Rory Popp
Ansyl stood in line at the drugstore, a bottle of Pixy Brew’s Angelic Blue hair dye in hand. He nervously checked his watch as the elderly lady in front of him emptied her basket onto the counter. He itched to push his hood back and run a hand through his hair, but forced down the
I wrote this because I don’t like the idea that you are powerless against your circumstances because the only way your circumstances can change is if you take action. Other people can open doors for you but you have to step through them. It’s up to you to take control of yourself. If there’s one
I wrote this poem, because I was thinking about the different ways that human lives would exist if they were all just stories; the idea that all of life is a story written somewhere by someone was very compelling to me. Everyone’s life is a story, someone, maybe ourselves, writes furiously every day, filling pages
I wrote this poem while feeling cynical about human motives for things. The poem is intended to be read from the top down as well as the bottom up. People lie Because They fear The truth is Unkind All people are Afraid that They will be Unkind too Maybe because they are They have been
I wrote this about my struggle with mental illness and the things that can alleviate the pain. I wish the wild wood would relieve this mire This deep pit somewhere within my pale soul It’s stirring, pulling, becoming more dire I just wish something would fill up the hole From time to time life throws
I wrote this poem because even though it can be hard, even though it can be isolating and painful, to be a lesbian is a beautiful thing. It is anger Driven by hatred that’s fueled by fear A riot in the streets because that is the only way they’ll listen It is a fight The
I wrote this poem to illustrate the acts of inhumanity faced by those who are and have been victims of mass hysteria in the modern world, and as a reminder that they’re still happening around the globe today and that we have the power to do something about it. They spread fast, out of control,
A poem to the president about the absolute vileness of his actions. You whose hands have built up the walls between us You whose hands sign orders of hate Why do you praise yourself and raise yourself When all you have done is make the lives of those without your wealth more grim When all
This is a poem about being someone who the world built hard and unforgiving, and how that can exist alongside being compassionate and good. i was born with magic in my soul it flows with the blood in my veins, reaching every soft curve of my body, every hard corner it’s built in the foundation
When I was a little girl I would sit for hours reading and re-reading Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, The Kane Chronicles, The Chronicles of Narnia and every other fantasy novel I could get my hands on. Reading, especially of fantasy literature, allowed me to escape my turbulent home life and let me sink
