i adore you so much

i try to fit you into every

piece of art i see

ill carve out pieces of your skin

and tie ribbons out of your bones

so that i can mold you

into the perfect sculpture of

who i want you to be

There’s space for rent inside my heart. The plus side is there’s not much in there. Not many tenants, but they’re here to stay—don’t have the heart to evict them. Yes, I know some of them have moved out. Doesn’t matter. I’ll hang on to their stuff for them for as long as they want.

Most of this empty space I’ll admit I’ve been afraid to lease, worried I’ll find the wrong person to fill some rooms. But all this empty space makes me feel a little lonely. That’s gotten worse with time. Don’t get me wrong, I love my current tenants. They live rent free—the space they occupy I make sure stays theirs.

I’ve gotten better at putting out my “For Rent” signs. Most of my applicants are boring though. Nice enough, I’m sure, just…not for me. I’m picky, I guess. Then again, one has to be selective when renting out space in the heart.

“For Rent.” What an odd concept, considering I give the space away for free. Maybe I should change my signs. But I don’t want anyone getting any ideas and taking advantage of me. I’ve got plenty of room. No hurry to change that.

An agitated sigh, followed by a

Series of asymmetrical tapping.

It’s unrest that only such sounds betray;

At close, the arcs of shoulders sharpening.

All blank walls glare from all sides seething at

Incompetence ’till draught claws up the throat.

Dull colors almost dare to vomit and splat

Just to fill—feel, too—substance, any and all.

Revising those roots in reality:

Stale lifeless words littering the pages;

Though the soul remains unchained by the void,

The sense of unpaid debt in meaning crowds.

Fortuitously as the stars align,

Fresh ideas will reverse the decline.

#sonnet #poem

i've become bitter.

so bitter that i swallow sugar in fistfuls

lest i burn a hole

in the ceramic mug i live to fill.

i only wish the sugar didn't dissolve so quickly.

i am the kind of bitter you'd much rather

watch disappear down the drain of the kitchen sink

than taste in your throat.

the kind of bitter that cramps your stomach

and leaves coffee stains on your sanity.

sip me and spit me out.

i want to be tasted,

and even more to decorate your walls.

My blood’s not red anymore;

It leaks from my shredded soul,

Seeping tar-like from blackened wounds—

The gashes came from many things, but

Oh, the largest ones, those came from me

Tearing out chunks to ease the pain

Of a thousand missing parts.

Funny how the brain—deranged by overload—

Decides it’s time to die

And tears away the parts of you

That should’ve stayed inside.

Oh, no my blood’s not red anymore

But my filthy heart still beats;

It pounds away inside my chest, but

It's not blood that swims within.

My blood’s not red anymore,

But it oozes from your lips—serotonin vampire,

Midday like it's midnight, but you’re still alive.

Hard to kill something that lives forever,

Embodiment of greed and vulturous lust,

Circling above my head as I fall to my knees

Crushed ’neath my terror and your bloodlust.

Oh, but I know all your dirty secrets—

I wrote them in my Book of Lies

Where the black drips down from pages smeared,

Scarred with everything that makes you hide.

Oh, no my blood’s not red anymore

But my filthy heart still beats;

It pounds away inside my chest, but

It's not blood that swims within.

I know I am miles away , but trust me when I say

I'm here

waiting patiently . until my fingertips can get lost against the tapestry

of your stars,

sinking into the skin and the warmth

I have been missing for millenniums, it seems

a blended kaleidoscope of countless lives

each one speaking of misplaced fragments of you,

painted in colors reflecting so well the light of your eyes

golden brown galaxies,

that have now settled in the form of soft whispers

in the complicated structure of my lungs,

so masterfully moving the red ribbon of fate

between the ribs

that only used to know ice

and now with gentle embers in the form of the winter sun,

resting so vulnerably

in the palm of my hands

a heart put together with careful threads,

stitched and seamed with silver linings, steady iron, and cotton dreams

I know I am miles away , but trust me when I say

I'm here

All my songs are the same,

All my lyrics are alike—

The same words describing the same pain

But arranged in different ways

As if it could distract from the fact that

Everything I write is the same.

Interesting how the hole inside my chest

Bleeds over into every area of my life,

Eroding sections of my soul I

Didn’t know I needed until they were gone—

Snuffed out, sucked away into the riptide

Of this awful abyss inside my chest.

But all my songs are the same

And all my lyrics are alike—

The same words forming the same poems

But arranged in different ways,

As if it could distract from the truth that

Everything I write is the same.

lacuna / noun

an unfilled space, gap

She sits down and starts to talk. Letting everything out, all her joys and the sadness. It takes a lot of time before she’s done, but the words seem to bring her relief. So she continues. Telling him about things that have been stuck in her insides, rotting for years. Thoughts and problems that she has been struggling with for so long.

And as she says all that’s been needed to be said, he sits there beside her. Staring at her calmly and holding her hand. He knows how hard this is for her, so he doesn’t interrupt. Instead, sits there silently, almost not moving. Just nodding from time to time and trying to understand. There is no judgment in his eyes, no anger. Not anymore.

Regrets are set aside, bad memories put away somewhere in the cardboard boxes that will leave this home with him. Everything that stood between them is now tucked away. Replaced by the assurance that they are doing the right thing. Finally, on the right path, in a place where they were heading for some time now. A place where they should have been ages ago. But there was always something stopping them. The comfort of being together for such a long period of time, the safety of a steady relationship. A safe haven of sorts that made them stay. Because the alternative of being by themselves frightened both of them. Not for the same reason, but still, it was enough to stay.

Even if it didn’t work out between them like it used to. Even though it was all falling apart and they were heading for the rails, big time. They still held on to each other, in desperate need of balance and a strong base to stand on when everything else was crashing fast. They had issues beyond fixing, things they couldn’t beat, no matter what. Both damaged in different ways but damaged still.

