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benzyl May 30
In a galaxy millions of light years away,

Your visage shines bright, a glistening moon

Its orbit is drawn, its kismet is made

Its blinding departure came far too soon  



Wandering through cosmos in search of your light,

I yearn to break from fate’s dictation

Yet as your figure comes into sight

It shows not truth but imagination



Your orbit drifts further as your visage fades

Your figure dissolves into starless dust

Your eclipse casts my heart under lonely shade

There is no love or hate, only rust



I have not known love but merely affection

I have not known you but just a reflection
For my father, written quite a while ago
Kalliope May 29
If I sit here just long enough,
maybe I'll forget

Just for a minute

If I let the sun kiss my face and the breeze cool my skin,
maybe I can pretend

Just for a minute

If I focus on the birds and my little girls laugh,
if I could just be present

Just for a minute
For sixty seconds, I just want to feel secure.
For sixty seconds, I want to be sure
that I’m allowed a good life,
and I don’t have to be the one who ruins it.
Gustavo G May 28
Said the woman,
with her trendy haircut,
colors of the season,
modern attitudes.

“I’m not like the others,”
wearing her tribe’s symbols,
Needing aproval,
Marking her skin with the same icons;
like words of the same language.

“My personality is unique,”
yet if they all spoke at once,
they would form a choir of millions
Millions, searching for individuality
through the same path.
aviemortem May 28
In the midst of this dying race,
One doubts none but one’s own rage.
Lost in a way that no one can relate,
The mind that scorns its own cruel fate.
Hey! don’t be desperate,
This too shall abate,
Once you find the gate
To the light that'll change your fate.

Awake, My friend, Awake!
It is an essence to bind the faith
When all seems to fade.
In this world, full of plague,
You shall face the fate.
My friend, Awake...

For this shall slowly fade,
And I shall no more wait.
My first poem, Awake, was written during the COVID-19 lockdown, a moment of stillness that turned into a voice I hadn’t used before. I’m not here for attention, just expression. If my words resonate with you, I’m grateful they found a place to land.
David Fesenco May 26
Terraces, people, smoke
rising above their heads,
all of them hiding talks
in the so-needed shade.

Everyone's outside,
interior's empty, but
i think i will go inside,
into the silent gut

of this cafe that i have
been to so many times.
It's seen me when things were rough,
granted it's seen my smiles.

Two weeks left until again
the calendar sheds a year.
The volatility of Men
forces the eye to tear.

Twenty-two, although not much,
is more than i've ever been,
and it seems my time tries to catch
up to the time after me.

What is it that i feel?
hard to tell, stillness perhaps,
but pinned down with barren fear.
But had i another chance

to choose what i could've been,
with all of my blunders in sight,
i still would have chosen me
and still would have come inside.

Having been safely tucked
into the sleeve of my congenital distortion,
i do my time at mercy of today's luck
but still consist of yesterday's misfortune.
I wrote this poem thinking about my upcoming birthday, a recurring event that i am not very fond of
Cira May 26
The loom I once wove,
Was an imagery I drove,
It was never meant to be sealed,
I took charge and felt reeled,

This thread woven was misguided,
But now it had abided,
What was felt was the past,
A chapter that never meant to last,

Sometimes when you tug it too hard,
You pull out the wrong cards,
Sometimes it tangles,
But it wasn't supposed to dangle,

It was stitched to a lesson,
Not a different kind of maven,
I searched for heaven in his smile,
But it was just a moment's trial.

Tis time I big goodbye,
With a found understanding frogeyed,
I whisper "thank you" for this loom,
A kin the next blume.
Kalliope May 25
If you're so selfless,
Why does it bother you no one notices?
2 am
Kalliope May 24
I thought I was good,
I felt I was fine—
everything that’s happened
was just pain that is mine.

My burden to bury,
my cross to hold,
a million and three reasons
I feel like rusted gold.

I became standoffish,
a loner at times,
never letting anyone in,
barely allowing them to stop by.

But it doesn’t have to be that way—
I can open the door.
I don’t have to only give happiness;
I can ask for more.

I’m allowed to take up space,
to be seen and heard.
I deserve people’s time.
They can listen to my words.

It was safe being small,
hiding in plain sight,
but being invisible
never truly felt right.

I deserve to be loved—
to let someone love me.
I don’t have to run.
I can stay and be free.
I lied—
I’ll never regret meeting you.
If I hadn’t, I might have gone through life getting close to others without ever letting them get close to me.
That’s a sad way to live.
So… thank you.
Cadmus May 23
🍽️

If I enjoy their attention today,
I remind myself of this:

They’ll call a nice dish “a ***** plate”
once they’ve eaten their fill.

Praise turns to pity,
desire to disdain.

The hands that reached for me
will recoil,
as if they never begged
to taste.

So I wear their craving like perfume
fleeting,
never mine to keep.

They were never here for me…
just the feast.
This piece strips away illusion to expose the cruelty of conditional attention. It’s a brutal commentary on how people often glorify what they consume, only to discard it with contempt once their desire is satisfied. A warning to recognize the difference between admiration and appetite.
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