Writing Prompt

I’m just the same old school on the block.

I’ve seen kids come and go, tick-tock, tick-tock.

Little feet that ran through my door,

And scurried across my white tile floors.

I was there guardian from 8 till 4,

I cradled them till they were children no more.

From ABCs to algebra tests,

From storybooks to science quests.

They've grown up under my watchful eyes,

From tiny tots to ones so wise.

I'v...

I was built by a man who wanted to get his daughter a gift, it was very sweet actually. Her name was Annie, I think. Every morning she’d take out her dolls and pretend that I was the household for a wealthy family in Chicago. There was the Mr., the Mrs., and the three children.

I liked the idea of being the living space for such an important group of individuals.

Annie would move onto different ...

You walk by.

You don’t understand.

You think it’s just a building.

A thing to look at.

A thing to use.

Sometimes I feel like that building.

Something to judge.

Something to laugh at.

They say,

“Oh she’s ugly.”

They say,

“Oh, she’s stupid.”

These things don’t just pass me by.

They stick.

They hurt.

This never stops.

It hasn’t.

But I try.

And I definitely won’t stop that....

People come and go admiring my beauty and of those who live in it, my life is anything but Intresting,none of the humans in the house ever have genuine feelings ,fake people who strive for fame they call it ,

I feel a sharp pain go through my head the roof ,another one again over and over bruises left on my head it pained and stung, this went on for what felt like days until armoured security cam...

TW: suicide, alcoholism. For my dad 💛

He’s the dad in a family of four

But he thinks he’s alone

In this wood-shaded yellow house with

Black shutters

Where he’s lived for

Over 50 years

Because his wife and kids didn’t appear

Until after

The horror

Of what happened here

The tragedy started with optimism

Irish immigrants

Two architects designing a new life

Full of love, trips to the beac...

There’s a phrase that’s been whispered in my halls a few times. “If these walls could talk, I wonder what secrets they'd tell.” The scandals and mysteries these individuals are seeking overshadow the more silent aspects of people's lives. The complexity of human nature shines through the secrets that I long to share, even though I cannot.

There was a proud and traditionalist elderly man, known as...

I was built from the best they could muster, marble, stone and their concrete.

Through my process of being made I saw them transfixed on my shape, my size. All I could hold and all I could be used for.

Pillars and an overhang to shade those when time within was done, interior built for use of public for and government. For kings to speak and for the men to share.

I was finished, carved out to p...

One place, thousands of experiences, both good and bad. I look down on all of those around me, when they past by in a haste or as if they have no care in the world. Loud noises always fill the city, flashes of bright colours fill up the once dark sky as they illuminate its surroundings and light up the city of love.

Every day and night, sunrise and sunset, a continuous cycle yet each time is as u...

I watched him through my last working security camera. I’d had to shut down most of my peripheral inputs at the time of the great earthquake. The rest had gone down one by one, either failing on their own or because I cut power as my solar power panels were covered with dust and debris reducing the power out put. The days of hundreds of people, mostly happily but some very unhappily occupying, ...

I'm not sure why I was built. I was born a plan, shifting and hazy, traveling by mouth and lingering in thoughts. It's hard to remember your birth; you'd understand. Different people had different ideas about me, even then. They all knew I'd be big, though, and important. Why that mattered was a different matter for each of them. Even now, nobody seems to have the right answer. Disagreement all th...