Author: lunaiswriting

And just like that my blood started to boil, my body started trembling, and I knew, once again, something was going to erupt from the archives. My stomach knotted, my heart de escalated from the erratic beat it had once before played. I knew nothing but how to be forgotten, and left it in the past like some sort of antique gathering dust. This wasn’t heartbreak, (Yet.) This was disappointment gurgling back up my throat like too many tequila shots on a Saturday night.

Hi! Cadlynne Dovel here, hopeless romantics. Withering relationship, mother of one and animal lover beyond what words can express.

Blog: https://n0tyetforgotten.wordpress.com/

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If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

If death comes
with cold hands
damped by lusts
sour sorrow spanked
to drench you
I’ll sword pull

chop those hands
bake bounty band
serve your breakfast

death be warned
less be pawn
to lovers’ sworn

can’t share her
even with her.
19:11:11:12:05

Blog: https://ancestraltrail.art.blog/

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If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

trust and respect went out the damn window
i didn’t break
you broke us
damaged
me

Susi Bocks has self-published two books – Feeling Human and Every Day I Pause. Currently, she is an Associate Editor at the virtual coffee shop – Fictional Café. You can find her work at IWriteHer.com or follow on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/MyHumanityInWrittenForm/, where she invites you to read her thoughts and get to know her. Bocks had some of her work previously published at Scarlet Leaf Review, VitaBrevis, Spillwords, Literary Yard, as well as other literary magazines.

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If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Whither writing
really emanates,
I don’t really know.
Take syllabic space ‘n
empty it of possibility;
realise in scribed ‘n
scribbled ink.

Blocked by
lay’red, impenetrable
(ostensibly…) brick-bounds?
Colour o’er by
kaleidoscopy.

My name is William Altoft. I’m a writer in and from (and consistently on) Bristol, in the UK.

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If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

I am craving…. love.
I am craving warmth.
I am craving affection, and a gentle touch.
I am craving the things she robbed me of as I was learning how to be me.
I was 10, and I hated the mirror. Look at my ugly face, and these pimples, and this body fat, my ears, my nose, my teeth. The list exceeds a mile long. I should’ve been telling myself how beautiful I was, and that my eyes were an emerald sea just begging for you to ask, get to know me.
I mastered the ponytail, and the half up half down, but my skills never got better as you never did anything else..
I watched with kindred eyes behind the scenes, at the mother I wanted- the person I needed to love me.
She drank, and smoke and drank some more. Stayed silent in her room and sat staring at the tile floor.
What was I like? Was I awful? Was I too much to handle?
I wanted to be a ray of sunshine, but I felt like a puddle of mud.
How did you do that to me? Why am I here if I am nothing?
What’s sad is I think that you tried, and gave me what you could from what was left of you, but unfortunately for me I was third in line and scraping the bottom of the barrel.
I am craving love
The love you never gave to me
The love I try to tell myself I so desperately deserved
I should’ve known that I was beautiful, and that the pimples were apart of gross hormones. I should have known that the body fat I thought I had was nothing more than 5 pounds that would stick around. I should’ve known that these things I hate about myself could have been loved, should have been loved.
I am in a whirlpool of self loathe, and depression, of questions and tension.
I always come back to the same question in the end, why?
Indemnify

Hi! Cadlynne Dovel here, hopeless romantics. Withering relationship, mother of one and animal lover beyond what words can express.
Blog: https://n0tyetforgotten.wordpress.com/
Insta: https://www.instagram.com/cadlynnechristine/

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If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

Should I?
Pondering the unanswerable,
A quandary wrapped in an enigma.
Palpable, but not quite tangible.
Instant relief equals eternal stigma.
Could I?
The instrument is in my hand,
A tool that can cure or destroy.
The gesture is certainly grand,
Is this delusion or a ploy?
Would I?
Can my sanity be bought?
Is relief worth the price?
Reality is harsher then a thought,
Here I lie. A burden of my own device.

My name is Jesse, I am a writer. I post both poetry and mental health pieces about my own struggles and journey on my blog here: https://oneregulardad.home.blog/

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If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

I thought, love has an end
which of course is marriage
but I am in love with a friend
who asks and seeks nothing
Just listens to my breaths
and heartbeats and kisses
to dust away my stress

I thought, love has an end
and she is getting married
but my love for her is the same
I ask and seek for nothing
Just a moment with her
to brush the chunks of pain away
hidden inside this heart
which of course is mine
and will always have the same shine

I thought, love has an end
which I understood is not marriage
but a moment with someone
who calmly warms the desires
crawling to be loved for a moment
comforting the body with hugs
spending some minutes of relief
from the outer world which anyways
will exist because of its nature

no longing and no pain
we both seek mental gain
extracting some minutes
from the precious time of greed
which ‘damn’ is for money
some how our minds mentally
connected and arranged
for this story has no end
as long as we are not dead