I hit my peak. I hit my peak of trauma and pain. My mind was overflowing with thought, while my sadness was eating away at my heart. I was fighting the feelings of grief, an overwhelming amount of grief. Between 2018 and 2020 I lost my father-in-law to suicide, my best friend since childhood to addiction, my grandmother to sickness and my mother to an accidental overdose. Death is hard enough to deal with, but when you consider the reason behind a person’s death, certain reasons will make grief even more complicated.

I was suffering to say the least. I had so much that I needed to put into words, but talking wasn’t enough. To me, talking was the equivalent to water dripping from a faucet. I was able to get some thoughts and words out little by little. However, it wasn’t enough! I needed those thoughts and words to come out the way water uncontrollably flows over a waterfall. I was drowning because I couldn’t express myself. I needed a little direction, in order to get those words from my mind, to my fingers. My thoughts were everywhere and I didn’t know where to start.

Accidentally I came across Prose on Google.com. I was struggling to sleep and I needed an outlet. I needed a prompt. I needed to write. Searching the internet for prompts at three o’ clock in the morning, I came across this website and eagerly I created an account. I read through such beautiful pieces, some filled with pain that I understood. Quickly I knew that I was in the right place.

After reading such honest works amongst fictional posts, I felt safe and I opened up the floodgates. I scanned the challenges and found one I loved. For the first time in a long time, these writers who have no idea who I am nor do I know who they are, made me feel like I belonged.

It’s almost one year since I found this community, my community. Within this time on Prose, my mind isn’t drowning and I began to reconstruct my heart. Writing truly heals and having the opportunity to be apart of prose, has saved me in more ways than one. A community of writers is a special group of people. To truly understand the depth of healing we provide for each other, is something I wish everyone could experience. Prose is a place where my sadness wanders and my anxiety disappears, allowing love and peace to take the forefront. It’s a place where my mind and my heart pulls my authentic self out, so proudly.

What a beautiful challenge, you pose:

To speak about ‘The Prose’.

I found it almost by accident.

I had been working on a poem or two and didn’t really know what to do.

I was alone in my little world, writing and rewriting to keep the doldrums away.

I enjoyed the writing, but I missed the sharing. The thing that brings fulfillment.

The feeling that I’ve published.

The expectation that someone will read it.

The anticipation that someone may be touched by it.

The hope that they will let me know, if it did.

But ‘The Prose’ is much more than that.

At a time when society seems to be coming apart,

People have greater need for sense of community.

Need of social intercourse, of belonging, of sense of common purpose.

I’m a newbie at 'The Prose', but I like what I see. I feel the community.

People writing, reading, sharing and offering encouragement to beginners like me.

I started writing not for money or fame, but to get to know myself better.

And what I learned so far is what an ass I’ve been.

I should’ve started long ago, for a better person I'd've been.

That’s what ‘The Prose’ means to me, and I thank you for the opportunity!

Here is my folder, the space I need. Although it's not tucked into a locker or on a forgettable shelf. Always active and moving and reading and writing. The things that I love about life. And you never cross the same stuff twice unless you're really looking for it all over again.

Few people understand the notion of fake worlds you create and destroy. Nobody has the perfect imagination, but I like mine. Full of fun, horrors, villains and anything I really want. It's not really an outlet, because outlets take it and don't give anything back. Once you put something in it you can see it, but you don't get anything back from it.

I don't really have a word for it, but I do know one thing. That every time I put something in it, I get a lot more back. Comments that help succeed, likes that show love from other people who actually understand the books, and notifications( Which are annoying me because I cannot figure out how to delete old ones) that show what we need.

Prose are people who have awesome ideas based upon other things. Every challenge I enter is another fun world that I want to explore and write about. Every time I write, honestly I cannot help but to write more than one because I write one and then an idea is like, ohhh, look this'll be fun, it'll contrast.

Everytime that I look into this website I prepare myself for hours worth of reading, and a couple minutes of writing the first thing and then branching out. It's crazy what we do, how we do things. We do things like no other people, because we're the prose.

Maybe I don't Prose as I used to.

Maybe The Prose. doesn't Prose. like it did

Moving the dot like a goal post, maser-ed

Neither left nor right.

