Need a Break
& Pharmaceuticals
A Xanax to conquer the noise in your head
quiet the mind of existential dread
stinking
thinking
I’d feel better if I was bread.
About the Creator
Selina Dudley
A writer based out of Maryland. Music is my first form of creative expression however I'm venturing into other forms of storytelling! I hope you enjoy my material :)
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His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
By TheSpinstress7 days ago in Poets
Confessions of an Empath
The birds are chirping, and the sun is shining in a cloudless July sky. The vibrancy promises a beautiful day, but the cooing of the Mourning Dove perched on the powerlines seems to be more fitting than the lively songs of the robin flitting through the trees. The melancholic calls of the dove cloak the world in a sadness that hangs like tattered drapes.
By Alyssa Nicole5 days ago in Confessions
Comments (2)
Now, what kind of bread (you strike me as a baguette type of person)?
A plot twist at the end! I will now entertain the idea of being a bread :)