What is life without purpose?
What is life without purpose? Can I ask you to imagine what it would be like if every single person in the world had no passions or life purpose? What would we talk about? What would we do?
Personally, my passions and feeling of purpose in this world are what keeps me going through each and every day, and I’m sure a lot of you here can relate to that. When I’m angry, or upset, I write. When I’m sad, I write. It’s something that through each and every day keeps me going and reminds me why I must keep living this life to its fullest. I’m sure all of you have been reading a book before and when the book ends, you have felt an insane excitement that it had a powerful good ending, or you cried because your favorite character died. That is what we do, we create worlds, we create people that can impact the reader in a deeper way than sometimes, we can’t even imagine. We write because it is a way to express our feelings, we write because we would explode if we didn’t. We write because we love giving that thrill to the reader. That is our passion, and for some of us, our life’s purpose. Imagine what it would be like if that was taken away; if writing and reading were banned. What would be left? And that, that is what it is like for most people, they love something, they do it all the time and if it was taken away, they wouldn’t have a purpose. And that is why we must fight, we must fight for everyone to be able to fight about what they care about, what they love. I think it is amazing, how when people fight for things they care about, people from all over the world, and people that are complete opposites of each other, can come together and join as one to fight for something. Everyone in this world cares for something, but only very few of us are actually brave enough to fight. Don’t give up. It will get better in the end. Don’t give up. Don’t listen to what other people say to put you down, they don’t know what they’re saying.
Fighting for what you care about... What an amazing thing. What an amazing thing to love something so much that you would do anything to fight for it. What an amazing thing how humans can have this amazing will to fight, to live, to do anything in their power to fight for something. What an amazing thing to know that if something ever got taken away from you, that you would fight to get it back.
Don’t be afraid to fight, don’t be afraid to hear what people say, they have their own problems and their own battles, they will always take their anger out on you, they cannot always understand why we must fight for these things we love so much.
What is life without purpose? Let me answer that for you. Life doesn’t exist without a purpose, so fight for what you care about before it’s too late.
Do you know me?
We can both agree that we’ve never met before. You don’t know my name, and I don’t know yours.
Let’s say I see you on the street. Maybe I smile, or you do. Maybe one of us says a cool “good morning” with a two-fingered wave. But it’s out of cordiality, because we don’t know each other. We’re just two ships passing in the night.
Except for perhaps a second, you see your pain reflected in my eyes. You see a common struggle, something broken that you want to put together so badly it physically hurts. You realize that we’re as similar as two people can be. So as we pass, you hold my eyes a second to long and you can’t help but wonder-
Do you know me?
Not Heartbreak
Heartbreak has been degraded until it no longer describes the pain it originally meant.
Heartbreak feels worse than just a broken heart. It feels like the very fabric of your existence is unraveling, your veins are short circuiting, and the atoms that make up you are falling apart.
A broken heart can be taped back together, but there is no repairing what I feel. Maybe it’s not heartbreak. Maybe it’s just devastation. But whatever it is, I don’t think it can be summed up with a single word.
John Green once wrote that maybe metaphors were created to describe pain. I don’t know if that’s true, but it feels right.
I know you didn’t mean to, but you broke my space-time continuum. You broke my heart or malfunctioned my engine. I don’t know what makes me run, but somehow you destroyed it.
There is no medicine, no words or magical remedy to repair the damage that’s been done. I fear I will feel like this forever. I know everyone says it gets better, but I don’t want to get better if it doesn’t include you.
Maybe that’s my downfall, or maybe it’s just you.
Juice Me Up.
Morning, Prosers,
We interrupt your usual Prosing schedule to bring you news of our latest feature update.
As of right now, we have implemented a feature in which ALL Prosers can earn coins.
All posts now have a new button. Juice. This Juice button allows fellow Prosers to tip your words. Have you ever read a piece and thought, “Damn, that’s good?” Well now, when you do, you can show your appreciation above and beyond a like or a comment, and send them some Juice.
Prosers can donate between 10 and 10,000 coins per post to the author. Authors receive 80% royalties which will be deposited straight into the wallet of said author.
Received donations can be viewed in the “Sales History” tab on the website.
This feature is currently only available on the website. However, we are working on bringing this to iOS as we speak. Remember, you can spend your coins on both platforms, but you can only buy coins on the web.
Once we have updated the iOS version to reflect the Juice button, push notifications to alert you of kind donations will be active.
We will also be adding a Juice button to profiles in the not-so-distant future.
Not only this, but we have also banished a number of pesky bugs too. Be gone, and good riddance!
