Tara > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

i am but a woman i need a purification rite. douse me in some holy water. cover me in rosary beads crosses at my feet bathe me in a ritual bat..

I watch her tiny fist grasp the crayon. She makes a sun. A big round orange circle. Seven orange sticks and then a green ground; grass. Soon a ..

i keep sitting down to write this poem and i keep passing out. it's almost as if the writing of the poem will reveal something i'm not yet ready to..

baby, that night when you and i got high and photographed each other on rooftops of city buildings in various states of undress until the fog..

Poetry cannot do the laundry. It cannot make dinner for your children. It refuses to clean toilets or windows or vacuum those tight corners wh..

I've had just about enough of myself. Lately all of my poetry has tears. It weeps and whines like a spoiled infant. Today I painted the fence..

I am one Mary Kay party away from becoming a homicidal suburban wife. Sue Ellen, the Mary Kay representative (are they ALL named Sue Ellen?) dro..

his poetry left marks it was raw unadulterated meant for me. he spoke in riddles yet i knew of what he wrote. truth in all its ugliness ..

I said goodbye fully intending to never see him again I actually strutted away my head held high a smile sneaking its way onto my face He was..

Before the snow came The night was bluelighted And the moon, eclipsed. But the stars compensated. I could hear them twinkling As one hears gr..