#poetess
I live in the quicksand,
a single move could drown you,
if you haven't drowned already.
My regrets hang over my head,
I can't quite reach them, but they're always there.
Reminding me of everything I do wrong, mocking me,
laughing because I can't fix what I've done.
My depression hollows me out,
till my bones are bear, weary, how unfair.
My mind doesn't anchor me, like it's supposed too.
It sends me into spirals of oblivion and echoes
my worth deflating.
None of it's true? Well you can't convince me.
I don't mean to be this way, always grieving in pain.
But it finds me at my worst.
When the termites eat the foundation, what's
left to keep it standing?
Everybody nods and sinks into their chairs.
The world keeps moving,
even when it feels like it's ending.
I hold on to a thread,
why do people feel as though they understand?
Do they have to take medication just to calm down?
Does everyone in the world feel like they know
something?
Do these people sit in bed wishing they weren't awake?
Wishing they could find the root that started all this pain?
No they attend every party and every occasion. Laughing, breathing.
But my smiles are rare now,
I don't know where to find them
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 11:22 AM UTC
I just want the truth,
I just want to know.
Why you turn red to blue and
sometimes yellow too.
Why you act like you love me
then you switch up these lines.
What a death threat against me,
I'm lucky to be alive.
But I didn't know, I can't recall.
When it turned unrequited if it were love
at all.
Don't call me a fool, I know what I am.
Don't call me naïve like I don't know things.
I just choose to ignore them, so stupid of me.
But I won't make that mistake again as long as
I breathe.
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 10:04 AM UTC
Anxiety is a book that lays bent on my bed,
endless pages of wonder.
You could get lost from all the ponder.
Why your trapped in the line of your own mind,
sometimes you forget how to breathe.
How anxiety is like a book,
and it haunts you every waking hour.
You can never forget the written down ink stains,
however they are eternally ingrained.
Anxiety you can't control,
like the words are stuck so are you.
So paralyzed you can't move.
Tears fill your eyes,
you cannot deny that you're scared inside.
And on the bed you lay,
in utter dismay.
While the pages of your book are closed,
you cannot bear to read another note.
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 12:38 PM UTC
I bet no ever caught you smile, even when you won.
Just a cold breath in and out, you didn't even need to speak
to scrutinize and tantalize me. When I looked in your eyes,
felt almost like you weren't even there. So hidden in disguise,
splitting end a bitter knife. And what is this feeling?
I was falling somewhere, but you make it clear...it won't be in your arms.
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 12:28 PM UTC
Downplay all my feelings,
weighing heavy, past the floor.
sinking into concrete,
thinking I deserve to be appalled.
Astronomical waves of nerves and grief,
coming off me in this drought,
this heat.
Your silent perception, was just an interception to think
kindness is some sort of war.
Thinking..'Honey, you deserve it all.'
Why did I deserve to be your doormat?
To clear your sadness, as a rag.
Kindness isn't a weapon or
a form of ripping someone open.
I give you honesty,
but in all certainty..you wish I did not exist?
Your apologies are like water, slipping through my fingers.
I'm drowned in forgiveness, but you mean none of it at all...
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 12:15 PM UTC
I promise you,
Doom and gloom
Isn't all my poetry brings
I just have so much to say -
So let me sing!
I know they're long,
Mayhaps laborious
I like to use big words
Like noctilucence
But give them a read,
If you please
I'm no tease
My poems -
You just need to
Let them breathe
.....
🍒
Pretty please?
Jul 21, 2025
Jul 21, 2025 at 2:50 AM UTC
> The world doesn't accept complainers
So I'll shut up and live with it
People could be dyin and they'll be called entertainers
Because no one will listen so its better to submit
> I'm tired and want to bawl my eyes out
But this world will not accept complainers
So I'll shut up and deal with it
And continue my path even if there's doubt
Even if I receive nothing, I'll pretend to be one of those gainers
Even if my face is soaked with spit
> It hurts so much but I'll clench my teeth
Because life cannot have another soul dying
And take my weapon out of its sheath
Because fighting is easier than crying
May 18, 2025
May 18, 2025 at 8:59 AM UTC
Emily shmemily,
Emily Dickinson,
Recluse and poetess,
Rendered her rhyme
Idiosyncrously,
Much of her poetry
Reading most cryptically
Much of the time.
