SelfTitled
High school student who wants to be a New York Times Bestseller one day... fingers crossed!
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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by SelfTitled

Honest

My Dad and I 

we don't really get along much

and sometimes, its hard

trying to talk to him

when he's mad at me

and I'm mad at him.

We can get angry together--

at Trump,

at the Black Community,

at the wickedness of the world,

but nothing is resolved

when we're mad at each other

hand-in-hand.

Mom told me

that I should be honest,

respectful,

and kind,

and maybe that hate that

dug itself deep inside of my heart

will fade away with

a few simple words.

"Dad, I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"But sometimes you can be too honest."

"Sometimes you can be too condescending."

"And you won't care."

"And I'll just continue to hate myself."

"In silence."

"Then you get mad when I don't speak up."

Dad, I love you.

I'm sorry.

But the things you say at times;

they make me want to--

("Drink bleach. Hurt myself.")

Cry a lot.

Because your words are gospel to me.

Your guidance is driving me insane.

I think that

possibly

we could fix each other

if we talked more

if we opened up

fought less

smiled brighter.

Maybe you'd be more pleased

not to see

the relaxed look 

on my face.

Maybe I'll be happier

knowing that my relaxed face

is a smile

at you.

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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by SelfTitled
Honest
My Dad and I 
we don't really get along much
and sometimes, its hard
trying to talk to him
when he's mad at me
and I'm mad at him.

We can get angry together--
at Trump,
at the Black Community,
at the wickedness of the world,
but nothing is resolved
when we're mad at each other
hand-in-hand.

Mom told me
that I should be honest,
respectful,
and kind,
and maybe that hate that
dug itself deep inside of my heart
will fade away with
a few simple words.

"Dad, I love you."
"I'm sorry."
"But sometimes you can be too honest."
"Sometimes you can be too condescending."
"And you won't care."
"And I'll just continue to hate myself."
"In silence."
"Then you get mad when I don't speak up."

Dad, I love you.
I'm sorry.
But the things you say at times;
they make me want to--
("Drink bleach. Hurt myself.")
Cry a lot.
Because your words are gospel to me.
Your guidance is driving me insane.

I think that
possibly
we could fix each other
if we talked more
if we opened up
fought less
smiled brighter.

Maybe you'd be more pleased
not to see
the relaxed look 
on my face.

Maybe I'll be happier
knowing that my relaxed face
is a smile
at you.

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Can you write a story only using dialogue?
Written by SelfTitled

Closet Case

"Okay, just-- move your arm a little to the left."

"This left?"

"Ow! No, dipshit, <em>other</em>&nbsp;left."

"There's only, like, one left."

"Christ, why the hell is your foot right <em>there</em>?"

"Don't really know what you're talking about."

"Have you even found the light-switch yet?"

"Don't think this closet has one..."

"<em>Fuck-- </em>ugh, I can't believe I agreed to do this with you!"

"Well I'm sorry, Princess--"

"I'm a guy."

"--But you're the one who insisted on seeing what Carly and Chase were up to."

"It's not my fault that my sister makes dumb choices all the time and she always needs adult supervision."

"You're only, like, what-- a year older than her."

"A year and a half, thank you."

"You're insufferable."

"Yeah, yeah. Talk later. Escape <em>now</em>."

"Aw, shit, your hand is in a strange area..."

"What do you mean?"

"My no-no square."

"..."

"What was that thump?"

"It was me pressing myself as far into the wall as possible."

"Maybe you can phase through the wall and then I'll have enough space to shove open the closet."

"Wishful thinking."

"Indeed."

"Asshole."

"I'm aware I have one."

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Can you write a story only using dialogue?
Written by SelfTitled
Closet Case
"Okay, just-- move your arm a little to the left."

"This left?"

"Ow! No, dipshit, <em>other</em>&nbsp;left."

"There's only, like, one left."

"Christ, why the hell is your foot right <em>there</em>?"

"Don't really know what you're talking about."

"Have you even found the light-switch yet?"

"Don't think this closet has one..."

"<em>Fuck-- </em>ugh, I can't believe I agreed to do this with you!"

"Well I'm sorry, Princess--"

"I'm a guy."

"--But you're the one who insisted on seeing what Carly and Chase were up to."

"It's not my fault that my sister makes dumb choices all the time and she always needs adult supervision."

"You're only, like, what-- a year older than her."

"A year and a half, thank you."

"You're insufferable."

"Yeah, yeah. Talk later. Escape <em>now</em>."

