"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Kiana Khansmith
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Fai_Ryy
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Origami Around
Phantogram Three
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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Claire Keane
Show & Tell
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Game of Thrones Daily
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Noah Kahan
Mike Driver
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@poetry-haven
Her salt on the tip of my tongue-   an ocean of her motion   sways forever in my mind  She is the moon and I am the tide   pushing me and pulling me   clawing me and pulling her hair  Resolution is an illusion   because Iâll never get a fill of her   she is still an ocean   and my salty tears   are still a pond
âŹIconBrown - The Illusionistâs Sea (via iconbrown)
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Your love is like the rain in a drought. Long awaited and wondering if Iâll survive until the next rainfall. But you come unexpectedly yet so welcome. Consuming all of me so much that I donât realize I could be drowning
WritingsbyAN (via wnq-writers)
Visitor parking, everyone here is dying, I never found you.
You canât always be somebodyâs forever.
avecques, Six Word Story (via wnq-writers)
âShe smokes a lot.â He sighed pushing his hair back in frustration.âI donât know if it stops her from thinking too much or if itâs to fill the emptiness he left behind.â
avecques, About her (via wnq-writers)
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Luxury
A satin dye Poured down our ragged throats Coloring our insides purple And our minds yellow Where our brawn and courage once resided
Broken backs So carefully snapped With one too many down feathers placed upon it
Flames and chaos Will reflect as but a glint in a diamond And marble
As our rich whispers Drown out Truth (Written and submitted by @wind-some-light)
Snowflakes Beautiful crystallized Snowflakes Glow silver in moon Unique Special Footprints in snow Marring perfection Cold indifference Reach to save Melt in hand Kneel in snow Tear burns Freezes on skin Realization Footprints mine
Thad Powell, Ode to a Roadkill Poet (via beggerprince72)
Even now, as we drive beside the highway I try to find art in the edges.
Now I look for poetry.
I cling to it like a life raft in hopes I wonât drown.
Under the weight of my sorrow and regret.Â
But responsibility and realistic expectations arenât beautiful.
I canât describe those things like I can describe the curvature of your jaw.
I canât write about taxes and student debt.
But I can write about the whispers of sadness behind your eyes that I try to kiss away.
How can I grow up when there is no poetry in the people we will become?Â
- s.z (You Used To Tell Me Not To Call You Baby)
When the crematorium whistle cried out, and the sound pelted tree leaves, the swimmers would dive below the surface, touching the bottom of the clear, Â Â Â Â soundless world.
âfrom âSwimming Poolâ by Domenic Scopa
New poetry today at apt!
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Once oneâs soul has taken the leap into an abyss of romance, a disease spreads throughout and engulfs the spiritâs entirety. The flames that rage within the heart after such an event are impenetrable. Any attempt to wash away the fire would be done in vain, for once one has acquired such an ailment, it lasts forever.
shimmeringmoments, the book Iâm afraid to finish (via wnq-writers)
Writer Girl Problems.
The last place I expect to run into you is in an airport lounge. But I guess youâre a traveller and I am always running away from things. So this is how we meet. As if my swollen eyes and sky high heels arenât inappropriate enough, you ask me to lunch just to fuck me up. Italian food and flirting. I know you will go home and look for the poem of this even though you must have grown tired of reading them. Sometimes it is exhausting to be this transparent on paper and this sealed in person. I wish I could articulately scream all the things I mean in my poems as gracefully as my writing. I wish people werenât always wondering if this new piece is about them. This is not a game, alright? This is my life. You are not a writing prompt. Maybe I actually loved you. Maybe there was more to us than just the poems of it.
-Neha Chaudhary
What A Waste
I drank five liters of kerosine hoping for a high but all that happened was a fire in my soul that was impossible to harness in the moment
We donât even call you âDadâ anymore, just âHim.â
Patrick Roche - âThe Writer Meets His Fatherâ (CUPSI 2016)
Performing before a bout at the 2016 College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational. Subscribe to Button on YouTube!
(via buttonpoetry)
Oh, Iâm a mess right now. Inside, out.
Ed Sheeran. (via unsaidbittersweetwords)
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A misunderstanding
They tell me I am like the sea
My eyes the color of a pristine bay
My smile like a cloudless day
And they are not wrong
For I am the ocean
But not like they see it
My eyes are the color of the waves as the storm rolls in
My heart beats to the tune of the thunder as it grows ever near
I am the savageness of the waves as they crash into the shore
And my soul like the endless depths far below the waters
I am no mermaid who befriends sailors
But a siren who sings to no one but the skies above and the darkness below
- Ainsell C.
How many times will you let him treat you like this until enough is enough.
(via radiantquotes)
