Take me to the river, drop me in the water Dip me in the river, drop me in the water Washing me down, washing me down. Talking Heads, 20th century #Photography #Wisdom #Poetry #SpeirGorm #StreetPhotography #India #ImageAndVerse #ArtOfBlueSky #PhotographersOfBlueSky #EastCoastKin #Scape #WaterScape

Your body is an offering, your hips, a poem. Your eyes pierce the earth when you stare, and words rise from your tongue. Your body is an offering— an altar of dialogue, the white space between the moon and the sun. #poetry #writersky #poem #artistlife

Is loneliness a genetic craving carved into our bones? The familiar dance of reaching for a partner we can see but can’t hold. Maybe your hunger isn’t for companionship. Maybe you’re just craving yourself in a different form. #poetry #writersky #poem #blueskypoetry #loneliness

Seasons turn slowly Still your pulse remembers them Tightly hold your crush #Haikufeels #Crush #Senryu #Haiku #Poetry #Micropoetry #BlueskyPhotography #Haiga #ImageAndVerse #Clouds #Autumn #Winter #Skyscape #Love

Happiness finds me in a corner, asks me to dance. Its sweaty body rubs against mine, wet with enthusiasm. I match its rhythm until a headline scurries past, baring a devilish grin. Go to work, cry, sleep— a never-ending beat. Still, happiness finds me in a corner, smiling. #poetry #writersky

My mother says this is reality— make your body a table, prepare a plate. Expectations are dangerous for an unkept woman. When a man asks my name, I search my memory for her smile, offer it in sacrifice. Expectations are dangerous. So is reality for a woman who feeds hungry men. #poetry

Each morning, I start on my knees, thanking God. At noon, I worship filtered bodies and curated lives, head bowed, scrolling through my feed. At night, I no longer hear God, only my fingers clicking, praying I’ll wake up in a different life, a smaller body— a heaven without comparison. #poetry

There’s a knock at the door. I don’t answer. I want privacy. Can a woman exist unseen? Even screens have eyes. I unzip my body, watch my lover swell under my gaze. I want privacy before I’m captured under another watchful eye, bend against their razor edges, split myself into two. #poetry

She’s single at the bar, searching for hope in a shot of tequila. It soothes her rage, peels back disappointment. A man at the bar invites her to his place. She takes another sip, presses the burn against her lips, body trembling, and returns home alone to write. Faith sharp in her hands. #poetry

I am not a girl's girl. I don't tuck in my elbows or clench my jaw before I speak. I cover every corner of the table, scrape my plate clean. I am not petite like my mother. Fat hangs like the American flag. I spread my toes and stretch out my hands, fill the room with my body's demands. #poetry

I kiss boys at sixteen under streetlights, palms pressed to my face. Names sit heavy on my tongue like a sharp object I force down to his hum. I kiss boys at sixteen under streetlights, folding into backseats like a roadmap searching for home. #poetry #writingcommunity #writersky #memoir

The day before my diagnosis, I waged war with my thighs. Caffeine pills and pre-workout, semiautomatic weapons. I froze under the doctor's gaze, cold probe guiding my breath. "Watch and wait," she said. I had been watched my whole life by men, by managers, my body a landfill. #poetry #WIP

Traumas line up. I press a pen into my palm, mouth open wide, set bombs off with song. Hurt is a microphone my voice transforms— curses into chorus, pain into harmony. I am the melody in your sleep. #poetry #writingcommunity #writersky

I’m the quiet girl in the corner, longing to bleed red onto my lips. I slice myself into pieces. Peel off extra skin so everyone can have me. If I stop pretending, will people still want me? Or will they toss the pieces away? If I breathe deeper into my mask, will my face disappear? #poetry

I have sat in church pews, my body restless beneath men’s hands. I didn’t meet God in a sermon, but in a club— hips gyrating to a reggae song. He whispered, put down the drink. I’ll wait for you at home. When have you found God in unexpected places? #poetry #writersky #writingcommunity

