fall for you
tell me where you always wish you were, on the
empty days when every hour feels the same,
the dreams that give your life color.
tell me what you see, what you think about
right before you fall asleep.
where do you go when you feel trapped?
show me late-night you, dancing in a messy kitchen
to your favorite 3 am song.
laugh til you hurt over your favorite memory,
the one that you forget sometimes, but never fails to make you smile.
show me which sounds and smells take you
back to when you were five years old.
let me sit on the edge of your bed while you show off
your softest pajama pants, the ones that don’t reach your ankles anymore.
read me your favorite book, tell me why it’s a piece of you,
make inside jokes with me about the part that made you laugh.
let me run my fingers through you hair, and tell me
what you don’t like about yourself, what you would fix.
stuff a pillow under the door, turn up the music,
and sing loud til your voice cracks.
tell me all of your favorite things, they will be mine too.
show me what makes you cry, what do you do with your tears?
and anger. what do you do in those heated moments
with closed fists or deep breaths?
i want to know your weapon of choice, words
or merely cold silence?
and when the sun sets, i want to watch your eyes get tired,
fall asleep with your hand pressing against mine.
if you take me with you to your dreams,
what will we see?
show me your worst dance moves, your terrible accent,
that movie that remind you of someone in a bitter way,
let me watch what you’re like when you first wake up,
what song you hum under your breath.
i want to know which words make you melt,
to know if you’re the kind of person that isn’t afraid of getting old.
take me with you to the store, while you have a handful of cash
and a basket full of this-and-that snacks.
i want to notice your breath catch at whatever it is you find most beautiful,
the sunrise or the sunset? the stars or the rain?
i want to memorize you, stay awake
to listen to your heart beat so soft.
to be the first person to see the entire universe that is
hidden deep in who you really are.
show me the things that make you lose words;
what you live for, what you’d die for.
all the sudden, your favorite color will be mine.
your eyes- your voice- your smile, will be my memories.
peel away the ‘i’m good, how are you?’ and show me
what wars are being fought in your mind.
when people ask who i am, what we are, call me
build a home for me in your heart
that doesn’t get replaced.
i'll be here to know you
when no one else does,
and i'll love what i see
between the lines of good and bad.
i will take the pieces of your heart
that you give me and love them well.
tell me how far you've fallen
this is how i
fall for you.
He said "I've got something
to show you, let's go go"
he dragged me up a
burning mountain like a psycho
he said "dare you to breathe that
smoke in, Filippa"
my burning ashy lungs began to
feel no freaking bueno
had to call my doctor for
I'm sure you can guess what he said-
by the next morning, I'd be dead.
STOP writing me postcards
your postcards are a contradiction, a
confusion between love or like or in-between
when someone's fallen and mis-
interprets returned feelings
your postcards could say 'i love you, i
miss you, these are my hands writing
to you, touching you across this
distance, which is the only thing separating
me from you, we feel the same.'
your postcards only say 'i love you, just
not enough to be where you are. not
enough to be in your life, what i want
is far from you, far from your desires and
our feelings and hands do not meet,
so here is a postcard of polite i'm sorrys.'
you send a postcard and spend a moment
thinking of me like a duty to check off
and here i am holding the paper
reading to determine if it is an 'i love
you and' or an 'i love you but'.
when i already know your postcards
are made of paper, not the pulse your
hand pressed against it while writing, you
are not sending me your heart though i
do i would i will, the ink i imagine is your
voice in liquid, but if you wanted it that way
you would have called so i could feel you
breathe through the phone, feel alive when
you say hi and feel my stomach sink after
the phone clicks off. but here is a slice of
dead tree in my hands with your name signed
like a restaurant check, you are the type to
never leave tips
tip me off this then, when your body is
gone, where is your heart? with mine or
flying place to place? do you have one?
because a postcard says too many things to
interpret. there are always words in between
the ones people say. that is the difference between
hi, hey, hello. bye, later, goodbye.
what do you say when you send me a card
from the first door off the airplane, a card with
a picture of the places you see out your
hotel window? don't tell me 'i'm good, work is
good'. tell me what you feel when you're alone
with that pen and paper. does the hotel bed
feel like home. who do you imagine filling
the empty space?
if the only thing filling the empty space
between you and i is a postcard, send me
themed shot glasses too. and landmark
tshirts and plastic keychains and airplane peanuts.
will you waste your money in gift shops until you think
of me at all?
no let me show you what i mean.
bring me the shirt you slept in, the
coffee cup your mouth touched, the pillow your arms held
the phone on your cheek, the rain that ran through your hair
the light that falls on your face in the morning.
send those in the postcard
i want to ask them what it's like.
it’s late, even for me, and here’s an elegy to max
outside the grocery store at night, i'm pushing
an empty cart into its rack and it's raining out.
that little room inbetween the automatic sliding
doors- between outside and groceries- where the
wind blows strands of hair in my face, i think
of you. it's almost like we all pause in that little
room to collect ourselves, a gush of air sobers us
enough to push through the grocery aisles. i am
thinking of your hands pushing my tangled hair
back. i always wished it was windy just so that you
would do that. outside, the rain is leaving a reflection on
the asphalt, and this deep streetlight-gold color is
swimming there. the other grocery store people are
stepping in it, dipping little bits of gold on the
edges of their shoes, i watch it run off.
