Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
H Feb 2020
i found so many things under the stairs

boxes of my potential

boxes of my procrastination

boxes of all the threads i have stitched and unraveled


      i tied all the knots

        less than
         I cut them all out

these threads bind me

  but to who?

a carefully packed self

under the stairs

each  time
         i arrive
            the boxes open  
                   the boxes remain
                         i will leave them when i go

these threads bind me
to the
Ash Saveman Feb 2020
Peeking out of the darkness
Hidden for so long
Always escaping
Always alone
Longing for connection
Peeking, is anyone there?
The darkness flows with me
Can you see it?
Can you see me peeking through the darkness?
LC Sep 2019
that day broke me.
a part of me left.
I don't know
if it'll come back,
if I'll be me again.

but I'm trying.
I'm picking myself up,
taking small steps,
looking for the missing part.
I hope to be me again.
Jonathan Moya Sep 2019
I watched my house recede to the invisible
as the water rises and the slow flat boat ferries me away.

My only baggage— the wife in her angels nightgown,
my chihuahua, a revolver loaded with dusty bullets—

all collapsing in the flow, dissolving into rot and mold,
a place not all that comfortable for other people,

a belligerent child evaporating into condemnation,
a concrete overhead blocking my view of heaven.

My archive of creeping shame sheds their existence
until it fits into the reality I see, no longer see.

I can only call this invisible place, this marred space
what it originally was before the water and erasure—

I called it love.
I call it love.
Nadia Aug 2019
Home sweet home
Where I can sit on my ***
With no need to roam
And no need to ask
Or research
What to do next
A good sesh of nothing
Sounds like the best
With no need to worry
About where to eat dinner
And when to meet friends
Order in trusty take out
Throw the kids in bed
Time to binge on light shows
Then sleep like the dead

NCL August 2019
Had a lovely vacay but it's always so nice to get home.
San-Pei Lee Jul 2019
Can you let my heart be your home
Because the only one I want to take refuge in is yours
Starscapes on summer nights
That we will always find ourselves returning to
July Gray Jul 2019
It's been a while
Dear old friend
But I wish
To open you again
My mind has been emptied
Into the fold of my notebooks
Instead of here
For over a year
So one may hope
That I've grown
As I return
I forgot about HP for so long and it just helped me through some really dark stuff...
So yeah. Ok, now watch me close this and forget about it for a couple months lol
Glenn Currier May 2019
Now they are memories
like silver threads in a gliding tapestry
how wondrous feeling and smelling the sea breeze
the aromas and excitement of the market
the cool magnificence of the mountains
in late autumn on the brink of winter.

These travels and their newness
still dance in my head
but even now my gut clinches
remembering the effort and focus
on preparations each day.

It’s the dark side of the coin
sadly evoking shame
to even mention it
a blotch in the snow
on the marvelous trek north.

But write it I must.
I wonder if it take courage
to be pitiful in public,
but maybe that’s what poets do
undress in front of everyone.
It is the stuff of nightmares
and here I am doing just that.

On the other hand…

How sweet the peace
and routines
back home
sitting calmly writing
looking out on the back yard
the tallow trees coloring
preparing to shed a variegated carpet below.

Maybe it took travel
to help me appreciate
the beauty of
these serene moments
at home.
Written two days after our return from a glorious ten day trip from Texas to Vancouver and Whistler, British Columbia.  This  has been a draft, but I revised it and made it public today.
Next page