We are working on a number of new things to keep us busy, but as always, if something isn’t working how it should be or if you have any questions, get in touch with us. We are always happy to help!
Until next time, Prosers,
Get Juicing.
Prose.
Can anyone here write a good obituary?
My mom is going to kill me. She is going to murder me, and its for something she cares about a lot more than I do. She's going to kill me because I got yellow paint on my good tennis shoes. The ones she bought me because she wouldn't let me wear my old pair to school anymore.
Personally, I don't care if there's paint on my shoes. It seems a little vain to me, to worry that much. I mean, how often are people actually looking at your feet, and judging you based on how they look? It's like when my dad got mad at me once for wearing my socks inside out. No one's going to see it- why does it matter, if I don't care?
For those wondering, I got paint on my shoes for a good cause. My church is doing a trunk or treat(for ignorant buffoons like me, it's like trick or treating with cars instead of houses) and our youth group was making decorations for our trunk. We're doing a Jonah and the Big Fish/Under the Sea theme, and we were making coral reef decorations to put around our big fish. It's a big fish because technically, it never says whale in the Bible.
I managed to get my hands covered in paint in the first ten minutes I was painting. And because I was helping getting water to clean off brushes, I had been painting for less time than any of the others. And later that night, I got yellow paint all over my shoes. There's a reason I don't do crafts. It's because if I worked with anything remotely dangerous, I would end up accidentally killing myself.
Exhibit A: In Middle School, I took a shop class. We used box cutters a lot, and I cut myself. Barely a minute after another girl in my group cut herself with another box cutter. I'm pretty sure that means I'm very careless, an idiot, or both. Or that the sevens were strong that day. Probably a combination of all three.
But if my mother does murder me when she sees yellow acrylic paint on my shoes tomorrow, I want to say thank you to everyone who bothered reading these. It has helped to stoke my surprisingly large ego. Also, beware computer gremlins and sevens. Both are largely unknown products of mankind's sin. Though I have a test tomorrow, so it would probably be the greater punishment to leave me alive.
I’ll probably be a serial killer someday
So, another morning post. Which is strange, because I'm not good with mornings. Especially school mornings, because I have to get up earlier than I'd like to and actually do things. But mornings are usually good times to think. Especially Saturday mornings. Mornings when you wake up and you have nothing to do, when your room is filled with sunlight and you can hear birds chirping outside, so you lie in bed for a while and spend your morning thinking. I used to do that a lot when I was younger. I don't do that much anymore, partially because my life has gotten busier and partially because it's just not the same, now that I've moved.
When I was little, I used to think about death a lot in the mornings. Very morbid topic, that. Probably means I'm going to someday keep severed heads in my basement and stab random people while they shower. But, in my defense, I was mostly thinking about how it feels to die. I, a third grader on a sunny morning, was thinking about my own mortality. Thinking about how someday, I won't be on this earth. I'll disappear, and where I was, there will just be an empty shell.
Now, I'm a christian. I believe that after people die, the ones who accepted Christ go to heaven and the ones who didn't, hell. I also believe that death is the direct result of sin. So does it hurt to die? Does that moment, when your soul leaves your body and you become something else, hurt? Is it like falling asleep? Does everything fade out slowly, or is it sudden, like pricking your finger on a thorn? There are some things we think we know- hypothermia is like falling asleep, drowning is painful. But do we really know? I mean, I guess we could, since with CPR and stuff, people have come back. But I'd be kinda surprised to find people going around talking about the actual experience- seems like it would be somewhat traumatic, dying. I also wonder, if the person did talk about it, how their memory and experience might have been affected by coming back. I don't think they would lie or anything, of course, but coming back might alter the way you remember what happened when you died.
As you can see, I find mornings a good time for morbid reflections. I'm learning AP Lit classes are also a good time for thinking about these things. Especially when we're going over essay grades.
The one who noticed
I walked down the hallway with my head down
No one ever sees me
No one knows my name
No one likes m-.
My thoughts stopped when I was forced to look up
From a force in front of me.
"Im sorry, I didn't mean to..."
He was close, too close
But it didnt feel wrong.
I looked into his bright beautiful blue eyes
And he looked into my ugly brown ones.
He tried to speak but nothing came out,
I took in my surroundings and saw people staring.
I let go and apoligized,
He quickly grabbed my hand and
Told me three words I had never been asked before.
"What's your name?"
My heart stopped and my eyes widened, words are not enough to describe the joy I felt when I spoke.
"R-Rose!"
He laughed and told me his in return,
He never let go of my hand and I was glad.