Sep 21, 2024
Sep 21, 2024 at 10:01 PM UTC
Whenever I experience pain
Whether it be physical or mental
I don't feel I am alone
Because your words are so powerful
That they transport me into another realm
Where I begin to feel a sense of calm
And a voice speaks
"Everything is going to be alright soon"
Slowly and steadily, the pain fades
And I begin to feel at ease again
You may not be a witch
But your poetry is so rich
And so full of passion
That it gives me motivation
To do whatever I earlier thought was impossible
Your attitude makes EVERYTHING seem possible
The way you write a novel
Sets an example for us all
Full of dry and witty humour
Not to mention, extreme candour
And at the same time, you keep the readers guessing
Hence, no book of yours can ever be called "boring"
And your activism lights a flame in us
Which is extremely difficult to extinguish
Thanks to you, am I starting to find the courage and strength
To fight my battles with mental health
And hoping to emerge stronger than ever
Dear Comrade, I will forget you never
Jai Bhim! Vaazhga Periyar!!
Sep 18, 2024
Sep 18, 2024 at 8:07 AM UTC
Whenever you enter my thoughts
A fire begins to burn fiercely in my heart
Destroying everything in its path
Except any positive thoughts
And from my mind, emerges a voice
Saying "You can do it
And you WILL do it!"
Whenever something seems amiss
I think of your struggles
And gradually, do I find myself more capable
Of achieving every task that is set before me
A Harry Houdini, you may not be
However, an inspiration are you, for sure
Because, so much do you care
About righting all the wrongs in our society
Casteism, Hindutva, Islamophobia, gender inequality
Determined are you, to fight hard for social justice
Even if you end up paying a huge price
I consider myself an extremely lucky person
To know such a lovely human being like you
Who talks not through words but actions
Though you are a very loving partner and mother
Rarely, do you showcase your affection and care
Your sheer nerve and bravery would make Godric Gryffindor proud
Your patience, dedication, loyalty and sense of justice would make Helga Hufflepuff proud
Your sharp wit and natural curiosity would make Rowena Ravenclaw proud
And finally
Your sheer ambition, determination and resourcefulness would make Salazar Slytherin proud
Always, will you be my primary motivator
Keep rocking, keep fighting and do take care
May the Almighty bless you forever!!
Aug 27, 2024
Aug 27, 2024 at 4:01 AM UTC
POETRY IS ART,
Like PAINTING WORDS
with a PAINTBRUSH,
VERY SLOWLY, DON'T RUSH,
LYRICAL WORDS as to
an ARTIST PAINTING PALLETTE,
Giving a VISUAL EFFECT of
POETIC GIVEN TALENT.
Every STROKE of the BRUSH,
Is to the WORDS that are DRAMATIC,
When your CREATIVITY is DONE,
You look upon it and say:
FANTASTIC!!!!
It may have TAKEN A WHILE but
yet you're STILL VERY PROUD,
YOUR WRITINGS DO STAND OUT,
IT'S ACCOMPLISHED, COMPLETE
and AS AN ARTIST YOU SMILE!!!
B.R.
Date: 3/25/3024
Aug 26, 2024
Aug 26, 2024 at 4:15 PM UTC
With the flicker of your wrist, pen live at hand.
Academia once again applauds and stands
The ovation unawaited, unexpected, Unabated, unresisted,
As the world before your knees bends.
The gray shroud of insecurity is tormenting you,
Coalescing with the muse that gives you life
You’re duality,
You are human and then monster,
Nothing more than rampant beauty in your lines.
Appreciated never were you while you could be,
Torrid romance brought you happiness and strife.
Yet, you never stopped for death although he kindly did for you,
And felt a funeral in your brain come back alive.
You tell the truth, although a bit slant, to succeed,
Your life has stood - a loaded gun straight at your head
And though success is counted sweetest when you least have seen him come,
A man’s entitled to take pride in all he has.
You say your enemy is the demon in your head,
A restless pen and *** of pearly sheets,
The manuscript of a novel never read,
Instead you leave plastered your heart in poetry.
Mar 2, 2022
Mar 2, 2022 at 11:46 PM UTC
like fallen flowers, i am
weary under the subtle noise of a rushing, babbling brook;
a death, quietly scenic
as i go back to dust.
i left my body rotting in a prairie paradise,
here it decays to gray
under the bruised indigo sky.
a ghost writes her poem in silence, in small, made-up synapses,
and the wind sweeps it away.
Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 7:34 AM UTC
One grain left my smile
identical twin of yours
didn't see it's mystery timely
my unwritable wrong
like me friend not foe.
Followers and sweetpie poets
did I ever tell you how I love you
grace, love is my other name.
In whatever bittersweet
circumstance stranger as I am
trustworthy like you I am,
giftedly understanding.
If not too intrusive of me,
find my heart of gold.
for your comfort it beats
for your eyes skips beats
any kindness is measured
priceless I won't judge you
dear poet friend or covert enemy
take another piece of me but look me in the eye tell me why I got no clue.
I am only human make mistakes, hardly a poetess a nobody
a mocked hero Mom
a surviving hate crimes fool
blind for love.
A lost and found sad clown
a mess in so many ways,
and all is my fault.
No I don't deserve none
of my ancient benefactors,
shameful defeat is deserved.
Poor Mr. triumph weeps
shivers shricks hides playing
hide and seek to love, to hope
to my intrusive gold
even my last dime.
~~~~~
By; Karijinbba
Sep 30, 2021
Sep 30, 2021 at 8:43 PM UTC
Days folding neatly into weeks that eventually coalesce to months...
Did you miss me?
Did you think of me, seeing the gaping space between us, stretching ever tediously by miles of land and sea between us?
Did you miss the lack of it, where only the mere fabric of our clothes kept our warmth apart from one another?
Does it bother you, not being able to reach out and touch my warmth, being left with grasping yearningly onto thin air when overcome by nostalgia?
Do you take reverie trips when having my garments in your hands, smell my familiar scent to let loose the waves of emotions drown you?
Do you feel the emptiness around you haunt you menacingly and the cold of isolation, despite the warm sunrays bathing your room and kissing your skin?
Do you feel exasperated when hearing me but unable to touch me, feel me and just have me entirely?
I know you do, as do I.
The unpredictability of today and even more so of tomorrow makes the anxious more desperate for reunion, the many torn between inability to come together rave for some sliver of silver lining to get caught even accidentally by their convoluted fate.
Don’t worry, darling. The wait will be over. Soon. Until then, remember me and remember me often as I remember you so fiercely so I can come to you in your dreams, if not in reality, yet.
Apr 17, 2021
Apr 17, 2021 at 3:38 AM UTC
Hello, and welcome to writers FM!
Today I've got loads of gossip for you but first let's check out this new love song by "angelicface".
Story of my love that I could never explain
Rise and shine of words that no one could hear
One day a man from the heaven came
He hold my hands
Knelt down on his knees
Fixed his eyes deep into my gloomy eyes
Our souls got intertwined
He asked humbly, "will you mind if I make you the owner of my heart, life of my love, princess of my feelings and queen of my heaven?"
He asked modestly,
"Will you be my shelter
Will you be my home
Will you be my refuge
Will you be my soul?"
I replied, "I have overcome every obstacle
And dive down into oceans
Just to be with you
Because I belong to you
You are the ultimate reason why I got this life."
The grip of his hands was getting stronger
Tears were rolling down his cheeks
And heart was throbbing in a rhythm
He asked one more time,
"Will you be my shelter
Will you be my home
Will you be my refuge
Will you be my soul?"
I cried and smiled but I replied,
"How to say that I'm all alone
Sky full of magic, earth of stone
I shattered like crystals, heart to soul
Come on, take me home."
He blushed and smiled, stood up and embraced me in between his arms
And at that moment I realized
That soul companions do exist in this world ❤️❤️
©angelicface
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 9:12 AM UTC
No one wants to buy a poetry book
Of an unknown poetess
Who does she think she is?
Collecting words on pages
Words that are revealing white spaces
Pages that are meticulously numbered
No one wants to buy a poetry book
That appeared out of the blue
To claim its pages carries poems
Are they good enough?
Perhaps a line, or two...
No one wants to buy a poetry book
What would they find in it?
Dreams unfulfilled or pains that still bleed
No one wants to buy a poetry book
That grew like the freshest blade of grass
Fragile and hidden in the cruel moss
No one wants to buy...
Jan 7, 2021
Jan 7, 2021 at 5:36 PM UTC
wom·an
/ˈwo͝omən/
1. a woman’s issues of god-tier poetry cannot be treated by carving her into more aesthetic form of stanza as defined by an unconscious poet, nor can she be bent into a more intellectually acceptable shape by those who claim to be the sole bearers of poetry.
