Stillness after war—hope hums low beneath the skin,dreams wait to be sung.
How does it work?
More stories from Test and writers in Poets and other communities.
Baby locs are here, tiny naps with grand ambition— crowned in coil couture.
By Test11 months ago in Poets
sometimes I overflow like bubbles down the side of a glass blown in through a straw by an overenthusiastic child sometimes it's beautiful
By Lolly Vieira4 days ago in Poets
Birds migrate and sing Ice cream trucks play loud music Kids have fun outside
By Margaret Minnicks5 days ago in Poets
Loud laughter leaks from the lunchroom… door sitting slightly ajar. Surely today will be different. As they say, “Today is the start of the rest of my life!”
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶5 days ago in Fiction
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