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I've written 997 pieces so far
this makes it 998
having to choose 80 poems
for my first book was
agonizing
because as I started
going through them
I was reliving it all
the hope
the joy
the pain
the delirious highs
and the crushing lows
seeing my heart
ebb and flow
in print
putting my pain
to pen
on paper
trying to turn
thoughts into therapy
so that I could
reveal and release
it all in a way
every page a vulnerability
a target
a statement
a trickling
of me
the untold her.
About the Creator
Colleen Walters
Just a girl who likes to write poems, usually inspired by events and people in my Florida life.. Always be you, because you are awesome. You matter. You are enough.. β€οΈ
You can find me also on Facebook & Messenger and Discord
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More stories from Colleen Walters and writers in Poets and other communities.
HER EVERY SIN
He didnβt even realize, as he tucked that wave behind her ear, that he was heaven-sent. Everything she had ever asked for was staring back at her in human form. He was every birthday wish, made of pink candles, feeling the hope in her breath as it brushed past their lips. He was a random thought sheβd had on a Sunday, half asleep, wondering if sheβd have to make coffee when he finally arrived, not just tea. He was the empty space on the right side of the bed, the side closest to the door. He carried that quiet, fatherly kind of protection, with a hand raised only ever as an offering to help her watch her step. He was built from all the love she had ever given to the wrong places. It flowed through him, pumped through his veins, generously poured out so she would never again feel as though she wasnβt enough. He was quietly kind and never wanted to stand in her spotlight. Every tear that had fallen from her face was sewn into his skin. He knew her heart, her hurt, her every sin. Made in the image of an angel, he must have been. He didnβt even realize it: he was everything she had ever yearned for, and more.
By Yolanda Cristobal 5 days ago in Poets
Cassie and Johnny
Iβm the kind of dame you notice. Iβm no femme fatale, but you canβt ignore me, at least not until I warn you about whatβs coming, then everybody ignores me. Hell, they usually blame me afterwards and give Johnny all the credit for saving the day, but my Johnny couldnβt save a seat at the movies without my help. Sure, heβs brawny, but brainy? Not so much. Like that time I asked him to spot me five bucks, and he said he didnβt see it anywhere on me, and believe you me, he looked but good.
By Harper Lewis4 days ago in Critique
Comments (3)
I love this. It's beautifully written.
beautifully told :)
Congratulations, and choosing poetry for books is difficult sometimes