apromptaday
I write to make people feel, whatever that may entail
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Written by apromptaday

I loved everything he seemed, that is to say: everything he was not. 

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Written by apromptaday
I loved everything he seemed, that is to say: everything he was not. 
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Written by apromptaday

good books make your head throb as you tear burning eyes away; they carve their titles into your conscious and slice a void into your hollow heart 

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Written by apromptaday
good books make your head throb as you tear burning eyes away; they carve their titles into your conscious and slice a void into your hollow heart 
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Written by apromptaday

Your freedom of speech rings a lot like shoes piled behind the glass of our holocaust museums.

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Written by apromptaday
Your freedom of speech rings a lot like shoes piled behind the glass of our holocaust museums.
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Written by apromptaday

Something I wrote on election night

I look at that hand on the bible 

An oath country sworn your wrath

And upon the steps of the Capitol

There lies the words of Plath:

Not God, But A Swastika.

I hated that Plath, nursery rhymes

Thought we were better with the times,

Didn't want to believe in that fat black heart

Or in the love of a fascist, tearing me apart

But the people here are cheering

While the eyes of Lincoln laugh

And the reflecting pool is cruel

Showing on our votes behalf.

Not

-------God---------

But

A

swastika.

Upon my foolish dreams -

on the worn pedestal seems

ideas, fair freedom schemes

But all they are are dreams.

There is no heaven

in the capitol today -

just union of me to you

sealed with those words, I do.

And as I watch this theater change

actors unable to touch, arrange

One stubborn thought bursts through:

You

are

not

God,

but

a

swastika

Ach, du. 

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Written by apromptaday
Something I wrote on election night
I look at that hand on the bible 
An oath country sworn your wrath
And upon the steps of the Capitol
There lies the words of Plath:
Not God, But A Swastika.

I hated that Plath, nursery rhymes
Thought we were better with the times,
Didn't want to believe in that fat black heart
Or in the love of a fascist, tearing me apart

But the people here are cheering
While the eyes of Lincoln laugh
And the reflecting pool is cruel
Showing on our votes behalf.

Not
-------God---------
But
A
swastika.

Upon my foolish dreams -
on the worn pedestal seems
ideas, fair freedom schemes
But all they are are dreams.

There is no heaven
in the capitol today -
just union of me to you
sealed with those words, I do.

And as I watch this theater change
actors unable to touch, arrange
One stubborn thought bursts through:

You
are
not
God,
but
a
swastika

Ach, du. 
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Written by apromptaday

why are my idol writers dead

from a knife to the conscious

and a bullet to the head

like stillness from bare hands, pry

monstrous minds meditating why

were the words too heavy, 

drowned downed fame -

or is the gene for sadness 

and art the same? 

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Written by apromptaday
why are my idol writers dead
from a knife to the conscious
and a bullet to the head
like stillness from bare hands, pry
monstrous minds meditating why
were the words too heavy, 
drowned downed fame -
or is the gene for sadness 
and art the same? 
1
0
0
Juice
15 reads
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Written by apromptaday

I saw my face in the dust 

of the mountain tops white, 

life dripping toward entropy - 

the day turns to night

Windy fields in my mind 

and in raindrop's misty sight

Fight, I fight back towards the light 

My feet hurt from walking 

over road to the sea 

Sandy fields of the time 

when the rocks broke free 

Older than Everest,

wilder than hopes can be

Faded in tides, 

the moon pulls at our withered feet 

And whispers the promise

 of what turns our alive 

toward the polaroids of used to be 

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Written by apromptaday
I saw my face in the dust 
of the mountain tops white, 
life dripping toward entropy - 
the day turns to night
Windy fields in my mind 
and in raindrop's misty sight
Fight, I fight back towards the light 
My feet hurt from walking 
over road to the sea 
Sandy fields of the time 
when the rocks broke free 
Older than Everest,
wilder than hopes can be
Faded in tides, 
the moon pulls at our withered feet 
And whispers the promise
 of what turns our alive 
toward the polaroids of used to be 
6
2
0
Juice
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Written by apromptaday

suffering always seemed a lot cooler in the movies 

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Written by apromptaday
suffering always seemed a lot cooler in the movies 
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Written by apromptaday

Maybe absence makes the heart grow fonder, but can you be called absent if you never here to start?

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Written by apromptaday
Maybe absence makes the heart grow fonder, but can you be called absent if you never here to start?
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Written by apromptaday in portal Stream of Consciousness

Ode to my lowest

I remember when you fit me, once,

that one day I skipped last period

and drove 105 all the way to the mall,

saw you in the window display

and slipped you on my figure

I remember laughing and laughing

I used to be size six; you were size zero

And now you were the width of my thighs

I remember standing in the mirror

in my sisters business dress

For interview day at school

and thinking I looked good,

My best friend stared at me first period

Said "wow, what the fuck?

I want be as skinny as you."

My smile lasted the rest of the class.

I remember Jeff, the looks at lunch

When my brown paper bag

contained zero calorie air

"You need to fucking eat," he said

But he didn't understand;

I didn't need food to live

I needed the compliments to live,

The envious voices of those around me

I needed to like my reflection

In the white school bathroom walls

I remember changing in the locker room

With the rest of the teammates,

Getting ready for a competition

And I remember how Elena

That girl I wanted to be like

commented on my weight,

And the rest did too,

things like "wish" and "jealous"

And other pretty phases to my ears

Validation never felt so skinny

I remember failing chemistry

Because my concentration was shot

And i was running 18 hours on empty

But a boy on the bus called me beautiful,

Some guy I'd never known before,

And that was enough, for me.

