Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2 · 472
on a stage
Dom Dec 2
reality is all that exists.
context is the curtain edge of
the proscenium.
the play is
you and I
performing every day.
ovations and uproar
are all just noise in the end.
everything is theatrical
Nov 15 · 331
winter dust
Dom Nov 15
her kisses
are hot cocoa, sweet on my lips.
her arms
a fireplace, holding warmth between us.
her eyes
are christmas lights, glowing in the cold.
her love
is winter dust, a most beautiful thing to hold.
i've always found winter to be such a romantic time. i'm a sucker for a cheesy hallmark kinda love
Nov 12 · 126
poet's watch
Dom Nov 12
the truest tragedy
of all poetry
is the fallacy
that every line you write
must be saddening.
irony is the counterculture of poetry.
i write death
to the community
and without a breath
the work is granted validity.
i write life
to the people
and without strife
my work is deemed feeble.

a poem is not a feeling
it's a moment.
there is no emotion
there is no reeling
it's not hopeless
it's not devotion
it's not healing.

your poem is now.
Nov 12 · 340
death isn't a friend
Dom Nov 12
i'll rip you out of my chest
but keep you in my smile.
the tears i gave you left
your laugh wants to stay awhile.
your eyes were the best
i've had them since i was a child.
you talked to death
now our distance is beyond miles.
Nov 9 · 419
saturday morning
Dom Nov 9
coffee rings stain the tablecloth
empty creamer pods pile up by the silverware.
the old man finishes his omelet off
while his grandson rocks in his chair.
the new dads outside smoke and cough
avoiding their wives' disapproving glare.
the waitress sits me at a tabletop
and I take in the fullness of the air.
the light in the room takes me like a moth
a moment fleeting is still a moment worth the care.
I eat breakfast every Saturday at Roth's
this diner where all our stories are shared.
I was really drawn to the idea of shared human experiences that we sometimes take for granted, and something about the coziness of a diner on a Saturday morning really stuck with me. God bless you all, have a lovely Saturday!
Nov 9 · 296
humility
Dom Nov 9
if you look at humility as humiliation
take this into consideration
if you enter conversations
and need some celebration
maybe it's your expectations
that need a little changing
Nov 6 · 130
cacophony
Dom Nov 6
a wailing groan
fists of triumph
lies
the shards of broken promises
from this shallow vase
cut anyone who try to fix it.
Do you really have the answer
or are you just raising your hand?
Nov 6 · 292
boomerang
Dom Nov 6
my love for you
is a boomerang.
I aim for your heart
but nobody taught me
how to throw.
I release.
who knows if it's coming back.
Nov 4 · 589
be right back
Dom Nov 4
your note reads like
'gone for groceries brb'
but you left this life
and forced me to grieve.
tell somebody you love them
Nov 3 · 189
the Lord's laundromat
Dom Nov 3
i am a filthy crusted towel
who was doomed to forever
in a laundry bin.
but when i came to Him
He made me clean.
i still collect stains
but His love will always make
me clean again.
God loves you. May you turn to Him and may He bless you all!
Nov 3 · 492
conflict
Dom Nov 3
conflict is a woman
I can’t stay faithful to.
She makes a home in my eyes
wrapping herself in the lies that
lay crumpled on silk sheets.
Truth over harmony is the poem
she hums to me
yet
I still run to sing melodies
in the other beds I’ve made.
Nov 2 · 123
clock out
Dom Nov 2
i no longer cry
about the dirt under my nails
the smell of work on my underarms
the nicks on my knuckles.
my body now sings
the hours spent laboring.
Nov 1 · 141
under the tree
Dom Nov 1
You carved our initials
into the tree we kissed under.
It was our first kiss
and you told me you loved met.
I responded in the chirp of the birds
the howl of the wind
the rustle of the leaves.
We drove home in different cars
down different roads
and you found a new home.
I drove back to the tree
my fingers feel your name
and I call out.
I hear your response in the chirp of the birds
the howl of the wind
the rustle of the leaves.
Dom Oct 31
she slides
a smudged shot class down the bar.
I catch it before it leaps its last
onto the warped floor.
"I feel so bad for you"
Fire rises to my throat
but I extinguish it with my spirit.
"I wish there was something I could do"
"That must be awful"
"You're so strong"
"You'll get through it"
"I'm so sorry"
The sober hearted woman wasted me.
I tilt to my feet
slapping not enough cash on the bar.
I try to say I'll never come back
but apparently my tongue isn't drunk enough.
Instead, I stumble speechless into the night.
I hate her, but she's better than drinking alone.

— The End —