Your words stack up like a barricade against the small fortress of esteem I made from the few good days. They smash into me like a tidal wave,
By Ellie Hoovs2 years ago in Poets
Made my way out, late on a Friday my friends all say, they think it's time A local bar, a private party ice cold patron and a couple limes
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden2 years ago in Poets
On storming with self-love in July Stuttering in the essence of my stance of who I yearn to be, The remnants of desires pierce the soul in a demeanour that abdicated the glee
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Poets
She cannot come into her own, not in yours, or even her own timing. but when the concrete breaks under her feet & she appears...
Nalikalantibar! I have no idea what this word means Or if it’s even a real word But it sounds cool I may just be fool for things that sound mysterious
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
They say to go full tilt But they don’t know what that means It means more than fighting to the hilt It means you have to be willing to take the hits
I am a shadow of myself A hollow reflection of what I used to be I have become voiceless Because of other’s choices Everything drowned out
if you wondered... baby, it was always you we said forever shared a love faithful and true * fell for your promise where you go, I'll go there too
When excellence is expected, praise is a luxury Why do my achievements define me? Why does life feel so damn confining? When success is respected, there’s no room for mediocrity - “Price of Perfection” by Katherine Lynn-Rose
By fleeting.serenics2 years ago in Poets
(Verse 1) Yo, listen up, got a story to tell, 'Bout this little bracelet, thinkin' it’s swell. It's a photo bracelet, but it ain't that dope,
By GiftsFlash.com2 years ago in Poets
I, had wandered far away. It was cold and dark, I had no place to stay. You let me in and gave me shelter from the storm.
By Rebekah M Montiel 2 years ago in Poets
Hip Hop became a voice for the backbone of the Black bone. Black voice rejoice for Hip Hop in the Black tones. From ghetto to ghetto, housing project to project. Hip Hop is the Black soul’s affectionate object.
By Joe Patterson2 years ago in Poets
