inspirational
Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
Anti-Social/Anxiety
Secretly sweating from my palms on the thought of starting college. The empty stomached feeling I get in a busy subway line. The most fear of all is the expectations to stand in front of a large crowd and preform to the highest of standards. What is life, when you're constantly being stopped by your own emotions. Failure is a curse upon mankind and somehow failure is walking straight towards me on any given day. Just when I feel its time to give up, it never goes as planned. Hitting the bottom means there is no where else to go except up, and the rainy days begin to brighten.
By Angela Robleh-Skolos8 years ago in Poets
The Killing of a Muse
You may kill off the muse early on in the story, but you can’t get rid of her. She will forever be there, engraved on the typewritten paper, embroidered on the readers memory, the light shadows of her name or description being cast through the thin sheet of word covered paper.
By Scotch Vaughan8 years ago in Poets
Washed Through
There I stood, numb, in the dimly lit shower. The room was filled with hot steam that covered the mirror, and the water cascaded onto me. Drips of water ran down my face and off my nose. The longer I stood, the less numb I felt. The humidity was pressing against me, filling the empty space with sustenance, while the shower floor collected puddles of dirty water. Not physically dirty, but the soiled sin filled mind getting washed away. The longer I stood, I began to realize that it wasn't the steam or water filling the void, but the one who whispers into my ears at night. The one who greets my waking breaths with sound and light. The one who spreads a fog among the forest trees bathing it in mysterious wonder. No. I wasn’t numb at all. The shower tempo had not changed, but the beat of my heart had, the space around me became heavy, heavy with emotion, as if something electric was sitting in the air, waiting to burst forth in. It wasn't water that streamed down my face anymore, but tears. As I now sat, in the mechanic rain, eyes closed engulfed in blackness hearing the water splashing against my ears like violent drum beats, it all seemed to fade… hope came to me, in the rhythm of my soul. “You can do this”, he gently said, “You are not alone….You are loved..
By Jordan Belville8 years ago in Poets
