Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
If only I had been
what I had seen in the mirror.

The reflection
misdirected me
the signpost was the journey
and not the destination.
The tone of your sorrow
I could not shout above.
It was buried…
too deep.
Like tears the soul forgets
to weep.

There was sadness in your eyes,
but only in the shadow you cast
when the light
tried
to love you.

You were the only one
the only one
I ever loved.
But I couldn’t break
the hardness of your heart.

I couldn’t shake
the silence
that stood where tenderness
should start.

Yes
you shared your love with me.
But even love
couldn’t undo the ache.

Some wounds
they’re just
too proud
to break.
let
the
conerstone
be
one
grain of sand
for
building
your
sandcastle
in
the sun
I write and write and write
in no way am I laconic
the words flow and flow and flow
pages and pages and pages filled
watching notebooks pile up
my thoughts and emotions
filling each page
my very essence poured into my poetry
laconic is never and will never
be a part of me
laconic: (of a person, speech, or style of writing) using very few words
The light in the corridor
smells of summer plants
of tall stinging grass
burning heat
on white flowers
that are too bright to look at

it sounds like crickets in the night
just outside our window
and for some reason
of the screeching of a car
on the asphalt

it looks like pearly sweat
on your skin
after a day of hard work
and your hands stained
with white dust and paint

it sounds like your voice
mimicking mine
but answering prayers
behind calls in the night


As the light turns off
I realise
I never stopped worshipping you
a part of me still lives in that summer
During Covid by Sherman Alexie


In large numbers, the wild
rabbits arrived in our

neighborhood and have
multiplied. I see one or two

every time that I exit
our home. Once, on a walk,

my wife and I found
a baby rabbit, incompetently

hidden or abandoned
or perhaps its mother

had been taken by a serial-
killer cat—every cat

is a serial killer. There
was nothing we could do

for that baby. Animal
rescue wouldn't come

for one baby barely bigger
than a thumb and we

didn't have the time
or expertise necessary

to care for it. And, frankly,
we didn't have enough

compassion—some might
call it codependence.

There are dozens
of wild rabbits

in the neighborhood,
maybe hundreds. One

death wasn't a threat
to any population.

The next day, I walked
by the place where

we'd seen that baby.
It was gone, taken away

by something. I sighed.
I said a little prayer

for that poor thing
and then went about

the rest of my day.
But, four years later,

I still think about that
baby. It remains a part

of my life as a reminder
of the many times when

I've made cold decisions
in this cold world—

of the many times when
each of us choose

cruelty over kindness
and curse instead of bless.

Sherman Alexie
our rabbits cohabitate with us, beneath our deck; their offspring are always safe
and well fed; nonetheless, si understand....
I’m so busted I can’t be trusted,
I’ve been stealing from myself
just to get high.
All the karma I’ve been making
is barely enough to keep me alive.
My account is in the negative,
my credit is a peace of mind.
I need a loan,
I need to borrow,
I need to find myself a wife.
Traveler Tim

Or get up off my ***!!
A dog will
Lick you to death
If you stop moving
A cat
Will eat your flesh
If they
Situation
Improving
 Jul 9 Nolan Bucsis
Zahra
Last night,
 meant to
loosen
the bulb
I wrapped
my hands
in woven
cloth, and
coaxed the
moon down
instead
It creaked,
blushed,
and fainted
slipped into
my palm,
like a lover.
Next page