Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I offer my soul to you
for payment that is due.
Lies told were never true.
We drank sorcerer's brew.
 1d
Kalliope
You're quiet thunder
I hold storms behind my teeth
Still you heard the rain
If the sun never shines again,
And these clouds never clear?
Well, I've always loved the rain
And someone else will love it here.
 1d
C Conner
I fell apart when
You pulled away your hand
Now I’m sinking under darkness
In the room I made my stand
So I lull myself to sleep
Under waves that you command

I thought I heard you call out
Just a phantom and a sickness
All alone in the dark now
You know I cannot do this

I screamed so you could find me
I drifted out of reach
In the ocean I created
And my phantom on the beach

Now the room it’s cold and empty
Your songs are far away
The music that you left me
Are distant echoes I replay
it passed me by
only reading about
that cosmic marvel
the morning after
not quite a "once
in a lifetime" event
yet some would say
special enough
significant even
to pause and reflect
on synchronicity
interconnectedness
everything

there was a time
where i might have
been disappointed
to miss a sight
as rare as
they claimed this
occurrence was to be;
seven of our neighbours
visible simultaneously
five with the naked eye
the other two with
the aid of a telescope

but i don't
need to witness
a celestial dance
such as this
pointing uncertainly
with uncertainty
at what might be
one of the planets
to be reminded
that our stars
have already aligned
 3d
badwords
A call not about
Sweepstakes I never entered
Just a wrong number
In this minimalist yet emotionally layered haiku, the speaker recounts a seemingly mundane event: receiving a phone call that turns out to be a wrong number. However, the poem uses this incident as a metaphor for the larger emotional experience of entering new relationships—particularly the hopeful, uncertain space where romantic potential lives and often dissolves.

The poem opens with “A call not about,” a line intentionally left incomplete, evoking a sense of open possibility. It invites the reader into a moment of suspended expectation, paralleling the anticipation often felt when meeting someone new. This expectation is expanded in the second line, “Sweepstakes I never entered,” which cleverly captures the irrational hope for sudden emotional reward—desire without groundwork, love without history. The speaker knows the odds, yet still yearns.

The final line, “Just a wrong number,” delivers an understated but poignant turn. What initially felt like fate or connection is revealed as coincidence—an impersonal glitch mistaken for meaning. In doing so, the poem critiques the human tendency to romanticize beginnings, projecting possibility onto strangers, only to face the quiet disillusionment that follows.

Through everyday imagery and restrained language, the poet reflects on the fragility of expectations in modern connection. The piece resists melodrama, instead presenting romantic disappointment with irony and emotional clarity, suggesting that in love—as in life—what feels destined is often accidental.
 4d
LL
what am I good for
if I'm lost — adrift like a
cloud that holds no rain
2025/095
Come closer.
Touch me softly.
Look into my eyes.
Kiss me, then kiss me again.
Hold me.
Hug me tightly.
Unbutton my shirt.
Kiss my chest.
I feel your lips.
I feel your hair.
Undress me.
Take off your blouse.
Be naked.
Lie on the bed.
Take me to heaven.
I love you dearly.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
 4d
matt r
,a friend told me. she was
in love once, & since felt
the knife slide right through
her. so love is just a stomach
ache, then. love is the uneat
-ing unsleeping thing inside.
love is magic, it is so much
like pixie dust; try & hold it

,i told her. feel its ridges
& folded edges. feel its
amorphous underbelly & tell
it that it doesn't hurt like
you. tell me you see purple
in a deeper hue, and that
blanket weight on your collar
bones is heavier than mine.

i'd love for it to be not love.
i'd love to have an hour of
eating & sleeping where i am
not imagining sharing it with
You. do You think of me, too?
what it might be is not love,
what it might be is a stomach
ache, what it might be is over

soon, what it might be is never.
 6d
Erenn
She was 'Autumn'
warm, but always leaving
A soul stitched from golden light
and goodbyes she never stopped grieving

He was 'Winter'
quiet, distant,
carving silence into the world
like someone used to resistance

They met
in the blur between late November
when leaves forget to hold on
and snow begins to remember
She smiled like the last fire in a cabin
He stared like someone who knew
the cost of warmth
and what it meant to lose it too soon

She spoke in colors—
scarlets and golds
words that cracked like twigs
but healed like poems never told
He answered in stillness
like frost on glass,
afraid that every touch
would make him shatter at last

But even frost can soften
Even storms can learn to stay
And slowly
she didn’t run
and he didn’t push her away
He let her fall apart in his arms
like leaves too tired to pretend
and she let his cold truth hold her—
not to fix
but to mend

They didn’t belong—
not in the way seasons are told
but somehow, in the ache of each other
they began to unfold

And there
in a world where nothing was meant to last
where autumn leaves and snowflakes
both belong to the past—
they built something quiet
something unknown—
a rhythm,
a whisper,
a heartbeat for a home.



Erennwrites
Next page