In that moment our life changed.

we were left desolate,

utterly alone.

The weather outside cried with us,

the heavens opening up,

showing their true power

Now our 3 became 2,

we were by ourselves,

while our world fell apart

A moment more was all we wanted,

but even that was ripped from us,

like the wind battering houses outside,

The world must hate us now,

they left us alone, while we fell apart

in the middle of a hurricane.

Original Poem: "I Don't Know"

To ask what I seek

is a good question indeed

I do not know quite what I yearn for

is it a friend? or a lover?

I do not know

I think I yearn for a friend

one who wants to talk to me

and be there by my side

but also one like that

can be known as a lover

embracing me in their arms

I am a strange one

I know that much

for I long for many things

Do I want a friend?

or a lover?

or just someone to be there with me

To know what I seek

is something I do not

But for one

I think I seek comfort

in one form or another

Translaing Process....Irish.... Japanense....Scottish Gaelic....Norwegian....Icelandic....English

Final Poem:

Ask what I want

It is certainly a good question

I don't know what to do

Do you have friends? Or girlfriend?

I do not know

I think I'll be friends

Someone who will talk to me

Be the side of me

But stuff like that

He can be called a lover

Take me to my lap

I'm a stranger

I know it completely

That is a lot to me

Need a friend?

Or girlfriend?

Or someone with me

Find what I'm looking for

Inability to do so

But one

I think you need comfort

In some way

I have several who like to follow me day to day.

One is always there, looming in the back of my head, like glitter staying on everything. Looming like a large shadow, ready to swallow me whole. Overbearing somedays, not as bad the next. But over time, over time, its hard to tell what's a "good" and what's a "bad" day. It's been turning into days of "bad," "horrible," "terrible," and "worst." One coos words into my ears, like a mother and her baby. Except instead of kind, warm words, it's They hate you, you know? They don't want to be with you. They only feel pity for you, that's why they are here. That's not even the brunt of it. Oh, you absolutely suck. You could have gotten that (on a goal scored I might have been able to stop). Why don't you work harder, coach is so annoyed with you right now (on me at practice, in a drill). One is always 10 steps behind physically, but 20 steps ahead mentally, knowing how to break me down and ruin the small amount of peace in my head. One is always there from the start to the end of the day.

Two is always right behind me, biting at my heels, damn, like that annoying chihuahua at the end of the street. Questioning everything, barking doubts like the little yappy dog it is. However, it's barks are far from being yappy, and instead sounds like a rottweiler, growling at the mailman. What if you forgot to answer the question? or What if she's dead because she's not answering her phone? Two always says these, trying to get under my skin. Unfortunately, Two is almost always successful. In tandem with One, late nights are almost every night because of Them.

Three isn't supposed to be like One and Two, but they might as well be. Three acts the exact opposite of what they are supposed to be like, keeping me down, instead of lifting me up. Discouraging me with the unhelpful help from Two, the what-ifs course through my mind like Amazon River, current strong as god knows. Three is supposed to encourage me but instead pushes me closer and closer to rock bottom. With Three, I feel like the world is slipping away from me.

Four is a special case. I didn't even notice Them until a few years ago. They're always questioning who I am, who I love. Are you sure you like them? Or are you just forcing yourself? It's quite annoying. Four likes working with Two. They always question me, peppering me like a machine gun shoots bullets. Are you sure that's what you identify as? Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you sure? Constantly, over and over and over again. I try to ignore Four a lot. Of course, I can't, and they bite my heels like Two. And Four always, always, comes up and close at the worst times.

I'm sure I have more. I most definitely have more who follow me. Are a few good? Perhaps. I don't really know. My life is monotonous, with a sprinkle of events to pepper the taste of life.

a feeling drags the body down, deep into the abyss of darkness. retreat into thyself, into the abyss of the soul. sit there, legs hanging off the bed, eyes locked onto nothing, mind running too fast or saying the same thing slowly.

the mind wants tears to come, but the body has no more to give. eyes dry, mouth screaming, gaping hole aching in thy chest, the body shuts down, wanting to do no more.

the legs and feet move slowly, like a turtle, trudging against the hard floor, to the room where so much has happened. reaching for the handle, cold and smooth against thy palm.

