There is no “we” in freewill
You were fed expectations, just like me.
Now you toy with yourself
Wake up each day just to limit yourself.
Do you not see who you really want to be?
Do you not see the you that I see?
The girl with no strings on her back
Not playing a role she was forced to act.
Tell them you will not bend and mold your feet to wear their shoes
Tell them to unfasten the ideals they have buckled to you
Tell them you will walk in places where there are no roads so they can keep their opinions on how you should go
And I'm telling you, no, I'm begging you to show me this when you breathe your free into me.
Fugitive From Boredom
Escape the narrow white line
on the empty desolate road
on the edge of monotony lane.
Flee the eclipsed light to find
the crescent shaped moon
as lacework whispers break free.
Face the bravado of flight
as sunlight gives birth to prisms.
Wade out of screams of ennui,
tear open the boredom petals
and fling them into the breeze
releasing the trapped joy
shrouded in enchantment.
The Green Murder Club
“We have to formulate a plan to stop this abuse!” the greenery shouted in misery. “We’ve had it and we’re not going to take it anymore!"
Late at night, all the sobbing plants called a council meeting to discuss the never-ending torture they suffered at the hands of Agnes who fancied herself a master gardener. “She snips, clips, and pulls us out by our roots without any empathy for the pain she causes us!” they moaned as they rubbed their cuts and bruises and curled their leaves to avoid further pain. “She has no empathy for us at all, as we scream in agony!”
“I have a plan,” offered Bud, “why don’t the indoor plants and the outdoor plants get together and call all their relatives to support us in getting revenge against Agnes?”
“Let’s call in Mandrake,” suggested another seedling. “He’s a murderous plant cousin whose roots look bizarrely like a human body. It’s rumored to pop up from dripping fat and blood of a hanged man. If it’s pulled up from the earth, it lets out a monstrous scream, bestowing agony and death to all those within earshot!”
“You’re a pistil!” laughed Petal, “Why don’t we ask Aunt Ivy and some of our other vining relatives to come, also. They could tie old Agnes up, and then we could have Uncle Poison Ivy cause tormenting rashes.”
“Sounds like a plan! chortled Stamen, “I’ll bet some of our deadly nightshade family would be glad to get a paid vacation to Florida and help us also.”
“I’m sure that Oleander and toxic Foxglove would volunteer their help!” offered Roots.
The friendly plants put their flower heads together and came up with a payback plan deciding to put it into play the following weekend.
At the stroke of midnight, all the assorted plants marched into the garden single file where they waited for the signal from Bud, the ringleader. As soon as Bud heard Agnes snoring, he beckoned with his filaments to all the outdoor plants to join the indoor ones.
Aunt Ivy crept into the house with her tendrils, completely wrapping her green beauty around the sleeping torturer, as Agnes mumbled in her sleep. Next, Poison Ivy marched in and rubbed his juices all over the wrinkled skin of the old bat. Agnes struggled to scratch her body as she began itching all over but was trapped in the wicked coils of Ivy. Bud pulled up Mandrake by his roots from the garden, causing him to let out a horrendous scream which caused such misery to Agnes that she succumbed to extreme death throes. Next, Deadly Nightshade and Oleander crawled into the crevices of her mouth to be absolutely certain that she was as dead as a door nail. Thorny then pricked her on the bottom of her feet but her stiff body didn’t move.
“Okay, gang,” offered Bud, “help yourself to the steaks and other goodies and whisky and we’ll have a celebration party.”
All night long, the plants kicked up their roots and played around with their styles and ovum as they cross pollinated in sexual bliss. Just before dawn, they all crept out and returned home.
When Agnes’ daughter found her body and called the police, they couldn’t determine the cause of death. “She must have had a heart attack, they said.
The plants that were still present giggled and slapped their stems in high fives as they planned their next green murder with glee! “We could even be paid assassins now that we’ve had experience! We’ll call ourselves the Green Murder Club!”
Do I Count As A Person
Does a dog count as a person?
Who cares, I say, just like a dog.
I could see a monochrome, I could hear some gibberish,
And unknowingly comfort a sad person.... weird.
But who cares, I say, for I am like a dog.
Does an actress count as a person?
Who am I really, I say, just like an actress.
Love some random guy, memorize some random lines,
Tired of being watched by cameras.... scary.
But who am I really, I say, for I am like an actress.
Does a writer count as a person?
Where is reality, I say, just like a writer.
Full of countless imaginations, full of foolish cliches,
And away from human drama.... cool.
Where is reality, I say, for I am like a writer.
Does a lawyer count as a person?
Which is a lie, I say, just like a lawyer.
Defending lying criminals, jailing condemned innocents,
But I'm confused with which's which.... liar.
But which is a lie, I say, for I am like a lawyer.
Does a bully count as a person?
Who's next, I say, just like a bully.
I like their cries, but they never seem to match,
My cries in the night, begging.... twisted.
