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Steve Souza Jun 11
The river knows what we were,
cradling our summers.

I remember you, girl by the river—
fifteen,
sun-warmed,
eternal.
My ghost in summer.

You laughed, and the river paused…
Barefoot,
dancing,
your brown skin
honeyed in the sun.

All the words I could have said
the river
swallowed
whole.

Sometimes—
when I close my eyes—
I hear the songs we used to know...

You, oceaning the shallows;
Me, a shell
on a distant shore.
Tuyet Anh Jun 10
Met you on Thursday,

‘Cause it was the heart day.

You don’t not like so —

Sushi — my type.

For every date, is there anything you’d bite?

Sushi body —
You must like it, right?

Night-long calls,

Somebody’s sleeping tight.

Stories flying high, I rambled on —

The sky my stage,

From page to page.

You must have listened,

Eyes that glow...

Turns out you dozed off long ago.

An EDM show,

A rap girl could try,

The boyfriend — surely I called you mine.

Sat on the shoulders, I do like —

Lovely and muscular!

Same kind of kandi,

But with different colors.

So… can we even get closer?

Got you as my PT,

Promised I’ll never get thinner.

How can I just come to realize I’m not her?

Owned my PT,

My PT likes onnanoko —

Nyotaimori…

Indika shows with DJs we know,

For somehow, we both like Nicky Romero.

Should I go ask him,

Where’s my Romeo?

He plays music,

I got played in your show.

It’s all over,

Indika permanently closed.

Latest post of garage items to be sold.

Separated,

As if we’d never got involved —

Isn’t that easy?

Why can’t I even let it go?

So after all,

Things are now undeniable.

Your hobbies run

As rhythm in my veins —

Up and down,

Echoing my spine.

Countless nights

Wondering why, under ceiling stars,

Your snoring mocked my lonely scars.

I’d rather trade that lo-fi lullaby —

Than this silence

That makes me cry.

You had your ways,

I’d still comply.

Changed my colors,

I’ve always tried!

Finally through the rain,

My tears shed.

She is now

That your rainbow.

I have no idea where to go,

Have a sip at Yoyo?

Our all-time drink:

Mixed Coca-Cola and Strongbow?

No more rides

Around the turtle (lake)!
“Undeniable” was officially featured on the PoetrySoup homepage during the week of June 10th, 2025, as part of their rotating spotlight for selected works.
Thanks for reading! May it resonate with you in some way.
We must carry great faith in our young writers,
I must carry great faith in me,
Carry great faith in he, they, she,
Who?
Those who will inherit the art we cherish,
Keep it close, stringing together what emotions were lost,
We know the real cost.
Hold fast to your faith in the upcoming generation of poets.
We'll keep it incredible
josef Jun 5
speechless in the fact he could be mine
but could he be with another?
doubtless that he would be able to get with
another. if he isn’t, do i have a chance?

secure in the will of god to keep me on
the straightest path, but what if he’s on the path?
W
Manx Pragna May 26
I recall the faux weddings
That youth had adorn.
We were something like five or six,
Playing in her attic.
They had setup
A whole play marriage altar
Out on the back lawn.
My "bride-to-be"
Was dressed in her attire properly,
White veil & everything.
We had often played at house,
But never at matrimony.
It was always explicitly implied,
In such games,
That we were already married.
I did, she did -
You may kiss;
Sweet pronouncement!
Just as with half of all marriages,
We eventually grew apart.

Maybe it was the economy,
Maybe it was our goals;
Maybe it was because we were children,
Maybe because it was just for fun.

I still remember picking for eggs
At her home on Easter.
Vicky Donald May 20
(For Amen Teklay, Kayden Moy, and every child lost too soon)


In just two months, two lives were lost,
To blades that cut through more than frost.
Amen, just fifteen, fell in March—
On Glasgow’s street beneath the arch.

No warning bell, no time to run,
His story ended, barely begun.
Three boys arrested, young as him—
Innocence drowned, futures grim.

