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Welcome Pink Snail Poet!
We’ve been waiting for you and your blossoming talent! Question: What are we here for? Answer: To create the best poetry possible! I know, I know, poetry like all art is subjective. What we mean is that we want you to leave here better than you came to us. We want you to share your work. We want you to comment on each other’s work — constructively of course. Only helpful tips and corrections. And please post revisions as needed. We aren’t here for the likes! We are here for the work (and potential publications as they arise). In addition to helping each other grow, we want to encourage dialogue between poets that otherwise may never have met. From beginners to masters. Everyone’s voice matters.All opinions need to be heard — popular or not. Healthy discourse paves the road to creativity! Additionally, we will help by posting writing prompts, calls for submissions, and contests as they arrive. And, as always, we are always open to suggestions! What do you want this community to be? Let us know. We’re here for it all! We’re here for you!
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Day five of poetry month!
Here is my completed poem for today! Still on track for one poem each day this month!
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Day five of poetry month!
Happy Easter Everyone!
I woke up this morning to some amazing news! It had been quite awhile since I sent out any of my poetry as submissions. The other day I sent out a handful and this morning I had five poems accepted at Saragun Springs! They will be live April14th! So my question for the day is how often do you submit your work? Do you get discouraged or determined when pieces get rejections? And finally, when and where was your most recent publication?
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Wasn’t sure I had one in me today. Then this happened.
Someone is Going to Pick You they said and I was so young I smiled a smile of the truly stupid, instantly imagining the many possible Prince Charmings who would line up for me. This one would be blonde, and rich, a work-aholic who could afford to buy me dresses and shoes. That one would be less, but more attentive all dark hair, dark eyes, dark mood. And I would play this game for hours. Days, weeks, years passed. So may hands came and went. Touching, rubbing, pinching, pulling, everything but. Picking me never seemed to be an option. I waited, growing old, growing fat, growing inpatient. The I grew tired, angry, and indifferently independent. I want to go back to the moment of broken promise. This time I wouldn’t smile and drift off into dream. This time I would smirk and spit In their face, tell those liars to fuck off, to just leave me alone.
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Day 3 of poetry month!
I Was Crying in front of my air conditioner because I was out of money, and words are almost as expensive as friends. Family is a useless noise I too often hang myself with, So I started gathering knives from the kitchen and hiding them in plain sight to remind myself to only talk to strangers who offer me candy and old ladies giving away free apples.
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Pink Snail Poets
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A poetry community designed to connect writers. Our intention is that collaboration through shared communication and skills equals growth for everyone
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