Deeper, into the dark

Like a button, meant

to turn on the Light

03.20.2024

How do you 'The Prose'? challenge @Plexiglassfruit

In the realm of pixels and ink,

Where writers weave the words they think,

There lies a site, a sacred space,

A haven for the creative race.

It's 'The Prose,' where where dance,

In the glow of screens, they take a chance.

A tapestry of tales unfolds,

As storytellers, bold and untold.

From humble starters to grand finesse,

A community fueled by creative zest.

In this virtual haven writers find,

A canvas for the wandering mind.

Challenges arise, sparking flames,

Igniting creators with writing games.

Through discord channels, voices blend,

A chorus of stories that never end.

YouTube channels echo tales,

A symphony of voices, each prevails.

The prose, a handful for stories kept,

A treasure trove where dreams are swept.

Through poems and tips, a writer thrives,

A dance of letters, where passion derives.

Friendships forged in the crucible,

Of shared expressions, each indivisible.

For some, it's a muse, a guiding light,

A compass in the literary night.

A space where words find their way,

In the hearts of readers, they hold sway.

So here's to 'The Prose,' a boundless sea,

Where writers sail, wild and free.

A sanctuary for the wordsmith's art,

A home where creativity imparts.

I joined back in middle school originally. I was under a different user name (Darkside?) and would post almost anything from fictional supernatural stories to challenges when they were free (I am so mad you have to pay for this kind of stuff). I got a lot of people, somewhere in the hundreds. People would read and critique my work. It felt like I finally had a place I could post. I ended up responding to a few of these posters through chat.

This was my downfall

Mom found out and was pissed. She forced me to delete my account and said I could get it back when I was eighteen. My followers had no idea where I went. A few years later I am almost an adult. Mom says I can open back up my prose account. I tried with my old email and found out it doesn't exist. The school deleted it. And now with all my work, gone. I wish I had written it in a doc.

But I am back. I have been on here a few days and so much has changed. I hope to post all original work here and maybe even charge money for commissions someday. I also hope to bring some joy to a random stranger

People who have followed a middle schooler back in the 2010s, thank you.

I’ve known Prose longer than some of my best friends. Similar to friendships, Prose sneaks in and out of my life, but it serves as a constant thrum in the background, something to fall back on as needed. I first came across Prose in June of 2016, from a maudlin google search of a high school teenager who wanted to find places to write. I’m long past high school now, and my goals, aspirations, and experiences have all evolved and changed. So has my writing. But Prose still sits in my pocket, a companion for when I need to share the thoughts, the whimsy, the grief, the joy that spills from my brain. I suppose Prose is part diary, part story, part friend. I’ve always been more of a shadow here, lurking on the edges of community- dipping in and out for weeks at a time, but always coming back to read, to watch, to write. In a whimsical sort of way, I suppose it’s nostalgia that keeps me here - to continue forward on a path I struck over 7 years ago. But, I am also kept here by the underlying joy that exists in connecting, and in sharing. Every story, every poem, every piece of prose has an audience. Prose is mine.

I've made a lot of noise on this website. Been here since 2018 or '19...? I can't remember. Let's go with '19 even if it may be '17 cos it feels like it might be right. What can I say? I want to be seen sometimes. When I scream out into the void, it's nice to imagine I am heard by someone. Sometimes, just as often, I don't want to be noticed at all. When I'm in the mood to share a bit, spill out, I come here. See if anything tickles my fancy. The challenges of this website have brought out some really real, really raw stuff from me. Reminded me of good and bad things. Bittersweet is the word I'd use cos that's what it tends to be. The website was there for me as my mind spiralled and when I left my old hell to a new, better university I'd like to call purgatory since it's in a more neutral plane of being. Writing helps me understand myself and I guess I'm tired of trying to make it pretty enough when I know for a fact this place gives you pretty free rein. I've written mostly sad things, sometimes genuinely good. My writing has gotten better. I'm able to explain my emotions rather well now. I entered this challenge cos I've been gone for a beat and honestly, seeing even more changes is something to adjust to. Yet I'm intrigued with what comes next. I tend to stick to what I'm familiar with so I'm not likely to look for another site any time soon... This will be a home for my random thoughts, memories and emotions for some unpredictable time to come.