22. I am mainly a poet with some prose/fiction works under my belt! Just looking to strengthen my trust in myself as a writer by doing these daily prompts. Any and all feedback is highly encouraged đ
22. I am mainly a poet with some prose/fiction works under my belt! Just looking to strengthen my trust in myself as a writer by doing these daily prompts. Any and all feedback is highly encouraged đ
One snip of a thorn, and the world is righted again.
One less weapon to hurt its creatures
One wall downed for this beautiful rose
Who thinks the world wants to hurt her
Digging my finger tips through the soil
I find it embraces them
As if they were returning from a journey
A long way from home
It gifts me with the fruits of its roots
Potatoes, carrots, onions
Offering strength for my next jou...
With Halloween on the horizon, the people on my block have begun to decorate their houses. Redâs, purples, and orangeâs lit up the street and cobwebs lined the asphalt beneath my feet.
The air was crisp and fresh, just how I liked it. I always feel that it was clearing the summerâs damp warmth from my lungs. I tend to take more walks during this season, just to get my blood pumping before the wi...
Those eyes,
Those lovely, piercing eyes
Steely blue and a kind brown
Showing their duality with just one leveled glance
Oh, God Iâve missed those eyes
How they would look at me so kindly
Never demanding more than I could give.
Never asking for more than I was worth.
And their voice,
So warm, and wide
Stealing the roomâs air with a single sentence.
Itâs aged a bit now, sits firmer in their ...
The weeping willow shades your tears,
Why do they fall so heavily?
Why do your heaves drown out the sighs of the leaves above you?
Who hurt you, lonely stranger?
The willow drinks your tears in solidarity; it seems her words arenât reaching you.
So she turns to taking in your sadness through her roots, turning sorrow to sustenance
See, the willow is not a solitary tree.
She may weep, but she...
When all of the world has turned its back on me
Who is left to trust?
My tongue was held for far too long, but what I unleashed turned everyoneâs eyes from me
No one will meet mine anymore
Itâs a lonely world with the truth as your only companion
While it holds its many tongues,
It bites at my skin as a substitute for telling
One day I may bite back.
We are one in the same,
Many truths are hel...
In the kitchen, I craft love in my hands
I simmer storylines of flavors and spices
The character of the food develops in my pots and pans, and always ends on your tastebuds.
The journey of sustenance is one I will always follow with a fire in my eyes
Though I know the ending like I know what follows a breath.
That may be written in stone, but the way that a person lights up when they take thei...
Passing hellos
Loud clicking heels and expensive perfumes
Laughs ringing out from high up windows
Storyâs that contain stories within their worn down walls
The streetlights glow a warm yellow against the concrete
It makes the night seem inviting, beckoning me to walk within its own cool rays
Their light splashes my skin better than any sun
And though they do block the stars, their brilliance ...
Itâs over
Finally done with
No more stale hellos
No more shrinking myself for the sake of your largeness
No more blinding light from your bright ideas
I have ideas too
And they are bigger than your voice will ever be
Brighter than the light of a thousand suns
I have dreams, you see
Dreams that cradle me at night better than your arms
Wants that fit on my tongue finer than your name
Or your want...
If the world ran on nothing but magic and rule bending, it would be no world that I would want to live in. The rules of life keep me company when all else has left me. What goes up must come down and all of that.
But today? Something went up and never touched the ground again.
On my way home, I would always pass this old decrepit restaurant that somehow had its lights still on; and the tales t...
Tick, tock, tickâŚ
Another yearâs come and gone as so many have before it
Time heeds nothing but her own ticking pace
But still I plead for her to slow down
Just for a second
Let this old age rest for a little while longer
Before the new one takes its place
Tick, tock, tickâŚ
Each second washes over me as a wave drenching the shore line
But all I want is to be dry
My bones are so tired already ...