it turns orange and i am sinking. no not
orange, no. because orange is warm bread and
your poetry, forgiveness and the saxaphone. it's the
sun bleeding against the horizon, your favorite
candle, and the shadowed folds between white sheets.
the colored squares of light from a stranger's kitchen
windows. it's fall leaves like a burning ember
whispering 'die with me', it's fridays and vhs tapes
with old videos of us dancing, it's the way your hand
felt on my back. it's orange and it's you, and suddenly
this ripping feeling in my chest. i'm rushing to my car,
because grocery stores on rainy nights are those little
empty human moments where we all feel a strange
yearning feeling. the empty pockets, like getting home
from a trip, standing up from a restaurant table, slamming
the car door, hanging up the phone, walking alone, and
that moment in the dark before sleeping. a vulnerable
aching feeling, like something is ending all too soon, all
too empty. i am leaving the grocery store with rain on my
windshield and food in a bag. my left signal is clicking loud in the
quiet, the street looks so lonely, my hair is in my face.
it's the little things inbetween distraction, where
we're alone with ourselves suddenly feeling very small.
before now, they were the biggest part of our life, you made
the little human things mean i love you. they are so so loud now, it is all
over now. max, i am driving home alone tonight, and though
it is the fourteenth time since you are gone, it feels like the first
time i am driving home
without your hand pushing my hair back.
aaaand i’m back with more little things i’ve been in love with lately
(edition: slightly odd things, I guess?) this is going to be a long one, buckle up.
-fortune cookies that can't apply to your life whatsoever
-photo bombs by strangers
-the way gas stations look at night, in contrast to how dark everything else is
-marbles with the little swirls in them
-being alone in an empty house
-tree roots that stick out of the ground
-overdecorated chaotic houses
-earbuds *with* the cords
-kids going school supply shopping for the first time
-dirt in the springtime, it smells amazing
-art done by people with no artistic ability
-dark circles under eyes
-midwesterners (or canadians) planning family parties (oh marge you forgot the tapioca!)
-the stained coffee-stirring spoon
-gapped front teeth
-plants growing between concrete
-grain patterns on wood
-people that say embarrassing things out loud
-italian-american accents (ey baby, you want mutz on that deli sandwich?)
-the way pencil smudges so easily on paper
-feeling sudden bursts of motivation at 3am
-stained glass at old, historical churches(have i done this one before? i just love glass)
-window-shopping instead of actual shopping
-the inside of guitars
-art pieces that make absolutely no sense
-headphones on playing loud music in the middle of the night
-really cringey jokes
-rock music that uses piano
-grocery stores (the veggies getting a shower??)
-muddy paw prints in the house
-the part in 90's r&b love songs where they pause to talk
-using inside jokes to remind old friends that you still care
-sunshine right before the sun goes down (and the way it looks on people's hair)
-the way the last two sentences rhymed
-those matching outfits for serious bowlers
-realizing in the middle of washing dishes that it's actually not that bad
-'frog and toad are friends' books
-avatar the last airbender
-the cups in the family kitchen that are known as the 'kid cups'
-people that intentionally let wildflowers grow in their yard
-the way indoor pools smell
-this is a controversial one: traffic. some people need the alone time.
-school science textbooks
-office supply stores
-music in languages i don't understand
-wikipedia bunny trails
-snow under a microscope
-pre-raphaelite redhead paintings
-the Vogue cover from Feb 15th, 1935
-shiny tumbled rocks
-and if it wasn't obvious by now, lists.
love in ruins (a soft 4am song)
I write the songs, you shape the tunes
you are my sun in a galaxy of moons
you keep me at a distance
but from far away you glisten
And I burn my hands reaching out for you
And the truth is
this is love in ruins.
These arms are not much but I'll make them your home
someone to hold you when you're left on your own
draw on my hands, write me a letter
tell me you hurt, let me help you get better
my words may fall on closed ears
this shoulder might not stop your tears
But I'm here.
If I could, I'd leave directions on every road
I know how easily you get lost when you're alone
I'd leave ihops and sandwich shops
on every corner of the street
billboards with my number but
roadblocks at your feet
I'll make your leaving softer
but please just know
that from across the water
I didn't want you to go.
And the truth is
love leaves bruises
this is love in ruins.
Still I write the same old song
but as poetry now
without you here to sing along
I've forgotten how
And the flowers I buy you
I gather in vases
like ghosts I've been haunting
all your old places
and I can't begin to explain how
'i love you' feels so empty now
meteor chips against blue moons
(i hate to say
when i still feel this way)
but darling it was you
that left our love to ruins.
with all we've gone through
were they all just illusions
i want the truth without excuses
when all you leave behind are bruises
is this our love in ruins?
