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~ if he had a mood ring, it would probably be gray a color leeched of color, black has some depth to it at least. or maybe it would be brown, an amalgamation
By Heather Hublera day ago in Poets
~ home. where once an empty grave of brick and broken spirit lay, now stands my salvation molded in the shape of you. your divine silhouette cast by
~ She sits in her silence A million thoughts buzzing about The rain tapping out a lonely lullaby But one scrap of truth screams
By Heather Hubler3 days ago in Poets
~ seems my doors and windows are nailed shut. i need a hammer to break free. but all i have are two angry fists and a mouth full of barbs
By Heather Hubler4 days ago in Poets
I don't often pair music with my pieces, but I felt this was worth sharing (even though I really don't like the cover pic of the video, lol, just ignore it).
By Heather Hubler5 days ago in Poets
Written for Poppy's Prompts | #5 (link below) ~ The scent of you envelopes me, my heart begins to slow The wind and rain thrash and rage, but I'm safe here in your glow
By Heather Hubler6 days ago in Poets
~ Dad set your paintings ablaze on a Thursday, piled in a heap of rubble and ruin, his gruff tenor thick with tears as he struck the match. I was furious. With him, with you, with
By Heather Hubler8 days ago in Poets
~ smoke curls from secondhand lips, that cupid's bow– incendiary; punishing and pleasuring, lacing oxygen with lust, pupils blown wide,
By Heather Hubler9 days ago in Poets
~ At least she isn't suffering At least it wasn't worse At least it'll all be over soon At least she has a nurse At least it wasn't fatal
By Heather Hubler10 days ago in Poets
~ blind to earth's treasures, our wonder usurped by woe– miracles no more. ____________________________________________________
By Heather Hubler11 days ago in Poets
~ Entertained by flashlight tag and neon roller skates, our curtain call was dusk when street lamps lit on Jordache jeans and jellies on our feet. The only
By Heather Hubler15 days ago in Poets
~ Early summer days were the best times for growing; the climbing ivy inside me grew rampantly then, weaving its tendrils this way and that, hiding the remains of my innocence
By Heather Hubler16 days ago in Poets