"Aw, shit, your hand is in a strange area..."

"What do you mean?"

"My no-no square."

"..."

"What was that thump?"

"It was me pressing myself as far into the wall as possible."

"Maybe you can phase through the wall and then I'll have enough space to shove open the closet."

"Wishful thinking."

"Indeed."

"Asshole."

"I'm aware I have one."
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Written by SelfTitled in portal Fiction

Antebellum.

Hamlet was cutting himself. Horatio knew it without even having to look for himself. The frequent trips to the bathroom, the loose bandages, long sleeves, and flinch at every motion towards his arms was evidence enough.

He wanted to say something about it, he truly did, but Horatio was the type of friend that was meant to be seen, not heard. Although Hamlet didn't care about anything Horatio said to him, but the masses did. Hamlet was an idol-- a role model. He was to make his own choices with no judgement from others. He was unworthy of criticism because he was never meant to have it.

It was when Horatio and Hamlet were cooped up in Hamlet's room working on their AP Psych homework Hamlet said, "I'm cutting."

Horatio tried to be surprised, but he was a horrible liar. Hamlet noticed and chuckled at him, but it was devoid of proper humor. "I see you're not surprised. Always the perceptive one, Horatio."

The younger of the two didn't know how to respond, so instead he asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Hamlet chewed on his lip in thought for a long minute. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Does it feel good?" Horatio asked, almost instantly. Hamlet didn't need to think about it. He shook his head.

"No," he said, "it's horrid."

"Then why are you doing this?" Horatio repeated, looking straight up at Hamlet who hadn't bothered to look up from his textbook.

"Because I want it to feel good." Hamlet shut his textbook, stood up from his bed, and left the room for the bathroom without another word.

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Written by SelfTitled in portal Fiction
Antebellum.
Hamlet was cutting himself. Horatio knew it without even having to look for himself. The frequent trips to the bathroom, the loose bandages, long sleeves, and flinch at every motion towards his arms was evidence enough.

He wanted to say something about it, he truly did, but Horatio was the type of friend that was meant to be seen, not heard. Although Hamlet didn't care about anything Horatio said to him, but the masses did. Hamlet was an idol-- a role model. He was to make his own choices with no judgement from others. He was unworthy of criticism because he was never meant to have it.

It was when Horatio and Hamlet were cooped up in Hamlet's room working on their AP Psych homework Hamlet said, "I'm cutting."

Horatio tried to be surprised, but he was a horrible liar. Hamlet noticed and chuckled at him, but it was devoid of proper humor. "I see you're not surprised. Always the perceptive one, Horatio."

The younger of the two didn't know how to respond, so instead he asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Hamlet chewed on his lip in thought for a long minute. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Does it feel good?" Horatio asked, almost instantly. Hamlet didn't need to think about it. He shook his head.

"No," he said, "it's horrid."

"Then why are you doing this?" Horatio repeated, looking straight up at Hamlet who hadn't bothered to look up from his textbook.

"Because I want it to feel good." Hamlet shut his textbook, stood up from his bed, and left the room for the bathroom without another word.
#shakespeare  #hamlet  #tryingsomethingnew  #Modernized  #GayHamlet 
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Written by SelfTitled

I'm Afraid Of My Dashboard

I don't know why

but ive been having to dodge

a plethora of erotica

as of late

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Written by SelfTitled
I'm Afraid Of My Dashboard
I don't know why
but ive been having to dodge
a plethora of erotica
as of late
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May the 4th is Star Wars Day. For this challenge write a micropoem in the point of view of any Star Wars character (Canon or Legends). Include the hashtags: #starwars, #maythefourth
Written by SelfTitled in portal Micropoetry

The Pull of the Dark

its contradictory, really,

he loved so hard;

didnt even spare the younglings

when he was to have two;

who screamed to his best friend

such a passion--

"i hate you"

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May the 4th is Star Wars Day. For this challenge write a micropoem in the point of view of any Star Wars character (Canon or Legends). Include the hashtags: #starwars, #maythefourth
Written by SelfTitled in portal Micropoetry
The Pull of the Dark
its contradictory, really,
he loved so hard;
didnt even spare the younglings
when he was to have two;
who screamed to his best friend
such a passion--
"i hate you"
#starwars  #maythefourth  #christimsuchanerd  #thelastjedi  #darthvader 
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Reflecting on the Holocaust and the Nazi Party, Hannah Arendt wrote about the “banality” of evil, or the profound gap between the horrors of evil deeds and the incredible ordinariness of those who perpetuate them. Stories like Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” and Margo Lanagan’s “Singing My Sister Down” give us realistic societies except for some dark, violent ritual. Tell a story about a normalized societal evil – invented or real. 50 coins to the most memorable, well-written prose or poem.
Written by SelfTitled

4/20 Blaze-It.