(w) heartsick saints and sinners.
(o) a ballbuster and untarnished empress.
(m) black bouquets and red roses.
(a) bleeding screams and convivial memories.
(n) fixed and broken sanities.
2. angel's darling won't make a woman less than poetry, add and reduce nothing, hades will mixed heaven and hell for persephone and the latter will just smile while mixing your body and your coffin together.
3. warning!!!
"a woman is a dangerous poetry that can destroy your existence in any angle."
(w) 90 degrees to an inclined surface and that will make her ************ poison you.
(o) 160 degrees to a slope surface and that will make her use your genital ***** as her pen.
(m) **** a+b raised to the power of 2 when a woman is powerful than any numbers written in math textbooks.
(a) let's set aside fuckery and solve the mystery of how queen elizabeth built an empire without a king.
(m) ___________________(let's leave this blank, for a woman is a mysterious poetry.)
4. a woman is a poetry, add or reduce her stanzas and she will still remain as poetry.
Dec 20, 2020
Dec 20, 2020 at 8:06 PM UTC
I am not a cog in this machine
As it rolls on mightily
I wield creative deformity
Navigating aimlessly
My passion refined
Primitively divine
My anger rips through my fears
With claws of resentment
My love for life
An immortal hunger
And I’m not getting any younger!
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 7:31 AM UTC
Veronica Franco translations
Veronica Franco (1546-1591) was a Venetian courtesan who wrote literary-quality poetry and prose.
Capitolo 19: A Courtesan's Love Lyric (I)
by Veronica Franco
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
"I resolved to make a virtue of my desire."
My rewards will be commensurate with your gifts
if only you give me the one that lifts
me laughing...
And though it costs you nothing,
still it is of immense value to me.
Your reward will be
not just to fly
but to soar, so high
that your joys vastly exceed your desires.
And my beauty, to which your heart aspires
and which you never tire of praising,
I will employ for the raising
of your spirits. Then, lying sweetly at your side,
I will shower you with all the delights of a bride,
which I have more expertly learned.
Then you who so fervently burned
will at last rest, fully content,
fallen even more deeply in love, spent
at my comfortable *****
When I am in bed with a man I blossom,
becoming completely free
with the man who loves and enjoys me.
Here is a second, more formal version of the same poem, translated into rhymed couplets...
Capitolo 19: A Courtesan's Love Lyric (II)
by Veronica Franco
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
"I resolved to make a virtue of my desire."
My rewards will match your gifts
If you give me the one that lifts
Me, laughing. If it comes free,
Still, it is of immense value to me.
Your reward will be—not just to fly,
But to soar—so incredibly high
That your joys eclipse your desires
(As my beauty, to which your heart aspires
And which you never tire of praising,
I employ for your spirit's raising) .
Afterwards, lying docile at your side,
I will grant you all the delights of a bride,
Which I have more expertly learned.
Then you, who so fervently burned,
Will at last rest, fully content,
Fallen even more deeply in love, spent
At my comfortable *****
When I am in bed with a man I blossom,
Becoming completely free
With the man who freely enjoys me.
Franco published two books: "Terze rime" (a collection of poems) and "Lettere familiari a diversi" (a collection of letters and poems). She also collected the works of other writers into anthologies and founded a charity for courtesans and their children. And she was an early champion of women's rights, one of the first ardent, outspoken feminists that we know by name today. For example...
Capitolo 24
by Veronica Franco
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
(written by Franco to a man who had insulted a woman)
Please try to see with sensible eyes
how grotesque it is for you
to insult and abuse women!
Our unfortunate *** is always subject
to such unjust treatment, because we
are dominated, denied true freedom!
And certainly we are not at fault
because, while not as robust as men,
we have equal hearts, minds and intellects.
Nor does virtue originate in power,
but in the vigor of the heart, mind and soul:
the sources of understanding;
and I am certain that in these regards
women lack nothing,
but, rather, have demonstrated
superiority to men.
If you think us "inferior" to yourself,
perhaps it's because, being wise,
we outdo you in modesty.
And if you want to know the truth,
the wisest person is the most patient;
she squares herself with reason and with virtue;
while the madman thunders insolence.
The stone the wise man withdraws from the well
was flung there by a fool...