She held a grudge against him for a painful loss that fitted in her hands, and yet the size of that loss was so enormous that it made her soul darker, heavier, polluted. It was hard to look at the man she loved and think about what she had to sacrifice because of him. It was something that constantly stood between them, what lay in their bed, colder than the sheets covering their bodies on a Winter’s day.

She often stared at him and felt nothing, literally nothing. She would look at him while he worked on his computer or when he read the newspaper and wonder. Tilling her head to the side and just staring. As if he wasn’t the person she had once fallen for, but a strange specimen of a man. An odd bug under the microscope. She just couldn’t understand what happened to them. What happened to her feelings and the love that seemed to outstretched its limits. But still, she stayed.

Because leaving him, would mean leaving some of the feelings she couldn’t let go of. Not yet. She didn’t want to forget about her loss, latching onto it. Afraid she might lose it in a completely different way, and that upset her. The possibility she might forget about her little treasure. As if it had never existed. As if it was never there. All of her hopes, all of the expectations. Dreams and future plans; plans that would no longer come true. And still. It was so hard to let go. So she would stay, not for him or for the forgiveness that she wanted to give him so many times, even when it felt like there was nothing left in her to give.

And now, as she looks at him, there is no more anger in her, just peaceful words that come out in a long stream. Never stopping, never-ending. She speaks, her voice already horse, and he listens. Knowing that every one of those words are needed. That this is good for her, it’s therapeutic. It lets her relax, let go of the pain. He squeezes her hand tighter, and she gives a small smile. Relief and tiredness in her taking equal space. He takes a deep breath, almost choking on relief of his own, and decides to say something before he changes his mind.

I have always loved that smile, Marley.

She stares at him almost surprised to hear his voice. There have been so many words from her and nearly none from him. But that’s okay. He understand what she had to do here. What was needed to be said. She squeezes his hand back, and the corners of her mouth lift slightly again. Something inside her that feels almost good, a strange spark that fills her up and tickles her skin. Proving that there still was some life in her left. A fire that she needed to start breathing again, always so oxygen-deprived.

It feels odd... as if I’m not doing it right.

He gives her a pained look. Sad that he was the reason for this. Sorry that they had to go through so much before understanding how wrong it was and what it had done to them. He takes a deep breath and lets her know with his eyes that it’s all going to be alright. They are going to be fine.

Just remember the sensation and repeat it every day.

She nods once and continues. Words flowing once again. So much has been said already, and yet it still wasn’t enough. He stares at her smooth face and listens calmly, thinking and counting her freckles. He always loved those; it was such a beautiful imperfection. His eyes shift slightly down to her hair as the light shines through the window. He looks at them and wonders what their little girl’s hair would have been. Would they be fair and straight like hers, or would they be brown and messy like his? He wonders at this and thinks again about the small things that made him stay in a relationship that was falling and crumbling apart in the same way that their hearts did.

Silly, meaningless things. A joint account, the furniture they had bought together, paying off a student loan, and the stack of CDs filled with music they both liked. And some of the bigger stuff, like mutual friends and memories made in the time, they were together. They were happy once and loved each other in a way that he never dreamed of might be even possible. And yet it was. Even if it seemed like some past life by now.

And then his mind turns to their families. How his mum stayed with them at the worst time. And how his dad built a swing in the backyard that was meant to be for... He is unable to finish the thought, so instead wraps his fingers tightly against hers, and she nods again. Understanding. His pain, that of her own.

Just a little longer, Sam.

He nods as well and lets go of her hand, a bit scared that he might eventually break it, all those emotions filling the room, too intense for either of them. He sits back against the couch and looks at his hands placed on his knees, listening while she talks about their past and smiles as she hopes for the future. Separate, but hopefully a happy one. Minutes pass, turning slowly into hours. The sun, setting quietly against the darkening sky, the room filling with deeper colors and the night itself. And slowly, it all comes to an end. And when she says all that there is to say, and explains all, that there was to explain, and there is nothing else to say, she finally can allow herself to breathe. They both can.

They smile at each other and get up, bodies tired, limbs stiff but minds at peace.

He pulls his arm around her, and she falls into him, naturally, no hesitation. Allowing herself to remember him for the man that he was. And remembering the girl that once couldn’t live without a boy, that one day stole her heart as she wasn’t looking. A different girl, in a different time. She smiles again, knowing now that she was still there, somewhere deep inside, underneath all the dust and rubble that came along the way.

A girl that could change the world

with a boy that made her smile.

A boy that somehow still made her smile.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hM_kejkWeHU

Lewis Capaldi - Fade (Official Audio)

I actually found out about Prose after I joined my previous school’s writing club (I moved countries in the middle of the pandemic, hence me not being active at the end of 2020) but I don’t think I would’ve continued writing anything about my own ideas, my own worlds in my own words if it weren’t for Prose and its community. I may not ‘talk’ to many people often but from the few interactions I had, I recieved (and tried to give back) support for wishes/dreams that we all share to some extent. I’ve also seen this in comments under posts (by both myself and other Prosers) asking for advice/help with almost everything. This community really is unlike anything I've seen (not that I've seen much lol) and maybe because it's made up of writers/readers. Another one of the best things of this platform is that you get to read and write, which gave me the headspace I needed to do both (and of course the design of the platform also looks wayyyy better than Google Docs lol).

Some suggestions for the platform/community would be to promote the use of Portals more. Yeah I'm also hypocrite because I don't use them much either but I will try to use them more. I only found out about the Support portal recently as it has been brought to my attention through @Danceinsilence's post about the beta Prose (beta.theprose.com). I especially think that the publishing portal could and should be a huge help for those who have questions about publishing if more users were made aware of it.