Her lips part to confess her haunting. Our mouths open wide to cradle her truth. The car ride home becomes an infirmary, mending our aching bones. As she speaks into the night, our ghosts disappear into the cold wind like an answered prayer. Shame cannot exist where women gather. #poetry

My hands scale every memory, reach back to touch my grandmother’s face before the earth inhales her body. I see her in my mother’s face, my mother’s face in mine. Shame passed down anchors my feet. I stand on top of their silence, mouth stretched wide— I exhale chains and kneel. #poetry

I don't think that the imposter syndrome ever really goes away #poetry

I swallow hard to make myself digestible, choking on words I dare not speak. Quiet women are always hungry. A human keyboard, commands punch into me. Voice trapped in my throat from all the swallowing. I breathe into my pen, turn my hands into a fork and gorge on possibility. #poetry

I wanted to be marked by his words, his attention, his adoration— a commodity for consumption. I wanted someone to claim me, to know I was worthy of possession. Now I mark myself, slide my fingers inside my own heart, and pull. I belong to no one but myself. #poetry #writingcommunity #writersky

. liar liar flames are rising pants on fire run from the damn barn when will ya ever learn when will ya ever learn . #oddlyme #poetry #micropoetry #musical

I am a mountain against the wind, firm in my becoming. I unfold lessons like fortunes from cookies. Grief molds me into stone— a woman who kisses loss, cradles rage, and worships heartbreak. Grief teaches me to bloom in its presence. #poetry #writersky #writingcommunity #WIP

I lasso the moon, snap a picture— proof I can hold beauty without the world crushing it. “God’s work,” my lover said. I chase it when I rise, stare into its face before I go to sleep. He’s gone, but beauty is still here. God rests beside me. #poetry #micropoem #writersky #writingcommunity

Loneliness is a slinky in my hands. It collapses into my palms, leaving scars. I juggle love and loneliness, like a circus performer. But love keeps slipping, through my grasp. Too many scars. #poetry #writersky #writingcommunity

My skin is a Venus flytrap. His hands press against me. I contract and expand, lose myself in the ravening. He feeds me compliments. I feed him candy from my tongue. I don’t know if I’m the predator or the prey. There’s power in both the capture and the devouring. #poetry #micropoem #WIP

Shame lives in my collarbone, heavy and thick like cigarette smoke. It scorches my neck with its accusations. Tells me, I’m too fat. I’m not smart enough. No man will want me. I inhale its smoke, feel the slow burn in my throat, before it turns to ash and crumples beneath my feet. #poetry

My womb whispers, a storm whirls in my belly. The machine hums, life vanishes like a magic wand, minus applause. “Happy Mother’s Day,” the doctor says, his voice hovering. Outside, he waits, last night’s alcohol still deep in his throat. I pray for me, for him, to survive this. #poetry

My body was a bomb. It knew danger long before my mind. It erupted in the presence of beauty standards, toxic prescriptions, food made from chemicals. The world has so many ways of gaining a woman’s compliance— real-life Hunger Games where women’s bodies are wars to be won, not healed. #poetry

A woman screams in my childhood kitchen, breath mixed with alcohol and depression. Sharp words clip the back of my neck. Rage stitches into my skin like a tattoo, Years later, I can still hear her, smell the alcohol, feel the depression. I can’t tell where my body begins and hers ends. #poetry

She doesn’t need applause. She claps for herself. She doesn’t need tools. She builds her own house. A woman who creates in the dark, by her own light is dangerous. She is the rhythm to her beat. #poetry #creativity #writingcommunity #authors

I was born to perform, split myself into actress and object. Every touch cues a scene. He smiles, and I fold into his arms. Each time, a new role, a new scene partner, always on. I stare at the exit but lose my nerve to step off stage. #poetry #micropoem #relationships

