Depression is like a black hole in space; That devours all your positive thoughts and leaves you without a trace… Or a clue as to who you are or what you should do. Making you cross-examine your inner self: “Are you really you?” A bottomless pit so deep, negative and strong; Constantly emitting thoughts to... Continue Reading →

Late afternoon beach light Bronze, bronze, bronze North and Central American flesh On Disney beach towels Eastern European, Korean, Sri Lankan and Japanese flesh On Disney beach towels Bronze, bronze, bronze, even if it’s a spray Surfboard in a photoshoot that a gray haired man watches He has an admiring smile on skin he’s happy... Continue Reading →

The first time you held my hand, I felt a tactile bonding. Weeks later, our first kiss sent lightning flash shivers from my lips to my knees leaving me barely able to stand. Now, lying in bed with perspiration beads conjoining in a sensual salve. I am immune to anyone  but  you. Photo by Min... Continue Reading →

I know there’s nothing God can’t forgive,                    as Bible-study ladies have told me for decades.   In my mass of archives is a button box   from each of my grandmothers, lost  inside bins of files in dining room corners  of the dream house he built for me.      My mind broke ten months into the year ... Continue Reading →

I walk home from Sunday School but like that corny song proclaims I'll never walk a -lone, I guess that God walks with me, maybe Jesus, too, and then there's the Holy Ghost and Satan makes 'em all like four horsemen and when that came to me in the rising sum -mer heat I got scared... Continue Reading →

To find the self I have to curl  out of my safety net. In the library of ideas I lose myself.   Examples of things or peeps during palavers you slot as my leanings not realizing what is said isn’t necessarily a hint of the hush-hush. Passwords are rarely tossed around. Photo by Zichuan Han... Continue Reading →

The pink and purple jukebox pumps Kenny Rogers checking in on my condition behind a booth. again last call wafts over wooden-paneled counters into my ripped, soothing seat into a half-empty glass of Merlot my fourth or is it my fifth? fuck it, it's my sixth. but a face with steel star eyes waits to... Continue Reading →

I’d learned to love the walls you built I covered them in poetry, and made a home of the wallpaper. I splattered my thoughts for anyone to read, and made art out of imprisonment. Photo by Ksenia Chernaya on Pexels.com About the Poet: Marysa Storm is an 18 year old poet currently residing in Florida.... Continue Reading →