After Hannah Barnett killed herself, by school smoked weed in her honor. After the funeral. And it wasn't really for her. It was April 20th and people had priorities set over some theater geek throwing herself off the catwalk.

My Insta was flooded with black boys killing themselves. Not the same way Hannah did. The were hotboxing. Hashtag, "4/20 Blaze-It. Girls in my classes with awful, crimson weaves that didn't match their skin color getting fucked up and loving it.

I asked myself where their parents were. Where Hannah's parents were. Why no one cared enough to honor her memory, even if few of us knew who she was. She was some thick-glasses white girl with shaggy blonde hair and hella acne. She liked watching anime and cosplaying when coming to school sometimes. She was an embarrassment to my school. A freak. An enigma. Even I have to admit that I didn't like associating with her.

We had science together, though. And we had to work on a project about Boyle's Law. And she had such a contagious smile. One that was genuine when I threw shade over at our teacher for being petty about our presentation time. One that was forced when I glanced down and saw the scars slipping out from under the sleeve of her sweater.

I saw her parents on TV. On the news. Neither were crying, but they stood in front of the closed down school and answered each of the reporter's questions.

I don't want to think that they didn't care about Hannah. But watching kids high themselves on weed and posting it on Instagram so shamelessly, I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't.

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Reflecting on the Holocaust and the Nazi Party, Hannah Arendt wrote about the “banality” of evil, or the profound gap between the horrors of evil deeds and the incredible ordinariness of those who perpetuate them. Stories like Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” and Margo Lanagan’s “Singing My Sister Down” give us realistic societies except for some dark, violent ritual. Tell a story about a normalized societal evil – invented or real. 50 coins to the most memorable, well-written prose or poem.
Written by SelfTitled
4/20 Blaze-It.
After Hannah Barnett killed herself, by school smoked weed in her honor. After the funeral. And it wasn't really for her. It was April 20th and people had priorities set over some theater geek throwing herself off the catwalk.

My Insta was flooded with black boys killing themselves. Not the same way Hannah did. The were hotboxing. Hashtag, "4/20 Blaze-It. Girls in my classes with awful, crimson weaves that didn't match their skin color getting fucked up and loving it.

I asked myself where their parents were. Where Hannah's parents were. Why no one cared enough to honor her memory, even if few of us knew who she was. She was some thick-glasses white girl with shaggy blonde hair and hella acne. She liked watching anime and cosplaying when coming to school sometimes. She was an embarrassment to my school. A freak. An enigma. Even I have to admit that I didn't like associating with her.

We had science together, though. And we had to work on a project about Boyle's Law. And she had such a contagious smile. One that was genuine when I threw shade over at our teacher for being petty about our presentation time. One that was forced when I glanced down and saw the scars slipping out from under the sleeve of her sweater.

I saw her parents on TV. On the news. Neither were crying, but they stood in front of the closed down school and answered each of the reporter's questions.

I don't want to think that they didn't care about Hannah. But watching kids high themselves on weed and posting it on Instagram so shamelessly, I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't.

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Written by SelfTitled

Salutations from SelfTitled

I guess I should have done this weeks ago when I first started, but here goes nothing.

I go by SelfTitled here on Prose, and I'm thankful for every follower I get. Being fifteen (almost sixteen so plsdontfreakoutokaythx) in a school where education isn't work jack-shit, it's pretty hard to get my writing out there. The best chances I get to share my poetry, stories, or characters is with my friends (who fortunately love writing just as much as me). So when I happened to stumble across this lovely site when looking for writing contests online (because I'm always desperate to make money lol) I was immediately drawn in to the unique way things are done here.

It was the Female!Lucifer challenge that drew me in the most. Then it was everyone's unique writing style. Finally, how positive the users on Prose are. I couldn't help myself-- I joined Prose.

To everyone who's taken the time to even read what I've written, huge thanks your way! I'm super lucky to have such an amazing following and I'll work hard to make sure everyone is thoroughly entertained if they read my writing.

Apologzing for my language, by the way. New Year's resolution is only to swear at least ten times a day lol.