Some Questions about Prose
Hey. I'm just curious how the Prose challenge system actually works. For anyone that has entered the Trident Media challenges, cash prize challenges, or any challenges that included something about 'hearing back' from Prose and publishers, what has your experience been? Has anyone on here heard back from/gotten feedback on the challenge where you send in a manuscript? How does it work? Do you actually hear back from a publishing partner or no? I'm confused, because the way Prose goes about handling it is a little impersonal. I'd love to enter some of the aforementioned challenges, but want to know if it's worth having high hopes. Also, with the new Prose website, is anyone having issues? On the old Prose, there were little settings like being able to use italics or bold, that I can't find anymore on the new site (which isn't a big deal). Other than that, I haven't had any issues, but am interested in everyone else's experiences. So please do share!
Hi, I'm Nevermore, and I've been upset for the last three years after learning that pickles are just cucumbers in disguise. Very upset.
All I have to lose
the ache is back, the horrible ache in
running out of distractions and false realities
in having to face an empty truth
and realize that you dont feel the same
ive covered my eyes and mouth for too long
and with eyes wide open i want to crumple to my knees
scream (have i ever screamed before?) ive forgotten
what my voice sounds like, if it is still there
ripping my hands through my stupid hair
i want someone to hold me back from
throwing myself at you, from crushing the pride i
have left and tearing the penciled letters til not
a remnant of you is left to stand over me
and ive suddenly realized that someday
ill be nothing to you. you will forget my name
oh god, the thought makes me sick
when your name is the one i breathe in and out
in the dark in the waiting in between every second
ill mean nothing to you and youll love someone else
and yet i will exist in this shadow, do you not understand?
ill be watching the sun set every night in despair as the orange tones
dont match the color of your name just right and the
grocery store plays led zeppelin and ill think of your fingers
of the way we tipped our heads back to watch
the stars zoom by, and all i wanted was to tip my head
onto your shoulder and tell you how you were the stars
remember i traced all your freckles in blue and red
connected them into shapes and told you that
you are an art piece, you washed the ink off i am sure
i slipped the hairband off your wrist and took it
home to hold like the tiniest piece of you, its lost now
do you not understand that someday when we’re old
i will be alone and still stuck dreaming of being yours
assured that you were and are the only one
squeezing my eyes tight afraid to forget your voice
your eyes your mouth your laugh
when someone holds me it will feel hollow
while i pretend they are your arms, your lips on mine
your voice whispering the three big words
and i know my mouth was made to say your name
nothing else comes out softer or sweeter
my heart in knots from wanting yours back
i ache for the words i never said while you waited
when the timing is wrong, does it really matter?
i see your future, happy and far away from here
i see my future, empty and waiting to be part of yours
and for now, we are younger i am distant
quietly melting away from standing so close
but not reaching my hand, and i want you
i want you in a ridiculous way, the way i want all
my unrealistic dreams, but you are real and it would
crash away so i hold back the words but i really do love
you and youve moved on like real people do and im left to feel
that the ache of falling is back
yet it was the falling i was afraid of
and now i know whats left to lose
i hid from the commitment of
becoming a defined thing with you
hiding behind silly excuses to pretend
we are nothing more, dont say the words
while i learn the pitch of your voice
the tilt of your soft eyes
i steal the songs you sing under your breath
to play again when nights are lonely
brush against your arms wishing to
silently define whatever this is that we have
without fear but it follows me and i seem
to have lost my voice while you stop
searching for my eyes and waiting for
my feelings in return, its just that i never
thought youd stop waiting
and its my fault really as i was and
am so afraid of the falling but here we are
like rain to the pavement and its
violent and painful and fast and now
youve given up and moved on and i am left
knowing you are my only, though my mouth
never said it and my arms folded away from yours
but my eyes wanted and my heart reached
do you not know i have always belonged to
you? and the music is colorless now these plastic notes
and my ribs break for missing the heart that
followed after you like loyal dog to person
and im left in the aftershock of knowing someone
else will take the space i dream of living in
between your starry eyes and this worthless world
i burned so silent so long leaving you to wonder
if i felt anything back, i did, i do, i will
now i know much too late
but i know it-
i know now whats left to lose
down in my heart (where?)
the flowers in a limitless forest
scented sweet and sunshiney i
swear they smiled at me
he sent me flowers and it meant ‘i love you’
i wake up and breathe in this
beautiful taste of living and
laughing that swirls in my chest
hes the air that i breathe and it whispers ‘i love you’
its morning and the light curls
down the window’s glass it
reaches like hands soft and warm
he calls me his light and it feels like ‘i love you’
when night falls and hope is lost
i make a promise in the dark
of all that i am, i am his
i speak it, and its not just ‘i love you’
its that i would know him
without words or sound
without a touch, without sight- i
would know him blind or from a
million miles down and at the worlds
end, he is all that i know i’d give all
that i own and carry him in my fingertips
the ends of my hair and the core of my heart
high and tell the world
his name and the way he is enough, is enough, is enough
and with his hands outreaching, who
else could ever hold my heart, this
was all that home means and it means
that ill never know what it is
to go unloved because the door is open
and so are his arms and ill never be the same
since knowing that his name is Jesus and
it means ‘i love you’