Most popular tweet on Ariel Poets
Ariel Poets is a Twitter Poetry and writing account that was created by Alexandra Meehan and myself. We run the account and help writers and poets around the world by inspiring them with our tweets. Twitter has sone phenomenal poets and writers. We have writing prompts that we are featuring on a monthly basis. Use the hashtag #arielpoets and write a poem about betrayal. For the month of January, betrayal is the theme. Follow us on Twitter @ArielPoets to read our daily inspirational writing tweets. Our inspirations are Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton.
This tweet on Ariel Poets is our most popular one yet. Take a look https
You can also find Ariel Poets on Instagram.
#arielpoets #poetry #writing #authors #poems #writersofig #poetrycommunity #poem #poet #feminism #womenpoets #writers #writingcommunity #sylviaplath #annesexton #womenwriters #art #poetryisnotdead #creativewriting #poemsofig #poemsporn #wordgasm #wordporn #poetsofig #poeticsighs #UntwineCanada #literature #spilledink
Take a look at what we are doing there too.
Ariel Poets Account on Twitter
The exciting part about social media is networking and meeting like-minded people, especially if you are a writer or poet. A writer is a poet.
I first met Alexandra Meehan on Twitter. We have never met in real life, but our souls have probably met before. We became friends and we have come to appreciate each other’s poetic styles. I approached her a few weeks ago with the idea to open an account for lovers of poetry. We are both immensely inspired by Anne Sexton and Syliva Plath, who are two women who wrote about their turmoil life experiences. Men and women appreciate reading these two poets because through these women’s tough eyes the shape of humanity and relationships unfold in unique, female, poetic voices.
The pursuit of writing is an on-going struggle for writers and poets, especially women. Since Sappho, women have come a long way in poetry, but…
View original post 260 more words
You never lose a word from under the sheets
it can evaporate into desire within lightbulbs
of dark fiction. You tend to write about them,
blue octagons of your nightmares, the
lined frames of wisdom you neglected
to admonish. All these poets, they
love to see you crawl through utopian
skies. They love to see you die
a poetic death, make sure theirs
becomes immortal while your vampire
stories die under golden
Greek suns. I have unimpressed you
with bath time fun
you stopped playing mindless games
showed me your grey hair.
I can still cross my legs
be a drunken listener.
Where are you?
I know I have to act a certain way
the good wife, friend, mother,
daughter. I remember when I spoke up
and ran away to forget who I was.
Bleeding is an external vision
all the internal gods are turning away
misdiagnosing me with mental disorders
I am merely showing more of my 49 years
it gets hard to deliver packages
of love when everyone dissects your words
why are you running
Well it’s quite a miracle I am still alive
after all my accidents
why are you not running.
I wish I was better at human contact
I wish I was comfortable in my skin
but I never had three wishes.
My problem is I overestimate people
think we are all the same one love
when we are so alienated.
I would rather stay home
write, live in the world
I am too soft .
You can’t convert gays
it can’t be done,
no amount of articles on the internet
can convince me
I see too many rainbows
to understand dogmas.
Some days it is harder to be normal
other days it’s another blank bullet.
I walked out of the restaurant. It wasn’t the first time either.
The last time I did that Greg got me so mad.
Now, my rule is,
If I’m hurt, I have to look out for myself. I may just be too fragile.
I crack more than others do
I’m made this way.
Sorry, but I can’t be who I was.
I’m not going back.
Rain clouds have stories you’ve been waiting to hear
melodies you’ve only heard in your dreams
for without chances and change
we can be a living corpse.
Even the truth can’t change your feelings.
Sometimes you have to go under
for a fresh breath of air.
It’s not me, it’s you.
All these years, I believed in the wrong expressions.
That’s why I hate adages;
I can never understand them
I have to think too hard
analyze words in ways my mind cannot grasp
about the English language
when I’m more comfortable in Greek
under the earth with my father.
I want to be here
writing in my kitchen
No one talk to me,
no one break my zone of silence.
I’m bonding with words now.
My one true connection.
You get me high on you
I will not turn away from you.
I will not ever see you again
this, I understand.
But words will always be there for me
to write to you how I feel safe
even without your whispers and voice.