Five Minutes (9 weeks?)
The library got me on a course
Write what you want without remorse
A few months ago, some cells clumped together
Decided they'd be a person
Make me sick,
Constipate me
Make the smell of pickled eggs even worse than it already is
So here we are, 9 weeks later
Updates on my phone about what's formed this week
The ears, the eyes
Heartbeats and blood vessels
Due dates and baby names
Cups of caffeine making me feel shame
Trying to navigate pregnancy brain
...I forgot what I came in here for
Maybe if I walk out and then back in through the door...
Weight gain, I think Isaac will be his name
Should it be a boy at all
I'll be heavily burdened come this fall
Belly swinging, disappearing toes
What will this one's temperament be?
I guess we'll be the first to know
Birthmarks, scars, hopefully a breezy birth
I guess I should wait for the ultrasound first
40 seconds, I've run out of thought
Well, I guess this is all I've got
Just filling spaces with empty lines
As a fetus just bides its time
I like when they're vague. I like to think. I like to explore and go on a journey on my keyboard. So many challenges on here are so specific that there's no way to twist it and make it mine. I can't go anywhere without my share of gore and sex. I don't want politics, I want to kill the world and rebuild it with aliens and shit, but how will I fit that in 80 words? I want to do every challenge, but there are just some that I can't make my own and that drives me nuts. I find that the hardest to make my own are LGBTQ+ challenges.
I have nothing against the community. I have to specify that. It's just weird to make a whole sub-category for who your main character (or hell, a character) likes or how the identify themselves. I know I hate in sitcoms when the whole point of a show is a person exploring their sexuality and trying to find themselves. It's what's always pushed. But, at some point, they find themselves and the show instantly dies like the creators didn't know that people eventually figure shit out. I understand that there is a lack of representation and a "straight washing" (I guess) of characters over the years but geez. When will LGBTQ+ just be integrated with everyone else and not separated out?
That aside, I really enjoy Prose. I'm always getting new ideas based on the challenges, though I did fear that when I don't do challenges, no one will read what I post because there's no point. No is attached to it so it's just there in space. Though I do think favoritism could play in with certain people. This isn't a personal attack. Over the years, writers often used nepotism to decide who was good or not. I take one Modernism class and suddenly I know all about this. But I truly love the community this site fosters, and I really enjoy making a challenge and seeing everything posted. That's my favorite part of this experience.
P.S. Don't stop making LGBTQ+ challenges! I'm just a little ball of cynicism!
I grew up believing that monsters lived under the bed, and I was right. They lurk under beds, in closets, and in shodow protected corners, sharpening their claws and dampening their snouts in preparation for a human shaped meal. The monsters I saw peeking out of my dark, cramped spaces, were put in their places by my parents many years ago. My parents have been hiding their demons away, falsely assuming that what can't be seen, can't cause pain. It wasn't until it was too late that they realized the monsters never actually disappeared. Instead they sat silently, festering in the dark, waiting for the day they could make the world even scarier for their captors' children. Thus the monsters of my parents' past became yet another burden to be passed down to the younger generation. Creatures I then had to fight... or once again hideaway.
The worst part is that this is a cycle that is almost impossible to break. It’s not until someone too burdened for their youth comes that there’s ever any chance at salvation. This prophesied child will have to use courage and wisdom from a thousand lives unlived, to face our demons. Unfortunately, people like that don’t come very often. And when they do they don’t usually survive the battles.
This is day six of my watch, and she is just as exotic as she was yesterday, and every day since I began my vigil. Today she wears a green satin shirt with wide sleeves that billow as she moves. Henna snakes up her arm, it’s stain darker than the brown of her skin. She’s beautiful, but it’s not her looks that transfix me so. It’s the way she carries herself.
The girl moves with such confidence, bordering on temerity. Her presence gives color to a dull room, and she knows it. She is light as it fractures through a prism. Her effect is mesmerizing, and nearly impossible to ignore.
This self-assurance of hers, which could easily be used as a weapon, is instead used to lift up those around her. She draws others from their shells with sweet smiles and delicately placed compliments, until they too are a force to be reckoned with.
There are some who fear her abilities. They say it’s not good for girls to be this bold, not in our world where confidence is mistaken for impudence. What they avoid admitting is that they aren’t afraid for her sake. No, they are afraid for theirs. They’re petrified of how her light changes their lives. It frightens them to think of how they’d have to reshape themselves to fit into the world she would create.
So instead of acknowledging their own anxieties, they project them onto her in an attempt to stifle her flames. To prevent her from growing into the raging wildfire she’s destined to become. However, she is a star whose light shines long after it’s source is gone, and try as they might, it cannot be dimmed.