This is not courage, this is trying to hold the moon because he is the only one without hands

And/or (Jeanann Verlee)

Originally from everything's going so well

I died in Korea from a shrapnel wound, and narcotics resurrected me. I died in 1960 from a prison sentence and poetry brought me back to life.

Etheridge Knight (via rodrickminor)

Originally from Rodrick Minor

In that foreign america, they must consider the dandelion a weed and not a bouquet of potential.

Hieu Nguyen

…sometimes I feel like the entire morning
Just happens to me
If I am able to think a poem I congratulate myself
People can be so rotten is what I think next

Wendy Xu, from Sexy Tree 


Getting rid of nothing
is biblical work.

Lauren Shaprio, from They Promised Me a Thousand Years of Peace



by Caroline Cabrera

And when we crossed the state together 
you could feel its insistence. And when we 
crossed the state I knew you were my husband 
from familiarity. Two hearts can know the length 
of something more than one alone. Two people 
can live in one house, and day to day it can feel 
like a large or small house. If a year passes 
should I feel more or less alone, more or less 
a function of the family I am? If a car passes 
on the highway that looks like ours, can we believe 
in an alternate universe where we are coming from 
or going to other places? Do we then have to imagine 
all the places we could be where we don’t pass 
ourselves, and what if I am alone in the car? 
And what if I am happy or sad in the car? 
And what if we pass the car again and inside 
we see two teenagers we never looked like? 
When we get home the house looks bright 
enough to welcome us, the clementines still ripe 
in the bowl. The brightness fakes a cleanliness. 
We could return to the couch. We could build 
a whole cat from all the fur under the furniture 
where the vacuum cannot reach.


I do not forget the north
of your naked, nor the froth
of your ambition. I wear that
compass like tattoo.
To grow is what I like
about you: how it looks.
How you draw the icon
from its tooled&pearled holster.
Hot as a star.

Arielle Greenberg, from Sugar-Star


A bell’s tongue
is called a clapper, which satisfies

visually but not aurally. I want something
hard but rounded. I want to lie down

somewhere warm for a light but fulfilling nap.
I want to roam around the swamp

when I please, if that’s what my friends are doing,
if the morning requires an easy adventure.

Whenever I am even a little sick,
I feel as though I may never be healthy again.

The sensations of our bodies are hard
to remember when absent, the way, too,

a face starts to dissolve the more you try
to conjure it.

Caroline Cabrera, from Anxiety


Kayla Wheeler, Dichotomy of Girl

Sometimes, I am so spilling over with feelings
that I have to sit in my room with the lights off.
blankets pulled up over my head
so I don’t explode out all of my insides.
I am full. I am boiling over. I am fragile.
I am terrified to say that. To say that I am fragile.
I break like a bad habit. Like a fever. a windshield. I break like a wave.

Desireé Dallagiacomo (via yrrie)

(via chuckeeysbride)

Source: yrrie

Originally from CHIRONIC

Blood ends and blood begins.
Blood ends and light begins.
We are broken dams.
We are goddamn broken.
We are God: dams broken.

Jeremy Radin, from “With These Hands” 


A response to the Fox News correspondent who asked, “What is it about Chicago Public Schools that makes so many of its students murder victims?”

On Teaching Poetry in Chicago Public Schools by Stephanie Lane Sutton

(Psst: this is a video of your admin, who is a finalist in the Write Bloody Publishing book competition. Please “like” this video on YouTube in support of her book!)

Originally from Feels like a murder

A History Of Silence: In America


*I wasn’t planning on posting this poem until it was published in the upcoming collection “Best Poems of WOWPS” that it was selected for - but in light of the recent Steubenville verdict and CNN coverage, I could not stay silent.*

The first hitchhiker
I ever picked up
I dropped off in the…

Originally from A History Of Silence

Depression is a good lover. So attentive. Has this innate way of making everything about you.

Kait Rokowski, ” A Good Day” (via larmoyante)

Originally from larmoyante


In America” by Carrie Rudzinksi.

This is a poem by a woman that I love and respect immensely. One of the women I am honored to share spaces with. This poem, y’all. It’s gunna change your life.

Originally from Desireé Dallagiacomo