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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

I've willed you

into my destiny

loved you much before

we even existed

8
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Juice
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
I've willed you
into my destiny
loved you much before
we even existed
8
2
0
Juice
12 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Firdaus.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #55: Write a story of 200 words or more about a stranger. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $200. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by Firdaus

Memoirs of a moth

I'm a moth, dull and ugly. My wings have grown inwards. My shoulder blades itch to burst them out. People find me strange, or rather, confusing. I'm just an ugly moth, a little confused myself.

When I was little, I loved books and sharp pencils. The latter because I liked to sketch birds and butterflies. I never used pencil sharpeners, I would 'borrow' blades from my fathers shaving kit, then would snap them through the middle, hiding one half inside my pillow cover. Slicing through the wood and graphite was intriguing. Carving out a point on the pencil was fun. Most of the time I would cut my fingertips, sometimes quite deep. The pain kept me up at night for hours. Once I experimented on my wrist. My parents went crazy when they saw the blood. I couldn't understand their concern. It was just a cut. My mother cried for days and I was taken to a therapist who confused me even further.

I remember the first time I saw her. That strange girl who looked familiar, yet someone I'd never seen. I remember that day because it was a day after my sixteenth birthday. Grandma had been ill for a while and my mother wanted to visit her on the weekend. We had been on the road for a few hours and I was getting restless. I had had a fight with my boyfriend and it was playing on my mind. I was being the classic rebellious teenager and I could see my mother holding her temper. It was a bad day.

Grandma's house was a double storied one. I was given a room on the top floor, it had a large window overlooking the garden. It used to be my mother's room when she lived here. There was a full-length mirror, with a beautiful wooden frame, on one wall. I had walked to it after unpacking and that's when I saw her.

She was beautiful in a strange way. Her curly black hair hung past her shoulders. Glossy and thick. It made me conscious about my thinning curls. She had large eyes, slightly popping, like a butterfly's; dark-brown luminous honey-drops. She was looking at me like she knew me yet not. I tried to smile, she gave me a nervous smile too. A dimple danced on her left cheek, I had a little dent on my right one, I remembered.

We stepped closer and I reached out to her, she did too, till our fingertips touched. Her wrist was smooth, no scars like my ugly ones. Her skin was soft brown, mine dull silvery of moth dust. I watched her cobalt wings unfurl behind her. She's a butterfly, I gasped. It was surreal. We stood there looking at each other for a long time.

She was gone as suddenly as she had appeared. My wrist dripped the sadness I felt. A dark red streak on the mirror. I sobbed at the loss. I took a long hot shower, washing away my grief, the hot water hurting my wrist as I watched the blood swirl down the drain. That is when I felt the pain in my shoulder blades. My wings burst out. They hung limp behind me like old rags. I had to get out, the steam from the shower was suffocating me.

I threw open the window and climbed onto the ledge. Water dripped down my naked body and the cold breeze almost knocked me down. I felt a presence beside me. It was her, dripping wet, standing on the ledge with me. Her wings were gone, just scars remained where they once were. I felt my wings unfurl. I flapped them dry. They were cobalt blue.

She had given me her wings!

I looked at her with tears in my eyes. She smiled, I smiled back.

"Time to fly," we whispered together.

My toes nervously curled around the edge of the ledge. I took a deep breath...

Later I learned that a moth can't fly with butterfly wings.

21
9
26
Juice
118 reads
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Challenge of the Week #55: Write a story of 200 words or more about a stranger. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $200. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by Firdaus
Memoirs of a moth
I'm a moth, dull and ugly. My wings have grown inwards. My shoulder blades itch to burst them out. People find me strange, or rather, confusing. I'm just an ugly moth, a little confused myself.
When I was little, I loved books and sharp pencils. The latter because I liked to sketch birds and butterflies. I never used pencil sharpeners, I would 'borrow' blades from my fathers shaving kit, then would snap them through the middle, hiding one half inside my pillow cover. Slicing through the wood and graphite was intriguing. Carving out a point on the pencil was fun. Most of the time I would cut my fingertips, sometimes quite deep. The pain kept me up at night for hours. Once I experimented on my wrist. My parents went crazy when they saw the blood. I couldn't understand their concern. It was just a cut. My mother cried for days and I was taken to a therapist who confused me even further.
I remember the first time I saw her. That strange girl who looked familiar, yet someone I'd never seen. I remember that day because it was a day after my sixteenth birthday. Grandma had been ill for a while and my mother wanted to visit her on the weekend. We had been on the road for a few hours and I was getting restless. I had had a fight with my boyfriend and it was playing on my mind. I was being the classic rebellious teenager and I could see my mother holding her temper. It was a bad day.
Grandma's house was a double storied one. I was given a room on the top floor, it had a large window overlooking the garden. It used to be my mother's room when she lived here. There was a full-length mirror, with a beautiful wooden frame, on one wall. I had walked to it after unpacking and that's when I saw her.
She was beautiful in a strange way. Her curly black hair hung past her shoulders. Glossy and thick. It made me conscious about my thinning curls. She had large eyes, slightly popping, like a butterfly's; dark-brown luminous honey-drops. She was looking at me like she knew me yet not. I tried to smile, she gave me a nervous smile too. A dimple danced on her left cheek, I had a little dent on my right one, I remembered.
We stepped closer and I reached out to her, she did too, till our fingertips touched. Her wrist was smooth, no scars like my ugly ones. Her skin was soft brown, mine dull silvery of moth dust. I watched her cobalt wings unfurl behind her. She's a butterfly, I gasped. It was surreal. We stood there looking at each other for a long time.
She was gone as suddenly as she had appeared. My wrist dripped the sadness I felt. A dark red streak on the mirror. I sobbed at the loss. I took a long hot shower, washing away my grief, the hot water hurting my wrist as I watched the blood swirl down the drain. That is when I felt the pain in my shoulder blades. My wings burst out. They hung limp behind me like old rags. I had to get out, the steam from the shower was suffocating me.
I threw open the window and climbed onto the ledge. Water dripped down my naked body and the cold breeze almost knocked me down. I felt a presence beside me. It was her, dripping wet, standing on the ledge with me. Her wings were gone, just scars remained where they once were. I felt my wings unfurl. I flapped them dry. They were cobalt blue.
She had given me her wings!
I looked at her with tears in my eyes. She smiled, I smiled back.
"Time to fly," we whispered together.
My toes nervously curled around the edge of the ledge. I took a deep breath...