I remember cutting my thighs

with a pencil sharpener blade

Into the words of my next goal weight

I remember parents fighting,

Running seven miles with my dad,

Him telling me "you need to eat,"

I remember my mom finding me

with two fingers down my throat

In the bathroom after dinner, one night

I remember liking how I looked

When I woke up and faced

The mirror each 5am morning.

It's a long time since then,

And I don't like how I read

In the reflection any more

But I don't starve out my life

So I guess the point is moot.

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Written by apromptaday in portal Stream of Consciousness
Ode to my lowest
I remember when you fit me, once,
that one day I skipped last period
and drove 105 all the way to the mall,
saw you in the window display
and slipped you on my figure
I remember laughing and laughing
I used to be size six; you were size zero
And now you were the width of my thighs

I remember standing in the mirror
in my sisters business dress
For interview day at school
and thinking I looked good,
My best friend stared at me first period
Said "wow, what the fuck?
I want be as skinny as you."
My smile lasted the rest of the class.

I remember Jeff, the looks at lunch
When my brown paper bag
contained zero calorie air
"You need to fucking eat," he said
But he didn't understand;
I didn't need food to live
I needed the compliments to live,
The envious voices of those around me
I needed to like my reflection
In the white school bathroom walls

I remember changing in the locker room
With the rest of the teammates,
Getting ready for a competition
And I remember how Elena
That girl I wanted to be like
commented on my weight,
And the rest did too,
things like "wish" and "jealous"
And other pretty phases to my ears
Validation never felt so skinny

I remember failing chemistry
Because my concentration was shot
And i was running 18 hours on empty
But a boy on the bus called me beautiful,
Some guy I'd never known before,
And that was enough, for me.

I remember cutting my thighs
with a pencil sharpener blade
Into the words of my next goal weight

I remember parents fighting,
Running seven miles with my dad,
Him telling me "you need to eat,"

I remember my mom finding me
with two fingers down my throat
In the bathroom after dinner, one night

I remember liking how I looked
When I woke up and faced
The mirror each 5am morning.

It's a long time since then,
And I don't like how I read
In the reflection any more
But I don't starve out my life
So I guess the point is moot.
2
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Juice
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Up In Smoke: Craft a shortstory, drabble, vignette, or poem that features, includes, or describes the act of smoking.
Written by apromptaday in portal Fiction

what I see in the smoke-light

Fancy flouncing cigarette, your poised two finger hold – coughed up gold – like an ocean’s tide onto washed up dreams 

Chipped nails painted black, you; a careless flick onto frozen concrete, the catcher of flames that roar inside my stomach, you – my charcoal knight in amour, the only one I want to kiss.

I bum one off a boy who tells me not to smoke so much. “These things aren’t meant for the candlelight like your smile,” Like my body’s melted wax for him to shape, like I’m a waiting wick and he’s the lighter that can start the burning inside my bones.

Pretty little wax, the wall decorations – vanilla smelling scent washing through his bedroom door – you’d like that wouldn’t you? Contained little starlight, ready to blow, put out on your will.

My light can’t stop once it disintegrates. I demolish and bite edges of your fingertips; I’ll scoop off my wax and burn the house down, hope you got a fire alarm – I’ll choke you in the smoke and won’t feel a thing.

Gray stained lungs turned outlook on life, dirty filter to the mind. I signed a contact in second grade; promised puffs of nicotine would never leave my lips. Now it’s all I know how to breathe.

“It’ll kill you,” warned my mother, when she catches the scent swirls in the fabric of my composure. And I don’t tell her I’m banking on it.

Swaying dusty air, the last love I believe in, black little cancer draped in pretty paper white. I fashioned my body into a cigarette one day, and time’s been charring at my ribcage since.

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Juice
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Up In Smoke: Craft a shortstory, drabble, vignette, or poem that features, includes, or describes the act of smoking.
Written by apromptaday in portal Fiction
what I see in the smoke-light
Fancy flouncing cigarette, your poised two finger hold – coughed up gold – like an ocean’s tide onto washed up dreams 

Chipped nails painted black, you; a careless flick onto frozen concrete, the catcher of flames that roar inside my stomach, you – my charcoal knight in amour, the only one I want to kiss.

I bum one off a boy who tells me not to smoke so much. “These things aren’t meant for the candlelight like your smile,” Like my body’s melted wax for him to shape, like I’m a waiting wick and he’s the lighter that can start the burning inside my bones.

Pretty little wax, the wall decorations – vanilla smelling scent washing through his bedroom door – you’d like that wouldn’t you? Contained little starlight, ready to blow, put out on your will.

My light can’t stop once it disintegrates. I demolish and bite edges of your fingertips; I’ll scoop off my wax and burn the house down, hope you got a fire alarm – I’ll choke you in the smoke and won’t feel a thing.

Gray stained lungs turned outlook on life, dirty filter to the mind. I signed a contact in second grade; promised puffs of nicotine would never leave my lips. Now it’s all I know how to breathe.

“It’ll kill you,” warned my mother, when she catches the scent swirls in the fabric of my composure. And I don’t tell her I’m banking on it.

Swaying dusty air, the last love I believe in, black little cancer draped in pretty paper white. I fashioned my body into a cigarette one day, and time’s been charring at my ribcage since.
2
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0
Juice
34 reads
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