My fingers linger

wrinkled t-shirt

stuffed

under my mattress

I feel so lonely

missing him

I hold the cotton

to my nose

and sniff his scent

pungent, masculine

and remember

who he was

and what he meant

to me

why did he leave?

I still loved him

remembered his laugh

the way

we would stroll

along our beach

and he would say

how much he loved me

memories flooded

the wetness

of our lovemaking

the whisper

of our words

the feel

of his body

and the day

when I wept

as the rich earth

was shoveled

over his casket

and he vanished

from my life

but never

from my heart

Desperate man.

Terrible man.

Wrestlin’ with …

Strugglin’ with ...

More than he can handle.

Heart strains.

Chest pains.

Wrestling with …

Struggling with ...

Troubles & Stress.

Smashes mirror.

Cuts his hand.

Leaves a scar.

Washes it away with Bourbon.

& ice.

Problems,

self-directed.

Wounds,

self-inflicted.

Blood drips on the floor.

Desperate man.

Terrible man.

Wrestlin’ with …

Strugglin’ with ...

More than he can handle.

Copyright 2021

Another midnight beta update for you all. It's probably a mistake releasing code this fresh off the press, but we love you so we'll do it anyway.

Bug Fix: Email Notifications

Email notifications weren't working properly. You should now be receiving emails in response to comments, likes, messages, etc, as well as new sign up and password reset emails.

Bug Fix: Instant Notifications

There was a bug with Prose's instant functionality. You should have been receiving alerts in response to comments, likes, messages, and direct messages without having to refresh the page. But you weren't; because it was fucked. You should now receive instant alerts as intended.

Bug Fix: Spell Check

Apparently spell check wasn't working on the post editor. Yikes. Now it is; but if you're using Safari you may have to contend with the dreaded autocorrect. Godspeed.

New Feature: Comment Replies

Lengthy comment threads are difficult to keep track of, especially when there are multiple conversations happening in the same thread all at once. We added comment replies to remedy that issue. You can use the little reply icon next to the comment time indicator to reply to a comment. As a bonus, we also added insant commenting. There should be no need to refresh the page to see new incoming comments on a post that you're currently viewing.

Next up, we'll be addressing issues with Books. In particular, adding/editing chapters, which is not in a pretty place on the beta. It'll get a lot better soon.

Let us know what you think of these updates by commenting on this post or emailing us at info@theprose.com. We hope you like 'em. If you haven't had a chance to try the beta and you're wondering what all the fuss is about, join us at beta.theprose.com.

i arrange my bones into a neat pile

and push them across the table to you.

in response you break me in half

like a wishbone. heart first. i laid out knives

but you don’t eat with one tonight. instead you throw it at the wall

and smile with fine china teeth. the house

shudders and moans and cries. house that was already wounded

now a martyr. house that was already haunted

now a ghost. if i stand outside and watch

i can see you through the walls,

frying onions and humming along to joni mitchell. this house does not have heroes.

this house did not prepare itself for war. you raise your voice

and we stumble into battle like inexperienced dancers. house follows.

house can only follow. house listens and reacts. i’m sorry,

but not about the things i said to you. i’m sorry, and i say it

to the ceiling, crying plaster onto my head. be quiet now,

and go to sleep. it’s past midnight. we don’t do tears much here,

but you know that. you know too much. i’m sorry.

leaning against the fridge

against the book,

reading it from page to page

watching while the rain falls

you never came back

never drove back to the house

dark that night

lit up by the moon

wound by a rare, glowing ring

i know you’ve already forgotten

everything making me sad

reading through pages of writing

until you found the one that gave me away

sitting in a sad play then, which was so intense

sitting in a sad play now, acting like i’m somewhat alive

messing up my lines every time

everytime i get to the top of the stairs

i have to stand there a second and try not to cry

but i always do

eventually

There have been few times in life,

where my tank of emotions ran empty.

When I couldn’t feel my heart beat,

and my mind was without thought.

My body feels tired,

while my chest is tight and it’s hard to breathe.

I’ve invested everything I have.

My heart, my soul, my body,

all into you.

And all I see silence.

My stomach churns and my shoulders grow heavy,

while my intestines cave in.

Being denied once again.

My smiles fade to nothing and my scars seem to swell.

When will I learn?

I always give everything,

and get nothing in return.

Though salt water

has never grazed this skin,

the sea calls to me.

A lifetime spent

surrounded by the freshest

water Mother Earth has to give.

Four Great Lakes

as vast as the eye can see

and one lonely mermaid.

I long to swim with sea turtles

and see the coral

through crystal waters.

I wish to take in

the colors of the tropics

which are not found on any pallete.

Sensations and sights

kept only in the wonders

of my mind.

Experienced vicariously

through pictures

and movies.

Until the day when

...at last...

I answer the call.

- Jo Resner

01/20/2018

I talk to myself in the still mirror

tracing a trail of tiny air pebbles,

I stop breathing in synchrony

to your heartbeat, encased

in a folded cage, trapping me

in a place I try valiantly to escape.

You can’t hear me in my mirror

my words are scattered, invisible

a translucent force, backhanding me,

in an eye blink, I turn to face nothing,

obliterated swirling thoughts, unknown.

Why can’t anyone else hear me?

I am mirrored in the weeds of indifference

surely you know what I am saying, but

my open estuary confesses only to me.

I beg of you to feed my raging fire

by listening to the image in my mirror.

Must I be the only one to validate

my worth, hidden in intensity?

I crossed myself twice and prayed that I wouldn't fall in.

It was a dichotamous splendour; all at once the sea was a friend and a foe. I had heard old sailors call it a thousand names: 'Him,' Neptune's Land, Poseidan, 'Her,' Calypso, Mother, God... Maybe that was where my newfound faith came from as the lines slipped from the dock and I crept into the row boat, praying for my own safety.

I found my place between the oars and used all my force to push off from the dock before setting out to my boat. I pumped the oars against the water and fought Her fury with all my strength before finally reaching my goal.

I attached my row boat with a clove-hitch and pulled myself onto Dreamkeeper, momentarily thanking my luck for making it safely.

Women are bad luck at sea, you should find a better hobby...

I bit back a laugh at the thought of superstitious sailors with long beards and little sense as I raised the sails and set the lines.

As the sails caught wind and I took to the tiller I laughed again at the wrath of the sea. The sun won against the clouds and the waves danced in the sudden light. Dreamkeeper took off, flying across the water like an arrow shot from an expert's bow. This would not just be a hobby, I would spend the rest of my life at sea.

She has never met a woman like me.

i struggle

with dry

imagination,

words that fall

like dominoes

on a hill

too slick, too easy

too dull

to reach my heart

not wild, not weird

not daring

to haunt my mind

i struggle

with dry

imagination,

worlds that clone

the things

i already know

so give me clumsy,

give me hard

give me sharp, wild, weird

and dare

to reach a heart,

to haunt a mind

with absurdity.