#spilledink poems on Hello Poetry

dead poet 22h

unbowed

if i could, i’d let it go -
long ago,
so you’d never know
how i felt
when you had me knelt
before the sinister
price i owe.

i gave you my world
with fists uncurled;
you gave me your spite
with a tongue that twirled
at the whims of a curse
so foul, it reeked
of a bane too vile,
and unreasonably
perverse.

can’t blame you, though,
the things i know
could rip the heart,
and have it show
the crimson shards of
memories jarred,
and a quiver so bare
from all the blows.

perhaps,
there’s still a place for you
in my heart, that’s yet
to know what’s true;
but i cannot allow
my head to bow
to scorn, and spite,
to name a few…

#heartache #betrayal #resilience #pain #healing #rhymescheme #lettinggo #bittersweet #spilledink #poetrycommunity

Sara Barrett Jan 21

Galaxies Beneath the Surface

We are galaxies wrapped in human skin,

Infinite and diverse

Short, tall, curved, angular,

Painted in every shade beneath the sun.

We carry stories like hidden constellations,

Symphonies unheard by casual ears.

Mothers, creators, dreamers, doers

More than the roles they give us.

Some wear scrubs that heal,

Some don suits that lead,

Some wrap aprons around quiet dreams

But always, there is more beneath the surface.

We are silent strategists,

Mapping emotions with a glance,

Untangling life’s knots with quiet magic.

We repair not only what has been broken.

We restore what is unseen.

We write novels at midnight,

Teach yoga or calculus with equal grace.

We climb walls others fear facing,

And drive highways under moonlit skies.

They see simplicity where we hold storms,

Calm exteriors hiding infinite layers.

Mother. Worker. Wife.

Labels are too small for the worlds we contain.

Stop. Look closer. Listen deeply.

We are not just women

We are universes waiting to be discovered,

Galaxies hidden in plain sight,

Architects of futures yet unwritten.

This poem explores the hidden depths of women’s lives—their untold stories, unseen challenges, and unrecognized strengths. It reflects on how women are often defined by surface-level roles—mother, professional, wife—that fail to capture the vastness of who they truly are. Beneath their calm exteriors lie galaxies of talents, passions, and resilience, quietly shaping the world in ways that often go unnoticed. This piece is a call to look beyond appearances, to listen deeply, and to acknowledge the infinite complexity and quiet power that women carry within them.

#womenempowerment #poetry #write #poets #poem #spilledink #hiddenstrengths #untoldstories #galaxieswithin #resilience

dead poet Jan 16

i cried a river

i cried a river;
it wasn’t enough -
to whet my wits,
and call your bluff

i tried a thing,
or two, in vain;
i could not escape
the house of pain.

i lied to you -
didn’t occur to me,
‘t’d be so hard
to agree to disagree.

i hide away
my bother; i coy -
hush the man, and
play the boy.

i ride along -
for i’ve lost my way;
bide my tongue…
do as you say;

i denied myself
the right to speak:
i waived my voice
to the cackle of
the creek.

#rhymescheme #loss #regret #silence #heartache #solitude #despair #poetrycommunity #emotionaljourney #spilledink

dead poet Dec 2024

the empty pocket

hand trembling inside the pocket;
knuckles scraping against the outseam;
fingertips crawling into the deepest corner;
nails clawing at a ball of thread -
too stubborn for its own good;
wrist hair tugging at a rough patch;
fist holding onto itself;
palm lines lacking conviction;
fingerprints blaming each other;
nerves adjusting to the pressure:
pulsations full of dread;

the pocket stays empty.

#freeverse #micropoetry #flowstate #anxiety #emptiness #creativewriting #spilledink #hellopoetry

dead poet Dec 2024

a song of hope

there’s an emptiness that
consumes the world,
like a newborn babe does her
mother’s *******:
it needs the force of life -
to become a weapon for death;
as it kills the light switch
in the warehouse of hope;
as the sound of darkness
blinds even the bats;
as the echoes of piousness sink
to turn lawless mercenaries;
as the lantern flickers off
to the heaving of hedonism
that spawns in the void -
dark, and unconquerable.

until someone strikes a match.

