Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
POEM STARTER
Compose a poem that involves the use of numbers.
Numbers can be used as countdowns, time-telling devices, checklists, or other creative ways in a poem.
Writings
Note to self:
Be kind - show compassion not just to others but to yourself.
Be a better mother to yourself - treat yourself the way you would treat a loved one. Eat well and get the sleep you need. Remember, your body is temple, what you put into it, whether thoughts or food, your body will absorb.
Love thyself - learn to love who you are, nobody else has walked the miles you have or been in your shoes.
Be humble - don’t be arrogant, conceited, egotistical or superior. Be modest, unpretentious and down-to-earth.
Control your emotions - don’t be angry and don’t show hate, you will only bring this inside of you and it affects you a lot more than you realise.
Be brave - be courageous, brave and be fearless.
Be honest - show your feelings and bear them to those whom you trust. It’s okay to be raw, sincere and direct.
Don’t trust everyone - some will take advantage of you and bring you harm, others will not understand. The special few will realise and you will know who is real and who is not.
Show manners - you never know whose day you’ll make by the simple act of using your manners. Maybe that person needed to hear the kind words you have.
Respect your elders - not just everyone that you meet on the street, it means respect your elders, if an elderly man needs a seat on the train, give it to him. If the elderly lady next door needs some shopping done but doesn’t want to go alone, go for her. Respect your elders, they’ve been around longer than you and they have their wisdom and stories to share with you.
Be respectful - not just to others but to yourself. Respect your body and your mind, don’t forget we are all human.
What teenager sits at the bottom of the stairs Counting the shoes at the door, Counting the scratches on the shelf? Writing crappy poems because
my english teacher said to try harder.
2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, 14, 16, 18, 20, 22 shoes.
11 pairs.
Counting to 22 does not fit with the rhythm of what they call 'poetry', but these numbers are God.
I am the sum of every rule book I have read, and the rules govern me wholly.
9th grade maths is not good enough. I am not good enough
Until the rulebook knows me by heart.
By _heart, _they say, the poets write. By brain, they claim, that I was born. By soul, I know that I have none. By _body, _flesh rejects your touch.
I am created from logic and imitation.
I am made without control.
Last night I washed my hands seven times, and got told off for wasting water. I was embarrassed enough to resist the compulsion; Logic dictates I am therefore a fake.
I feel dirty.
Read a book, and I will rip it to shreds in the process. But I am a reader; I am a poet.
Touch me and I will wash my hands of you, only when you cannot see me. I will scrub my skin, and in doing so, flush my blood of you.
My bookshelf is hollow. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24 books.
Eleven-thousand, three-hundred and fifteen pages.
I cannot read any of the titles.
31 long years ago, Inside a babies form, In March of 1993, A warrior was born. No one knew it then, therefore, No one was there to warn, Her that the coming years would be, A raging fucking storm.
Evil tried to take her down, But no one bothered to tell, These demons that this warrior, Could raise all kinds of hell.
On the 19th of November, 2024 She went face-to-face with evil And rocked him to his core.
Now it’s been almost a year, And she’s got the devil’s, Blood all over her blade, And it’s her turn to revel.
Oh, pickles, you sour little things, With your briney taste that stings. A rating of one, for you I despise, Please stay away from my burger and fries.
Mean people, oh what a chore, A two out of ten, you're such a bore. From snarky comments to rude remarks, I'd rather befriend a pack of hungry sharks.
Mouth breathers, a rating of three, Your open mouths make me want to flee. Can't you breathe through your nose instead? The sound of your exhales fills me with dread.
People who ban dogs from the couch, You get a four, oh what a grouch. Let those pups snuggle, let them lay, On the cushions, where they want to stay.
Heavy forks, a five on the scale, Why must you weigh down every meal? Do I need to lift weights while I eat? Or can I at least have cutlery that feels light and neat?
The feel of felt or velvet, a six, A touch that makes my skin do tricks. Some find it cozy, some find it strange, But for me, it's like running nails on a chalkboard range.
Squash, oh squash, a seven it gets, With its odd shape and texture, no thanks, I confess. Whether it's butternut or acorn delight, I'll pass on this vegetable, day or night.
Cucumbers, an eight, they're not my taste, Too crunchy, too watery, such a waste. But in salads and sandwiches, they shall remain, While I pick them out, it's all in vain.
Tight clothes, a nine, they constrict my style, I prefer comfort, let loose for a while. Give me room to breathe, to move around, Not an outfit that has me feeling bound.
And lastly, grit in the bed, a perfect ten, Oh, what a feeling to be scratched again. No sandpaper sheets for this sleepy head, I'll strive for smoothness instead.
she’s known him for seven years— they met as six year olds full of hate.
on her pillow, five mascara tears, because she’s four years too late.
she thought three words would do the trick, a simple “i love you”
a couple of teenagers, so lovesick because they couldn’t face one truth.
seven petals on the floor— only a few more to go
six years of wanting more and more a five minute pity show
four more petals, fallen from the rose three raindrops on her nose
two more left, her hope fades away and the last picked petal shows that he doesn’t love her, anyway…
1 universal law, 2 sides to every story, 3 strikes and you’re out, mandatory 4 seasons each and every year, 5 senses which humans possess, My 6th is stone, less fears between my ears 7 years ago I was going through the motions, a different person, wading in a directionless ocean 8 year old me would be in awe now, for that I’m certain 9 lives, haven’t used up all mine, clawing my way back so I can keep on that grind Land softly on my feet, the perspective is the world is mine 10 at night, reflect on how I got here, how it was just bright, the moon and stars up in the sky, casting the only light.
2 columns exist, Those who are, and those who take risks and persist Numbers are real, don’t have feelings, But chase numbers too hard, you’ll break through that ceiling Sealing yourself with seven deadly sins, material gain is not the game God is infinite, I am into it.
Not even a million different straws can leave a dent in my powers, Others inflicting back breaking behaviors, Bounce and brush by, I let karma handle any returned favors Been busted and dusted before, no bullshit Only human, embrace my truth, my light, my shadow, they are not separate Learned that the punishment is staying stagnant, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, It all comes back to one, the whole self, intact, the human condition, Is the ultimate gift, individualization.
One tear falls from my eye Two people dance through my mind Spinning off into a starry, starry sky Lost to space I think of how blind I was to fall so fast I thought I was in love, but now it’s passed And now I sit staring at the stars And think of how what we had Dissipated in feverish flight One heart was broken And two were swallowed by the night
Ten… The world seems so chaotic Nine… Why is this happening to me Eight… Maybe it’s all my fault Seven… Maybe it’s no one’s fault at all Six… It’s not me it’s him Five… Then just let him go Four… But I can’t I’m in love Three… But does he show you that same love Two… So what is that telling you One… To Start over and be free Free as can be…
Similar writing prompts
POEM STARTER
Compose a self-aware poem
Think of creative ways to show that the poem acknowledges that it is itself a poem.