My aunt's words beat in my ears: "Don't rush, take your time with love." Her memory resting softly in my hands— time slows, speeds up, love keeps pace. How long would you wait for love? #poetry #micropoem #writersky

#poetry #poems #poet #poetrycommunity

We are women with salt in our hands, preserving what matters— memories, life, faith. We create so we can live: a baby, a song, a scarf for winter. We are seasoning, God and faith, stringing survival around our necks. All this salt has frozen our tears, but still we lift our heads. #poetry

“Look into the camera,” he says. His hands frame my face. But I turn away. I don’t want to be his muse. I want to be mine, to make my own frame, stare into my face, and smile. #poetry #micropoem

He didn’t want to be like his father. But the man inside kept poking his chest. Guilt climbs on top of me— a saddle for his indiscretions. A man knows when he’s robbing his woman, robbing himself. He protects his inheritance. I keep screaming, but no one listens to noisy women. #poetry #micropoem

He flashed a grin, keep dancing in those red shoes. I shimmy for dollars, the world’s paycheck. Each trinket a chain around my neck. Ideas were propane, my wanting the match. Every brick of capitalism burned—a mausoleum built on the backs of women and men providing for their children. #poetry

Sometimes I go untouched because last time a man touched me I shattered against the cement. I grew up to the touch of a man’s fingers pressed into my thighs—a heaven for his hands. Now my hands don’t need permission. I wind around my body as if I were the sun. My heart hums in the silence. #poetry

My mother’s kitchen is spotless, no mess peeking from drawers. Mine spills over with coffee mugs. Lovers sit at my table, leave crumbs. I splatter them across the counter, turn every memory into a séance. A woman lives here. And shame has no place at this table. #micropoem #poetry #WIP

Bubbling Defiance Be happy like champagne, Refusing to go flat, It bubbles with disdain. Mimic the unruly, It shows no dignity, It bounces unduly. #poem #poemoftheday #poetry #poems #Photography #bluesky #blueskypoetry #blueskyphoto #defiance

I didn’t know how to be held without gathering my things while he slept. My bones learned distance before they learned trust. At ten, composure was survival— stacked ribs, toes pointed forward. Softening was dangerous for women with wild hearts. #micropoem #poetry

For the woman whose faith has grown weary, yet she persists: Don’t rush your becoming. Savor it like a scoop of ice cream. Treasure it like a kiss. Live each day as a prayer, a communion between your old self, and the woman you’re becoming. Treat your journey as holy ground. #micropoem #poetry

Everything felt like an accident— jobs, relationships, even my own body. My mind committed. My body resisted. I felt every mistake stirring alongside the tumor in my body. Maybe “accidents” aren’t accidents, but warnings we silence. #poetry #micropoem #writersky

The fire made her flesh and bone. She felt the singe of fear, battled the mythical dragon of self sacrifice. The flames became her salvation. Use your pain to fuel your art. Let it spark to your becoming. #poetry #micropoem #creativity #becoming #writingcommunity

I felt a stomping in me, the drumbeat of ancestors, trauma shed, truth released. I felt a stomping in me, beliefs unraveling, body shame breaking skin, dance floor birthing freedom within. What beliefs are you shedding this season so you can rise in 2026? #poetry #micropoem #writersky

I play catch with regret, tossing blame back and forth. It’s a standoff— self-doubt intervenes, forcing me to apologize for my singleness, my childlessness, my emotional nakedness. But regret doesn’t own me. I owe it nothing. What does regret try to make you apologize for? #poetry

Expectations became weapons. Opinions hurled at me ricocheted, piercing their own chests. The bully in the mirror locked inside Pandora’s box. #poetry #100daysofwriting #micropoem #writingcommunity

#vss365 #conundrum #poem

Women in cages in cul-de-sacs swallow silence. Sorrow stains their cheeks. Masks hide their faces. I stand behind glass houses, digging graves, praying I won’t break. #100daysofwriting #poetry #micropoem #writingcommunity