But who's next, I say, for I am like a bully.
Does a brat count as a person?
Why didn't you do it, I say, just like a brat.
Blessed with gold, left alone by my workaholic parents,
Fine, I'll call my butler, just you wait.... spoiled.
But why didn't you do it, I say, for I am like a brat.
Does a black count as a person?
Why me, I say, just like a black.
Beaten with sticks and stones, fighting for freedom,
I'll survive this, whatever you do.... courageous.
By why me, I say, for I am like a black.
Does a homeless count as a person?
Where am I, I say, just like a homeless.
Wandered and wandering, a person here and there,
Shunned and rejected, a beggar.... sorry.
But where am I, I say, just like a homeless.
Does being me count as a person?
But who cares, society does.
But where is reality, harsh and still here.
But which is a lie, you are one.
But who's next, it's unexpected.
But why didn't you do it, depression pulled me to bed.
But why me, because you're the easiest prey.
But where am I, nowhere and alone.
But who am I, a nobody.
Friday Feature: @BethyG
It’s Friday! And we all know what that means - we get to find out about another Proser. This week we shine a questioning yet respectful light on the little sceptered isle of England, with a wonderful Proser by the name of BethyG.
P: What is your given name and your Proser username?
B: Hello, I'm Bethan, but most people call me Beth. My Proser name is BethyG, which is what my best friend used to call me when we were younger. I think it was because we both had surnames beginning with the letter 'G' and our first names had a similar rhythm (Jess & Beth). I guess, this led to the creation of Jessy G and Bethy G and it's kind of stuck.
P: Where do you live?
B: I'm from Kent - otherwise known as the Garden of England, which I've always thought was a rather nice association...and, you know, it is really green here.
P: What is your occupation?
B: I'm a professional escapist, dreamer, lover of words...also known as a writer. I currently work for a magazine, but I'm also writing a YA book and do some freelance work too.
P: What is your relationship with writing and how has it evolved?
B: I think we're frenemies? You know one day, writing is all like "oh hey you - how have you been?" and then the next it's ignoring me. I've wanted to be a writer since I was little (or littler, I'm still pretty tiny) and over the years, we've certainly had our ups and downs. I think it's true love though - you know the kind that makes you want to scream one second and then laugh the next. But that's when you know it means a lot to you, because you're always thinking about it, because it affects you so much, because it's a part of you. It's a passion that will never die.
...It's all very dramatic.
P: What value does reading add to both your personal and professional life?
B: When I was younger I was a huge bookworm and I don't know what happened - life got in the way, perhaps - but I sort of stopped reading, and then after a little while, it kind of crept back in. I was having a bit of a rough time and I found books were very healing and now, the book bug is back. I knew I had always wanted to write a book and reading helped me with that. In my opinion, it makes you a better writer...I mean, how can you write if you don't like to read? I read for fun for sure, but it certainly helps me on a professional level too.
P: Can you describe your current literary ventures and what can we look forward to?
B: I'm working on a young adult book at the moment - and looking for representation for it. It's a tough feat though! And I've started writing a murder mystery, which is something completely new to me. I'm finding it fun, but it's very challenging! I don't really plan my posts for Prose - I just write whenever I get that niggling feeling in my fingertips! Which leads me onto my next answer...
P: What do you love about Prose?
B: ...I love the fact there's so much inspiration on here, not just from the prompts, but also from each other - everyone is so supportive. I love it. I stumbled across Prose on a blog and I'm so glad I did.
P: Is there one book that you would recommend everybody should read before they die?
B: Arghhhh! I hate questions like these because I never know what to say (or write in this case). I think it changes on a weekly basis. I'm a YA fan, so I read a lot of that kind of stuff. I recently read Am I Normal Yet? by Holly Bourne - it's a really important book.
There's a lot of stigma around mental health and although people are becoming more aware of these illnesses, it seems that phrases and "harmless" jokes about illnesses such as, OCD seem to be rather common. It's something I've always hated, people using serious terms like OCD to describe themselves when they really don't know what they're talking about. "I'm really OCD about tidying my room" (I've heard that more than a few times!).
This book doesn't just highlight issues like this, but also really shows the reader the serious struggle of this illness.
I'm also a huge fan of The Fault in Our Stars. What a beautiful book. I have always enjoyed a book that can make me cry!
There's so many others and I know I'll kick myself later on saying, I should have said this and that one and oh what about that one!
P: Do you have an unsung hero who got you into reading and/or writing?
B: Jacqueline Wilson. I loved her books as a kid. Girls in Love, Vicky Angel, The Diamond Girls, The Lottie Project, The Illustrated Mum - there's SO many. She's amazing and has such a talent. I'm pretty sure at times she had mind reading capabilities - she could really get into the teen mindset.
P: Describe yourself in three words!
B: Indecisive – hang on a minute, I’m not too sure about that one now…let’s go with – imaginative, fun loving and quirky.
