Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
I wander around searching and seeking. Looking - For a purpose that is... VIVACIOUS. Or beautiful living, Attractive to the soul.
By Nyalee Ranae Miller8 years ago in Poets
My seafoam hair comes out in clumps, tangled strands winding around my fingers every time I brush back my bangs or twirl dry and splitting curls. I am used to it now, dropping
By Kye Earley8 years ago in Poets
Big. Chubby. Fat. 11 years old, I stare at the mirror and whisper the words to myself, unaware of each syllable’s toxicity.
You need to stop throwing your life away. Get out of bed, take a shower, get dressed, print out a resume and go job hunting on today.
By Toni Crawford8 years ago in Poets
Today is hard. It's really tough. I miss you so much. I miss your 'movie star smile. Your soothing spirit and Calming presence.
By Yvonne Witter8 years ago in Poets
There is something about things That you know can become more If a little effort is put in the right places They will blossom into completion
By Samantha Reid8 years ago in Poets
Once I took a bay leaf and on it wrote a wish, I burned the leaf to the moon and thanked her for her kiss but the moon she wasn’t listening and my wish just turned to ash.
By Andriea Munkelt8 years ago in Poets
"No one sees what I can see.." Says the self-proclaimed Next Protege; "...Cause I am chosen, It's gotta be me... Another day, another day dream..."
By Katrina Finzer8 years ago in Poets
Dark and silentAn empty voidYet something's thereSomething to avoid Or so one would thinkWalking furtherRunning fasterEverything a blur
By BrinaBunny8 years ago in Poets
Love Myself Estranged from serenity. More chaos than calm. My life has returned... To the storm it once was. Where Confusion and Anger...
By Steven Baldry8 years ago in Poets
Who Am I? I am a being that you can see with the naked eye. My existence you cannot deny. I am the Madame Queen. The Madame Queen has been in existence since the beginning of time.
By Merlin Mystique8 years ago in Poets
The Artist The Artist sits with his sword, shifting it around with his finger-tips. He draws it in, and gently places it on his old, maple wooden desk,
By Marjorie Milly8 years ago in Poets
