Our Mission

Unique Poetry believes that most of us carry an untold story, and we feel that we owe it to one another to listen.

We understand poetry can enlighten, and conjure self-realization

We value the fearlessness , creativity , and humility it takes to share your work.

Unique Poetry will continue to empower , stimulate , encourage, heal, nourish, create unity, learn from and support our fellow poets.

Submit! We wanna share your voice. Submissions our open!

About Writing

There is one thing you should know about writing. It will will inevitably lead you to terrible places, as you cannot write about something if you have not lived it. Through the most important thing to bear in mind is this: you are there as a tourist and must always remain one.

There was a very specific reason why you were blessed with the ability to translate your sentiments into words- it is to bring a voice to suffering and torment. But, do not be too indulgent with your expericance of these things- despite how addictive suffering can be- how easy it is to get lost down that twisted path of self destruction. You must emerge from adversity , scathed but victorious- to tell your story and in turn , light the way for others.

~ Lang Leav

Silk

Words fall straight to my pen
Like silk
Like silk

Creamy and Cool.

I sense my fingertips begin to dance.
Anticipating the drop of ink,

First
Melancholy
then,
Dread,
Next Anguish,

Heavy words dominate my flow
True,
Real words are the only writing I know
The words that slide off the pen aren’t easy,
I call it paper bleeding,
It’s me screaming to be heard

So, I’ll keep dancing
Leaving drops of me along of the way
No matter what people say.
They still fall
Like silk
Like silk.

Obsessively, Incessantly with maddening hunger!

When I write, it always comes from personal experience. I only know how to write honestly. It’s soul cleansing.

Don’t forget the March Journal @uniquepoetry is coming up. Get your voice out there. Share your story.

I’ve lost and I’ve loved

I lost both of my brothers, June 2018, One was from a drug overdose, and five days later, my other brother committed suicide. Time doesn’t take it away. I have to go through it. I do that by writing. My poetry is a reflection of my inner being. I write to keep the demons away. I write to heal my soul. I write to keep my sanity. If you have ever lost someone you love, I’m here. I know your pain.

Eyes

When you look into my eyes,

what do you see?

The debris from all the tragedy?

Thats only part of me.

Like a detainee,

I’m trapped inside.

Denied feelings of happiness,

only a slight will to survive.

I’m only here

because,

I plea

for sanity.

For my mind to not take over me

with negativity

to give me dignity

to fight another day.

Strength, not captivity

Ability, not anxiety .

I want to write words that need

to be heard, without them getting

blurred.

Let me transfer the good

for all that are misunderstood.

I want to RISE

Thats what I want you to see

when you look into my eyes.

Published

Feeling Heavy today

Grief Knot

A loop of process

A loop of dismay

Crossed and tightened to bring enormous pain.

After being worn for some time,

it starts to unravel

exposing pieces of

happiness,

loosened smiles,

drops of laughter

tangled with moments of love.

Catch those strings

and put them up for later,

when they appear the sorrow

seems to brightens

for that moment.

The knot

doesn’t seem so tight.

Those are the days

we should remember .

© 2019 Tina Carey

From the ashes she became

Before she became fire, she was water

Quenching the thirst of every dying creature

She gave and gave

until she turned from sea to desert

but, instead of dying of the heart, the sadness, the heartache

she took  all the pain and from her own ashes

she became fire.

 

 

 

~Nikita Gill

Clutter

Like a dumpster filled with things people don’t want

My mind is cluttered

I can’t focus on one thing; my mind starts to wonder.

a dictator of what’s beautiful and true

a malicious invader that makes every encounter blue,

always in disorder, a recorder of everything wrong.

Depression is like a song you hate to sing, dancing to the tune even though you don’t know what the words mean.

My mind is clutter

It’s torture

© T. Carey

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