Her
She's getting ready
In the morning
And she's frustrated.
It's fucking adorable.
I wonder if I could sell
This view
The heart-stop beauty of it.
And bottle the feeling
Of seeing her face crinkle
Because that one strand of hair
Won't obey.
Then she giggles
When it falls into place,
And my next week
Will be recalling this moment.
And we go out so the wind
Can fuck everything up
In an instant.
And I am again grateful
Because nature
Created an expression
On her face
I haven't seen yet.
The beauty of life's chaos
Has made me whole
Prose
I love prose like an old lover I can't help but revisit. I do miss a couple old features. The weekly artist spotlight desperately needs to make a comeback. I also miss the option to read through a stream of people I'm following; I could at one point do this, and it made a "follow" mean a bit more. I think the loss of those two things hinder the sense of community we used to have here. That being said, Prose on the whole is fucking brilliant by both execution and intention.
Inevitable Existence
The gate
That keeps me from falling.
Off the cliff.
I loosen the screws
Holding it together, like
going home.
There is only 1 outcome.
I was grateful.
The View.
Challenge (Say Hi, Prose Census)
Hello fuckers. There are very few left who still remember that intro. Lol. I've been here since almost the beginning. Shout out to all those who remember Sammie and Paul. That's not a lack of respect for A and Jeff. You two keep building this place and moving forward. Kudos. Also, if you haven't recently, please post an origins of Prose story, it's a pretty damn good story. I'm not on much anymore. Partly because my writing is at a crossroads and I'm gunshy. Partly because I miss a lot of people and it's not quite the same. I remember a big city with a small town feel, where people that freckled the entirety of the globe became friends. Also, shit happens. But Prose will always feel like home, and I'll never stop coming back. So, to the founders of something that can't be quantified, Jeff, A, fucking cheers and thank you for having a dream that was bigger than yourselves. Even those who simply pop in and leave have been made better because of a "cheers." So cheers. Fuckers.
Cancel Culture Challenge
Let's all
Cancel ourselves
From the career
Called
"being right"
I'll see you
At the farewell party.
Anyone that offends
Me,
I'll buy the next round.
Thank God
I might be wrong.
On anything.
Or everything.
Or nothing.
Just so long
As my opinion
Is a chapter
And not
A memoir.
Change (Challenge)
CHANGE
Change is.
The never ending
Cycle
Of regret
And hope,
Like two lovers,
cycling passion,
Peace comes
When you leave
The one
That hurts the most.
Happiness comes
When you
Embrace
The threesome.
Forever kinky
Is the soul.
The Last of the Flames
my pen is dry, rusted,
formerly fueld by pain,
but now,
the skeletons
of my demons,
lay black against the page.
spelling out the ending
of my once and former rage.
loneliness is dry
and no longer salivates,
and I'm searching for an ending
that let's me recreate.
writers block
is a bitch
when agony fades
into peace.
and the last of my hauntings,
like char,
and stretched thin into letters,
and painted on nothing
except this imaginary page.
and if my scars are like braille
they will spell words of hope
and I will finally remember
how to read them.
and I will be grateful.
and I will learn to put
flame to page once more,
and save the paper with moisture
not made of tears.
but ink.
#onefortheflames
3 Line Mantra (Challenge)
be nude in life to feel the most,
more springtime breeze,
more winter cold .
Redefine The Word Hope (Challenge)
half smoked cigarette
and a few beers in,
watching the vapor snake
its way upward
into nothing.
and it reminds me of hope
as it fades in time.
fleeting and beautiful and toxic
like the cycle of addiction.
if only.
I could see.
the butt
as I put it out,
as hope realized,
or dreams captured, unlost,
or some other shit,
I'd see that whatever
is to be the death of me,
will have been my favorite
part.
and whatever escaped me,
was much less potent.
cheers to all. may hope be defined as memory
When Darkness Comes (challenge)
when darkness comes
reflections fade
like the memories
of ghosts
we seek to leave
upon the shore.
we only hope,
they stay above water.
balanced on the line
where ocean meets sand,
where recollection
tiptoes safe above
our demons.
but we can't look back,
because
we still believe nothing
has fallen.
and our escape
seems a lot brighter,
If labeled as an adventure.
when darkness comes.
we escape.
still human.
grateful to forget.