Writing Prompt

Conceal: one word, a thousand meanings.

Cover up and be misleading.

Conceal. Pretend your heart is beating.

Fifty fake smiles to hide the bleeding.

Conceal. Push them all away.

Don't accept plastic bouquets.

Conceal. Mask the things you're proud of—

What they can't see, they can't make fun of.

Conceal. Don't ever let them know

How much you hate that you're alone.

Conceal the scars beneath you...

Words... what meanings do they hide? Are they sincere or dishonest? Do they praise or do they hurt?

Words... they can cheer up, they can sadden you. They can even kill.

Words... they can build, they can destroy. They can make you smile, they can make you cry.

Maybe it’s not words, maybe it’s how we say them. It’s how we use them and why.

Words... thousands of hidden meanings, it all depend...

I wonder what it is like to be a bird. If I were a bird, I would travel to and from all different parts of the worlds, observing societies and the different things that make them up; culture, relationships, heritage, leadership, government, money, human nature. Behavior in society excites me, it tells us about the values and norms, behavior is essential when writing as well as dialogue. Especially...

We all hide something.

Secrets.

That’s what we call them.

Until there no longer secrets and everyone stares at you as you walk down the all.

The men catcall from across the office and your boss makes eye contact with them and that’s it.

The Women stare at you too but it’s worse because in there eyes you can tell they are thinking “What a disappointment to other women”

And in the night you cry to y...

‘Take my hand,’ he said. But how could I when I could just about hold on with my own two hands.

I tried to find some grip with my feet and thought I had, when I felt the rock break and skip off the mountain side.

‘Take my hand,’ he said, but I could find no hand to grab, no hand to pull me back up.

Empty words, empty hands. I felt my fingers slipping, my grip losing out.

‘Take my hand,’ he ...

The finale,

The final curtain,

The end.

Was it happy,

Or sad?

Was it really where,

The story should end?

Who knows?

Every finale is different,

Just like each story.

But never let the final act end,

When there is more story to tell.

Because,

Between you and me,

That’s the worst kind of ending....

Spells of chatter and laughter at the nearby park

A seesaw, swings up and down

The soles of their feet hit the ground

As they take turns to fly

Their shadows cast by the sun

Up and down

He coughs and limps to find rest in the dark

To a wooden bench, broken and round

He sits and looks at his feet, dirty and brown

He prays to the man in the sky

But moon hides. The night nearly done

Broken and round...

In the mirror, my body flows in and out of itself, big and small, tall and short, my hips narrow and widen, as my brain sorts through who I am supposed to be. I want to be grounded, connect to the earth, bring my feet into the grass and latch softly, but firmly. But when I think of myself in nature it is about the knobby fingers and the slender body of an aspen tree, drifting up and up into the cl...

Reticent

Shy, timid

Most harmonious when confined to ones self

Possibly strewn beneath obsidian sky

Smothered beneath their own matter

Retreating into the foliage of their own thoughts

Lacking a facial expression, polished and pristine

Guarded and walled

Likened unto Fort Knox

Like a white board bleached

Perhaps

A tad bit

Selfish

Inward thinking

Introspective without cause

Busy?

Or busting ...

Word: Dreamless

Time: 2 minutes

Dreamless nights are paradoxical. They are lovely in the sense that they are calm and horrible in the sense that they are [boring[.

Sleep with no dreams is calming. It goes quick and without incidence.

Dreamless nights where you lie awake staring at the stars, the ceiling, moving pictures, anything to stay occupied: those are the best.

Ideas are born of dreams ...