Thank y'all so much for following and reading. Peace--

--SelfTitled

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Written by SelfTitled
Salutations from SelfTitled
I guess I should have done this weeks ago when I first started, but here goes nothing.

I go by SelfTitled here on Prose, and I'm thankful for every follower I get. Being fifteen (almost sixteen so plsdontfreakoutokaythx) in a school where education isn't work jack-shit, it's pretty hard to get my writing out there. The best chances I get to share my poetry, stories, or characters is with my friends (who fortunately love writing just as much as me). So when I happened to stumble across this lovely site when looking for writing contests online (because I'm always desperate to make money lol) I was immediately drawn in to the unique way things are done here.

It was the Female!Lucifer challenge that drew me in the most. Then it was everyone's unique writing style. Finally, how positive the users on Prose are. I couldn't help myself-- I joined Prose.

To everyone who's taken the time to even read what I've written, huge thanks your way! I'm super lucky to have such an amazing following and I'll work hard to make sure everyone is thoroughly entertained if they read my writing.

Apologzing for my language, by the way. New Year's resolution is only to swear at least ten times a day lol.

Thank y'all so much for following and reading. Peace--

--SelfTitled
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Written by SelfTitled

Happy Song

The saddest people

smile the most

because they care too much

to concern others.

The angriest people

smile the hardest

to calm the dragon

rumbling in their stomachs.

The disgusted people

force their smiles

because they want to hide the fact

they don't like what's in front of them.

The most honest people

barely smile at all

because they know exactly what they're seeing

and they don't like it.

The liars and thieves

smile easy

because they got what they wanted

and they don't know what's coming to them.

The happiest people

smile the longest

because suddenly the stress

is dragged off their shoulders

The saddest people

smile in the mirror

because they're too ashamed of themselves

and want to be someone else.

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Written by SelfTitled
Happy Song
The saddest people
smile the most
because they care too much
to concern others.

The angriest people
smile the hardest
to calm the dragon
rumbling in their stomachs.

The disgusted people
force their smiles
because they want to hide the fact
they don't like what's in front of them.

The most honest people
barely smile at all
because they know exactly what they're seeing
and they don't like it.

The liars and thieves
smile easy
because they got what they wanted
and they don't know what's coming to them.

The happiest people
smile the longest
because suddenly the stress
is dragged off their shoulders

The saddest people
smile in the mirror
because they're too ashamed of themselves
and want to be someone else.
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Write a set of three haikus that follow an individual falling in love. The three stages are: Falling in love, Being in love, and Falling out of Love. Be creative, bold, and unforgiving. Best of luck! Tag me in your post, I really want to read your ideas.
Written by SelfTitled in portal Poetry & Free Verse

You Painted the Stars

i.

your eyes, two blackholes

sucks me in; daring stranger

entraps me in space

ii.

the stars align here

your hands, the bedroom, loose sheets

i stargaze in love

iii.

midnight sky in reach

quasars expel the bad things

enclosed in your chill

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Write a set of three haikus that follow an individual falling in love. The three stages are: Falling in love, Being in love, and Falling out of Love. Be creative, bold, and unforgiving. Best of luck! Tag me in your post, I really want to read your ideas.
Written by SelfTitled in portal Poetry & Free Verse
You Painted the Stars
i.
your eyes, two blackholes
sucks me in; daring stranger
entraps me in space

ii.
the stars align here
your hands, the bedroom, loose sheets
i stargaze in love

iii.
midnight sky in reach
quasars expel the bad things
enclosed in your chill
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Pick a food and be passionate about it. Write a poem, tag another, and have a battle of colorful flavors! Good luck... and make me hungry!
Written by SelfTitled

Juicy

I take a bite

from that greasy, fat ass

burnt crisp after a long,

satisfying time working

on top of my stove.

I bite out short curses

when your juice

pops against my skin

stinging

but the pain is all worth it

when I grab you and drop you

against the soft, white

paper towels,

letting you simmer with the aftershocks of your

climax...

God, bacon, you taste so damn good.

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Pick a food and be passionate about it. Write a poem, tag another, and have a battle of colorful flavors! Good luck... and make me hungry!
Written by SelfTitled
Juicy
I take a bite
from that greasy, fat ass
burnt crisp after a long,
satisfying time working
on top of my stove.
I bite out short curses
when your juice
pops against my skin
stinging
but the pain is all worth it
when I grab you and drop you
against the soft, white
paper towels,
letting you simmer with the aftershocks of your
climax...
God, bacon, you taste so damn good.
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