Writing Prompt

POEM STARTER

Submitted by Chantel Akrawi

Write a poem where an inanimate object is a metaphor for love.

Writings

The Dog That Doesn't Cower

Most people in their line of work have a statement piece— something uniquely them about their masks.

Dazai has his bandages, mapping across his arms, neck and face. Kouyou has her traditional Japanese kimonos and her flashy lipstick, wrapped beautifully. Mori has that red scarf, passed down through generations of bosses. Hell, even Tachihara has a plaster on his face.

Chuuya has his choker.

It's a beautiful, sleek black piece with a silver buckle. It really is a top-tier choker.

Dazai teases him for it, but Dazai teases him for everything. From his height to his hair, his loudness to his politeness and from his kind inclination to his swearing issue.

Yet, Dazai got him it— 15th birthday, if he remembers. Might've been Christmas.

"Sheepdog," Dazai had called, utterly monotonous and his eyes shimmered and twirled with a strange light, "I have a gift!"

"Eh? A gift for me?" Chuuya has scoffed loudly, already considerably drunk. He makes an unintelligible gesture with his hands, grunting.

Dazai holds up a sleek black box, tied with a red ribbon and displaying a seductive kiss mark on the bottom corner— it's the company's logo.

He chucks it carelessly into Chuuya's arms, and the ginger frets to unwrap it, tearing the ribbon off with excitement, almost childlike.

After a few minutes of drunken fumbling with the bits of tape, Dazai snatches it back, ignoring the whiny complaints and opens it himself, presenting the elegant, now open, box to Chuuya like a wedding ring.

It's a pretty, velvet choker with a pure silver buckle. He looks at it in awe.

He knows the intention of this gift must be something dirty or teasing, but… it really is just such a lovely little thing.

“Does my dog like it?” Dazai questions, face oddly blank with something less hot than lust pooling in his big, red eyes, “Now everyone knows we’re together.”

“Together?” Chuuya slurs, face heating slightly.

Dazai grips the box tightly, “I am you— you are me. Can I put it on you?”

There’s an almost obsessive light glaring in his eyes, a wonder of beauty and mercy— because Chuuya wouldn’t be Chuuya if he was not merciful and beautiful.

And because Chuuya is merciful and beautiful, he nods softly and tilts his head up to allow Dazai to put the choker delicately on his refined neck.

Pale, trembling hands reach around Chuuya’s neck and pull the velvet onto his skin, taking the utmost care not to touch him with bare hands.

The silver buckle slides perfectly into place and fits snugly around Chuuya’s neck. Not so loose it falls, not so tight it hurts.

It's a perfect fit— what could that symbolize?

The Good Days🖤💖

The person you love Is that person You can run out into the fields with At midnight

The person you love Is that person Who will rest your head on you As you both gaze at the stars

The person you love Is the person who you dream of At night in the dark When you close your eyes

So to you Love is the book you spend hours on Love is a soft blanket on a cold winter day Love is a paintbrush, the soft strokes blending in

The person you love Is the person Who brings you too many flowers For you to count

The person you love Is that person Who takes up the space Until there’s only an inch left

Or, the person you love Is the person Who never stops begging But you feed him anyway

Or, the person you love Is the person Who you know is right for you But you’re hiding behind the shell anyway

So to you, Love could be a puppy, always begging for more Love could be a trapeze, letting you fly Love could be a clock, never stopping for a breath

Love is a treasure Hidden deep within When found, excitement fills the air But the box is always Left behind

Love is the happiest Until one issue comes up Blocking your golden pathway Causing your feet to slip

But it’s okay to hurt It’s okay to wish It’s okay to struggle And call for your mom

So it’s okay To experience the beauty Love will bring you Because even on days When it seems like it’s gone

It isn’t If it was? We wouldn’t grieve We wouldn’t shatter We wouldn’t fight so hard We wouldn’t hope for more

We wouldn’t sneak out Into the starry nights And the grassy fields In the middle of the night Just to see another human

Love is Complicated Dramatic Misleading Empty Heartbreaking Sometimes hopeless

Love is many things It tells multiple stories It breaks multiple hearts It can cause more than you expect

But love is a friend That annoying friend You continue to hold on to Because of the good days🖤💖

Sincerely, Caralia🫶🏼

Heyyyy guys! I didn’t really know where I was going with this, but the base of this poem is based off of my idea of love, if that makes sense. Whenever I think of love, I always think of that feeling you would probably get when you’re out in the fields or any type of grassy area with flowers surrounding you, and you’re staring at the stars as your lover holds your hand softly and brings you to a place you’ve never been before. And no words are exchanged between you and your lover, just beautiful smiles and butterflies. But then, I know actual relationships have a bc lot more to them then that. Like keeping secrets, having arguments, your mental health, their mental health, saying goodbye, and more. But this is just how I imagine a moment of pure romance. Love when it’s having a good day. Especially being out at night after a chaotic day, and having that person right there to hold you. So I built this off of that idea, and the rest just kind of came to me.❤️

I don’t know how you guys feel or if you feel the same way, because I’ve honestly never been in a relationship, so obviously I don’t know. So this poem is my imagination speaking. Oh yeah, and the many romance books I’ve read speaking :)

Sending love 💕 to all of those who are missing a loved one right now

Old Blue Jeans 

In the thrift shop of life, I found a new pair of jeans, Bright denim blue, the nicest eyed scene. Fresh off the rack, they fit just right, As soon as I put them on the world felt right.

They were just perfect, every stitch and seam, I felt like a model in these new blue jeans. I hoped to hold on to them forever, But fabric, like love, doesn’t always hold together.

Time's a crafty one, with a subtle art, It faded the blue and pulled the seams apart. Love, once so bold, now a softer shade, Like jeans well-loved, now tattered and frayed.

We change, we grow, and so do our ways, Jeans that once fit, have now seen better days. We tug, we pull, we try to make them stay, But sometimes love, like denim, fades away.

Held together, tight, until life takes a snip, A small cut starts, and we begin to slip. Threads come loose, and the fabric starts to tear, Love unravels, leaving a patch to bear.

But remember, each fray tells a tale, Of a love that once fit oh so well. Every rip, every hole, Every torn up part, Is a story of love, etched in the heart.

And with a heavy heart, will have to let our old jeans go, But we’ll always remember the love they once showed. And love, like denim, will come back around. In a brand new pair, where new love can be found.

Will be so excited to have a new pair, They’ll look just right, with no rips or tears. But though this new pair will fit us like a dream, Will never forget the love of our old blue jeans.

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