P: Is there one quote, from a writer or otherwise, that sums you up?
B: You know, I've never thought about a quote in that way. I have favourite quotes for sure, but not one that I've said - "hey, that's me!" I feel like that's probably the worst answer, but I don't want to just write a quote for the sake of it. Instead, I'll leave you with this quote from the two books I have mentioned, which have stuck with me.
“Everyone's on the cliff edge of normal. Everyone finds life an utter nightmare sometimes, and there's no 'normal' way of dealing with it... There is no normal, Evelyn.”
– Holly Bourne, Am I Normal Yet?
“As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.” – John Green, The Fault in Our Stars
P: Favourite music to write and/or read to?
B: I have so many playlists and they're all put together to create a certain mood. So if I'm writing something that's meant to be all fast-paced and "epic" I play one, there's another for sad and happy and chill-out. Generally though, my go-to music is Ludovico Einaudi - Islands.
P: You climb out of a time machine into a bookless dystopian future. What do you say?
B: A world without books?! I don't have time for this...but I do have a time machine that will take me to a better place. Come with me and I'll show not just my world, but a million others. If anything, I'd want them to tell me what happened!?
P: Is there anything else you’d like us to know about you/your work/social media accounts?
B: Find me on Twitter @bethgrylls
I also blog on another platform storiesbybethan.wordpress.com
Thank you very much for this opportunity to have a Friday feature and I hope you like it! Much love x
What a great insight into the life and times of another Proser. If you have yet to do so, please follow and interact with her on here and on Twitter. If you yourself want to feature, or would like to nominate anyone, do please get in touch. We have the next couple of weeks lined up, and then we need more of you to be featured!
Self-Defense?
My darling! My dear! I have a story to tell.
Guzzle your liquor and listen well.
I wore red tonight to provoke your temper.
Harlot! Whore! A beating before dinner.
I push the right buttons to elicit your rage
All while keeping the beast in me caged.
Secured all my bruises, and I'm ending your reign
Of mayhem and terror. NEVER. AGAIN.
I've played my part perfectly--submissive, meek
The monster in you feeds on the weak.
Sit back, my darling! Your supper is served,
Complete with hydrocodone laced hors d'oeuvres.
I've distressed my concern over your new pill addiction
To you mother and sister, I'm all tears and attrition.
"Unintentional" reveals of bruises displayed
Pull everyone into this tragic masquerade.
Listen, my darling! I have a big reveal!
I know your secrets--the lives that you steal.
But the day you stole her from me, your fate was sealed.
I entered your arena knowing your game
But the beatings and bruises don't compare to the pain
Of the loss you inflicted before you knew my name.
She was my light and my heart. She was leaving with me.
My golden haired lover with eyes like the sea.
You bloodied her eyes. You snuffed out her light.
You condemned me to darkness and sharpened my bite.
So, here we are now! My mask peeled away,
Revealing the beast I no longer hold sway.
My dear! You're stumbling! Are your limbs feeling heavy?
All the liquor and pills will make you unsteady.
You come at me swinging, I bide my time.
Nails down your face to make your rage climb.
Bloody my lip as I sink the knife in...
In your side, a meek try, a believable defense.
But this dance is nearly over, I've played my part well.
Your demise will have a clear "self-defense" sell.
I lock with your eyes at your approach
My primal rage building as you encroach
Your mistake realized too late, your hope turned remote
As I sink teeth into flesh and tear out your throat.
A Diction addiction
I discovered it when I was young,
the power of words.
Words raw and selfish,
to me they were gold.
I imbibed the stories, pledged fealty to it
until it was not enough to just read.
The words had come alive in my head,
it would never be enough.
A toast to the exuberant demise of a life without writing,
then I put pen to paper and burned all roads to recovery.
Pound of flesh
Music starts on stage
Steps out this man this sage
Doing his move the Hop Flop
Prances around pretending to shop
Collecting all the monies
From the little honeys
Grab those twenties his money to make
For their pleasure and their thirst to slake
They are going to make it rain
Because of his long flowing mane
Well endowed and a tushy to match
All those bills he's going to snatch
A flash of skin
Now it's time to begin
To show off his muscle
Hey ladies no need to tussle
Plenty for all to see
You all know this performer name
For he is the Super Bee
To reveal his stinger is what they desire
So I do, only to inspire
The Process
His eyes, a hazel brown
That seemed to light up when I was around.
A smile, a little gap
That it seemed only I could unwrap.
A memory, a small token
Of a first love just awoken.
Her eyes, a cacao brown
That grow deeper when I'm around.
Her smile, a crooked grin
As bewitching as a good girl's sin.
A moment, only pivotal
Of the revival of love and its struggle.
Memories
Old and new
Me and him
Me and you
With the love we had now defiled
In an endless silence, he still smiled
How strange to realize...
It didn't seem to touch his eyes.