Life was not a bed of roses for Venetian courtesans. Although they enjoyed the good graces of their wealthy patrons, religious leaders and commoners saw them as symbols of vice. Once during a plague, Franco was banished from Venice as if her "sins" had helped cause it. When she returned in 1577, she faced the Inquisition and charges of "witchcraft." She defended herself in court and won her freedom, but lost all her material possessions. Eventually, Domenico Venier, her major patron, died in 1582 and left her with no support. Her tax declaration of that same year stated that she was living in a section of the city where many destitute prostitutes ended their lives. She may have died in poverty at the age of forty-five.
Hollywood produced a movie based on her life: "Dangerous Beauty."
When I bed a man
who—I sense—truly loves and enjoys me,
I become so sweet and so delicious
that the pleasure I bring him surpasses all delight,
till the tight
knot of love,
however slight
it may have seemed before,
is raveled to the core.
—Veronica Franco, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
We danced a youthful jig through that fair city—
Venice, our paradise, so pompous and pretty.
We lived for love, for primal lust and beauty;
to please ourselves became our only duty.
Floating there in a fog between heaven and earth,
We grew drunk on excesses and wild mirth.
We thought ourselves immortal poets then,
Our glory endorsed by God's illustrious pen.
But paradise, we learned, is fraught with error,
and sooner or later love succumbs to terror.
—Veronica Franco, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In response to a friend urging Veronica Franco to help her daughter become a courtesan, Franco warns her that the profession can be devastating:
"Even if Fortune were only benign and favorable to you in this endeavor, this life is such that in any case it would always be wretched. It is such an unhappy thing, and so contrary to human nature, to subject one's body and activity to such slavery that one is frightened just by the thought of it: to let oneself be prey to many, running the risk of being stripped, robbed, killed, so that one day can take away from you what you have earned with many men in a long time, with so many other dangers of injury and horrible contagious disease: to eat with someone else's mouth, to sleep with someone else's eyes, to move according to someone else's whim, running always toward the inevitable shipwreck of one's faculties and life. Can there be greater misery than this? ... Believe me, among all the misfortunes that can befall a human being in the world, this life is the worst."
I confess I became a courtesan, traded yearning for power, welcomed many rather than be owned by one. I confess I embraced a whore's freedom over a wife's obedience.—"Dangerous Beauty"
I wish it were not considered a sin
to have liked *******
Women have yet to realize
the cowardice that presides.
And if they should ever decide
to fight the shallow,
I would be the first, setting an example for them to follow.
—Veronica Franco, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: Veronica Franco, France, French, courtesan, translation, poetess, poetic expression, love, virtue, desire, lyric, lyrical, gifts, rewards, cost, costs, value, fly, soar, joy, joys, beauty, heart, spirit, spirits
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 5:19 AM UTC
The little nuances that mark where we end
the dirt of the grave the ink from our pens
we'll stand up whenever the day ever comes
too pick up our words too pick up the crumbs
Artist or not it's burned deep in flesh
the will to move on and thus, so attest
what was and what is beyond and thus raised
our dead eyes are perfect, drunken and glazed
Pick up your glasses raise up a toast
even though now we're nothing but useless old ghosts
the last of our kind poets and such
all for the love of poetry's
touch
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 10:41 PM UTC
lying on the great expanse of pure white
shining bright as the unforeseen, speckless future
yonder desired and eagerly awaited
snow so thick yet so warm
a coalescence of innocence carpeting beneath the earnest lover
eagerly awaiting for slivers of bliss
flitting through the universe it transcends
,the vastitude of which may limit only if one conceives the boundaries of,
slipping into the fabric of mind and dreams of our lover
a wave of delight washes over
indescribable and overwhelming was the riot of love in the lonesome lover
lying on the snow garnering comfort
from the warmth of memories inked with permanence onto the waiting lover
Oct 20, 2020
Oct 20, 2020 at 2:19 AM UTC
One night the moon whispered her secrets
into the breeze,
who carried it in a song
to blow though the trees
There it settled
with it's consonants and vowels
Then away flew the moon's words
on the wings of an owl
Her voice traveled a great distance
till the little bird reached light
There through the window
was a writer in the night
So out perched the bird,
words whoo-ed into the silence
to be picked up by a candle's flame,
to reach the writer's iris
It was then in the dark
that the ink flowed onto a page
It was then in the dark
that the author's mind blazed
Times goes by
and we read these words, finely tuned
from the writer in the dark,
the messenger for the moon
Oct 17, 2020
Oct 17, 2020 at 12:07 AM UTC