the silver surface on the wall reflects the world’s view, red face, empty eyes, messy hair.

hands fumble for the familiar sharpness, mind knowing that this moment could always be the last.

back against the wall, body sliding down to sit on the floor, cold tile embracing the legs.

the blade pricks the skin, blood blossoming like flowers in the spring, running down the skin of the wrist, like a river coursing over rocks and dripping onto the white tile

eyes look up, familiar white looking back, pain erupting, spreading up the arm like a wildfire.

smoke dances on the edges of vision, the haziness fogging the mind.

relief is felt, but the sick mind cries for more pain, more relief, for what else could make this aching hole better?

the door with the cold, smooth handle bursts open, and a figure appears. the tears the sick body couldn't produce are made by the figure.

the blade is taken from the sick body and thrown in the bin where all rubble goes.

blood still babbles like the creek, but a cloth, like a large stone, stops the river from flowing.

help in the form of a screaming van and kind, sad eyes is called.

the smoke has overtaken the vision, now the mind sees nothing but black, and the body, unresponsive, refuses to move.

the body is taken to the clean place that smells like cleaning products and is taken to be poked and prodded right away.

the body, still as unresponsive as the mind, is pumped with blood from a stranger, the clean people hoping to fix what was lost by the sick mind.

finally, hours later, the body, and the mind, wake up.

the tears that couldn't be produced earlier, are produced now, but in confusion.

the sick mind wanted to die, yet the others wouldn't let it.

why the sick mind asks, why are you trying so hard to keep me alive?

but then, an outside figure tells them that they are loved, and other figures do care about them.

the mind doesn't understand at first but then, they get it a little bit. maybe others do care for them. maybe they are loved.

and they realize, maybe things aren't the best right now, and maybe they won't be alright tomorrow, but it will be ok in the future.

and then the mind realizes life is like a semicolon, it's okay to pause for a minute to recover and take a break to think, but, life has to continue eventually;

once a structure to Our Lady,

standing, watching those in Paris,

came down a flaming yesterday

it started during Mass,

it's lucky no one was hurt

even though the Mass was never completed

twas such a shame

they couldn't save the spire

and the forest roof of Notre Dame

at least the Crown of Thornes,

the twin bell towers,

and Emmanuelle, the main bell, was saved

I, for one, am glad I saw,

and walked, experienced, and lived,

the beautifulness of the Notre Dame Cathedral

I think writers should be able to write characters of other races and nationalities... on one or two conditions

1. the author in question should research the said race and/or nationalities in depth, perhaps even talk to people of the race and/or nationality and thee race/nationality's relationships with other races/nationalities

2. if questioned about a topic the author mentions in the book about the race and/or nationality, they should have have a list of their research/notes to show that they aren't just speculating or making something up

I don't know, this is what I would hope to do if I was writing a story that includes people of different nationalities

3.6.19

So hey everyone!

I know I haven’t been the most active, but I’ve been pretty busy lately. I’m going to try to be more active, but ya know, school comes first.

For you Catholics out there, it’s the beginning of Lent, and normally with that people tend to give something up for the 40 day period as a challenge to themselves. It is supposed to be something that will make you a better person overall.

This year, I’m giving up something that may seem, how do I put it, unconventional? It’s normally a physical thing for most people, but this year for me, it is not.

I’ve decided to challenge myself by giving up self-degradation.

Obviously, there are times when you can’t notice you are doing it, and this is where I turn to you, my fellow Prosers.

Do you have any tips on stopping self-degrading yourself? Or any tips on how to realize when you are doing it?

And I also challenge you to give up something, whether you are Catholic or not, does it matter? If anything, challenge yourself to become better.

Thanks again Prose for being such an amazing community!

justaperson <3

To ask what I seek

is a good question indeed

I do not know quite what I yearn for

is it a friend? or a lover?

I do not know

I think I yearn for a friend

one who wants to talk to me

and be there by my side

but also one like that

can be known as a lover

embracing me in their arms

I am a strange one

I know that much

for I long for many things

Do I want a friend?

or a lover?

or just someone to be there with me

To know what I seek

is something I do not

But for one

I think I seek comfort

in one form or another