Later I learned that a moth can't fly with butterfly wings.

#prosechallenge 
21
9
26
Juice
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Write the most meaningful, emotional thing you can think of in 30 words.
Written by Firdaus in portal Poetry & Free Verse

promises are made

to break

never to be kept

thanks to heartaches

heartburns and headaches

words stick out

my melancholic strain

hums from the vandalism

of my heart

damn love

11
3
7
Juice
40 reads
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Write the most meaningful, emotional thing you can think of in 30 words.
Written by Firdaus in portal Poetry & Free Verse
promises are made
to break
never to be kept

thanks to heartaches
heartburns and headaches
words stick out

my melancholic strain
hums from the vandalism
of my heart

damn love
11
3
7
Juice
40 reads
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

it wasn't the falling

that did me in

it was the never landing

27
6
10
Juice
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
it wasn't the falling
that did me in
it was the never landing
#threelines 
27
6
10
Juice
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Written by Firdaus in portal Stream of Consciousness

okay

It's cold today, the breeze brushes against my cheeks like icy fingers. Cooper isn't fazed, he insists on snooping around the garden. I keep an eye on him while he digs up a flower bed. I have a bowl of oats in my hands. It said Chinese flavour. Well it tastes like vinegar and soy sauce. Chinese? I cup my hands around the warm bowl. It belonged to my son. It has the cartoon characters of 'Bananas in Pyjamas'. Kind of cute. Why would bananas wear pyjamas? It's from the nineties I think. I'm a little lost for words right now. My muse has disappeared. I fought with my daughter on her birthday. Tradition! It's cold and foggy. I thought coffee would help but it's not. Sorry my thoughts are going on a tangent. I'm okay really just a lot of thoughts colliding in my head.

icy fingertips

curl around a warm bowl

of memories

13
2
21
Juice
37 reads
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Written by Firdaus in portal Stream of Consciousness
okay
It's cold today, the breeze brushes against my cheeks like icy fingers. Cooper isn't fazed, he insists on snooping around the garden. I keep an eye on him while he digs up a flower bed. I have a bowl of oats in my hands. It said Chinese flavour. Well it tastes like vinegar and soy sauce. Chinese? I cup my hands around the warm bowl. It belonged to my son. It has the cartoon characters of 'Bananas in Pyjamas'. Kind of cute. Why would bananas wear pyjamas? It's from the nineties I think. I'm a little lost for words right now. My muse has disappeared. I fought with my daughter on her birthday. Tradition! It's cold and foggy. I thought coffee would help but it's not. Sorry my thoughts are going on a tangent. I'm okay really just a lot of thoughts colliding in my head.

icy fingertips
curl around a warm bowl
of memories
13
2
21
Juice
37 reads
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Juice
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

pieces of you

lie drying in the shade

with the best of me

I wish the wind

would carry them away

far enough

that I may touch them

only with passing thought

and I might turn away

for joy was never our thing

we basked in the broken shadows

of lives lived less felt more

and we sometimes

loved our empty

19
5
13
Juice
42 reads
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
pieces of you
lie drying in the shade
with the best of me
I wish the wind
would carry them away
far enough
that I may touch them
only with passing thought
and I might turn away
for joy was never our thing
we basked in the broken shadows
of lives lived less felt more
and we sometimes
loved our empty
19
5
13
Juice
42 reads
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Juice
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

such high ambition

to claim my soul

you dug a trench

right through my heart

18
2
4
Juice
37 reads
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
such high ambition
to claim my soul
you dug a trench
right through my heart
18
2
4
Juice
37 reads
Load 4 Comments
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Juice
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

thru' this worldly grind

what can be done

when even love is unkind

16
3
4
Juice
30 reads
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
thru' this worldly grind
what can be done
when even love is unkind
16
3
4
Juice
30 reads
Load 4 Comments
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Juice
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You are a window sign. In three lines, what will your sign say?
Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

Can't fix the broke

But if you're broken

Step in

27
3
14
Juice
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You are a window sign. In three lines, what will your sign say?
Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
Can't fix the broke
But if you're broken
Step in
27
3
14
Juice
39 reads
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Written by Firdaus in portal Poetry & Free Verse

apart

no elbow room

no space between

our distance

22
7
8
Juice
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Written by Firdaus in portal Poetry & Free Verse
apart
no elbow room
no space between
our distance


22
7
8
Juice
50 reads
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