#freeverse #lightvsdark #motivational #hope #resilience #emptiness #battle #creativewriting #spilledink #hellopoetry

dead poet Dec 2024

deep-seated

i shudder to heed
the animal i’ve become:
once a wolf untamed;
now a lost puppy,
squealing for his mum.

a saintly pelican, i thought meself -
back in the day,
with a bill so big as
my heart would weigh;
now, but a vulture -
feeding on the remains
of unfortunate cows:
with a crooked bill, i prey.

a scorpion’s sting
could go in vain
on skin - like a crocodile’s -
that’s proof of pain.
a chicken on the run? -
or the bloodhound
that caught her?
nah -
more like a pig for slaughter.

a rattlesnake in hiding
with its venom depleted,
i long to emerge a phoenix:
find my mission, then complete it.
purge meself of the worm:
eat it - like a songbird, mistreated;
anyway -
i should get off my high horse;
the parasite’s more...
deep-seated.

#fable #poetry #rhymescheme #identity #selfreflection #metaphors #similis #spilledink #hellopoetry

dead poet Dec 2024

the hour hand

i could tell the time at an early age;
yet, i could never tell the misery
of the hour hand of the clock -
that lies in wait...
for what i imagine,
must feel like an eternity,
at the mercy of the minute hand
to finish a full round -
as it is, in turn,
at the mercy of the second hand;
only to move but a
fraction of an inch on its axis:
so it can be worthy of its name.

surely, it’s the loneliest of
the three hands;
yet, perhaps, also the wisest -
for it knows what’d happen
if it ceases to move -
even for an hour, as it were.
you see, the illusion of a moving clock
is maintained only by the hour hand.
the minute hand could stop for a minute -
and we wouldn’t mind much;
the second hand could stop for a second -
no harm done;
but if the hour hand stops for an hour -
well, we’d notice.

i can never really tell the time now;
just the hour in which i exist.

#freeverse #time #existence #philosophy #metaphor #clockmetaphor #silentreflection #spilledink #hellopoetry #poetrycommunity

dead poet Dec 2024

mud in rainwater

mud in rainwater
bubbles with irreverence;
a dog steps on it.

#haiku #satire #imagery #humor #lifepoetry #nature #openworld #mud #rain #spilledink

dead poet Dec 2024

scars

you can see my scars;
my face is riddled with them.
i often wonder,
how anyone could miss them -
yet, they always seem to.

it takes a good look, i guess -
to see how bad things really are.

perhaps they’re blinded
by the smile i put up;
a slick smile, it is -
surgical -
like a scar…
a big scar,
that hides the smaller ones.

the other day,
it hit me like a truck -
while i was walking to the cigarette shop,
my vanity still in awe of
‘how anyone could miss them…!’
a man, i saw.
an old man -
with overgrown ****** hair,
and a yellow mustard duffle coat,
walking my way.
a flash of traffic light
streaked across his face,
and a feeling took over me;
a strange feeling -
like i had seen a ghost from my past,
or perhaps,
my future.

as he passed me by,
he smiled at me.
ceremoniously, but still.
as did i.
we timed it perfectly -
like an ambidextrous artist
were at work,
drawing identical curves
with their hands.
i noticed,
my smile had lasted longer
than i expected.

a few yards down the road,
i stopped abruptly…
and whimpered,
‘oh...’

it's nice to sonder sometimes.

#narrativepoetry #freeverse #storytelling #poetry #scars #reflection #imagery #smile #spilledink #poetrycommunity

dead poet Dec 2024

the family ant

a brick in the wall -
an ant crawls into a crack;
becomes family.

#savehaiku #haiku #poetry #spilledink #imagery #ant #home #family #poetrycommunity