne on wings akin in spirit to Oscar Wilde’s swallow. My words cry in melodies akin in scale to Oscar Wilde’s nightingale. ...