Ten weeks on, the pain still raw,
Kayden found on Irvine’s shore.
Sixteen years, a beach, a knife—
Another boy stripped of his life.

Between these deaths, the toll runs high—
Eleven more hurt under Scotland’s sky.
Sixteen teens cuffed, charged, or tried,
While parents ask, Why has hope died?

A 13-year-old at Asda’s door,
A blade in hand, still wanting more.
Two twelve-year-olds in Lenzie fight,
Left another boy bleeding in night.

Stonehaven shook on March fifteen—
An 18-year-old stabbed on the green.
Eight days after, a child of eleven
Caught with a blade at a funfair heaven.

Kinghorn Beach—thirty in a mob,
Four boys battered, blood-soaked, robbed.
Portobello echoed with sirens' sound—
Three teens stabbed, dropped to the ground.

In Aberdeen, a girl of twelve
Cut by another—what dark spell
Turns children into sharpened rage,
And steel the ink on every page?

A seven-year-old, knife in class—
What lessons did we let him pass?
Three schools, three knives, in children’s hands—
Where did we lose the line we planned?

Two names carved into fresh-dug graves,
While headlines scroll like crashing waves.
Amen. Kayden. Just the start—
A nation tearing at its heart.

This isn’t distant, isn’t past—
These weeks have sliced through us so fast.
How many more must we allow
To fall beneath what we allow?

What justice sleeps while young blood spills?
What silence keeps us standing still?
If two months wrought this ****** toll,
We’ve lost control. We’ve lost control
Emily Nelson May 17
Ope
This lightning show has me thinking about that night again.
Without the self doubting guilt,
possibly for the first time.
Is it the combination of school and spring phermones?
The smell of the impending storms?
Or are you in my thoughts because I'm in yours.
The mixed tape spins again
turning silent keys.
The misfire of a cog
going nowhere forever.
Forever letting you go,
I've been waiting for no one.
A habit that's like breathing,
Subconscious and dangerous.
Your voice and silhouette saved in the corners of me.
So magnanimous in my youth,
how I miss her again.
Gabbro May 12
Love and passion are often confused–
I began with something real.
Love and passion don’t walk side by side, love
tears down walls with a hurricane of butterfly wings

and passion walks easily through the rubble.
I don’t believe in the thrill of the chase, the
opposites attract, or the love that's formed
between two people lost together at sea. Fake.

I’ve experienced 100 exciting-stressful things
but I’ve only experienced 1 you. And they have not
felt the same. The night we met in front of canes
I had lied to my father, and my mother, to see you.

I hated the thrill of the lie, driving with you high,
off devices I couldn't name, I hated that.
But we kept going and chatting, I ignored a stop sign
Sure that I would get pulled over, knuckles red-white,

But you spoke sweetly, said it was ok, I think we knew
that I was colorblind to red when it came to you, and you
smiled when I called with my friends, and you looked so pretty
in the streetlights, and we talked like it was easy. I loved that.

One fish asks another, How’s the water today? The second replies,
What is love? It’s okay if it doesn’t make sense to you—
it makes sense to me, like the way I needed you
before I even knew your name. and honestly

It feels like I met you twice, on the luckiest day of the year, and
the luckiest day of my life, and again in a Kalhert parking lot.
Disappointedly sober, so we crawled into each other unprotected,
And shared songs like pieces of ourselves.  I met you there.

To have learned love from you, I am eternally grateful
that I will never have to feel love turn to hate, or feel
the sting of betrayal, because we weren’t perfect together
but you were perfect with me, and you handled my heart gently

I Think how wonderful it is that I have loved you, because you have
given me love in the buildings and in the trees, and countless things
that bring me back to the thought of you, and I will love to take my walks
and hear your smile, in the way the wind blows through the reeds, of our preservation
neth jones May 7
in her eighties                                                         ­ 
motoring in wisdoms and whimble
beddened by stroke subtle effects  
                     and an unlucky stumble
agilely un-humble                                                    
willing to poach after life    put in the work
willing to comb back in   old welcome habits
revive living  through past youthful revisits
end of summer 2024..
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