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[Poetry] Three Poems by Luna Floyd

How to write a poem


Don’t write complex sentences. They are mind-numbing.

Note down things that make the room seem brighter.

Add trauma, camouflage it with similes and assonances.

Then, make a volta so the reader spits and mumbles.


Don’t use cliches; delete them and forget forever.

You are a poet, not a singer in a mediocre public house.

Remind yourself that you need to move someone’s soul:

But know that there’s no straight road to do so.


Let your thoughts spill onto a stained coffee napkin:

Raw, honest judgement could begin the apocalypse.

Yet don’t forget that words can birth a rainbow:

Deafening winds, bright sunlight, breathing water.


Create an honest, unique, one-out of kind poem:

But know that there’s no straight way to do so.



Safe asylum


She wakes up with a nagging headache:

a lonely wolf that gnaws her brain stem.

To shut the worries off she gulps her vodka:

two shots of Smirnoff. One glass of lime juice.


Last year she claimed Kilimanjaro. Conquered

Wales Coast Park. Today she crawls on her knees

to reach a glass on marble kitchen table. She counts

to three because she can’t remember how to breathe.


Then she grabs a needle from uneven surface. Her

limbs sting when strong liquid climbs up through

the weapon in her hand. Her fingertips turn into tiny

icebergs. Her hands are wounds that aren’t healed yet.


Her eyes turn to the sky and beg for forgiveness.

Perhaps in hell she’ll meet new friends and family

who don’t vomit offensive words. She closes her eyes and

whispers softly “Please God. I want to find a home”.





Letters written in real black ink, 

signed from but never with love

One red rose on my countertop:

I hate red. It’s the color of blood. 


Skin itching close to skin. But never

Burning from clash and collision. 

Eyes but not hands on the star-shaped 

mole on my collarbone. Making full-stop. 


A button-eyed bear. His forest green

sweater reads Happy birthday. Never 

St. Valentine. Phone beeping. Ten 

unread messages. From the boy I don’t love. 


Heart racing. Your palm in the flames

of my hair. I say, “red is the color of love”. 

You open your mouth. Producing sounds 

but never full words. I wake up. 





Luna Floyd is a Creative Writing and English student from the University of Toronto, Scarborough and a blog writer for DRIFF (Durham Region International Film Festival). She is passionate about reading, writing and film. Her dream is to travel and share her poems and stories with the world.


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