Poetry Writing Prompts

Pop Pin prick to cosmos Timeless to tempo Dilation to coalescence Dust to cloud to planet Crash Collisions, collapses, chaos Time Time Time

Pool Carbon to compound Chemistry to biology Bacteria to backbone to breath Bees, Crocodiles, dinosaurs Crash Time Time Time

Growth Divergence by populations Catching prey Dodging trouble Camouflage, tooth, poison, claw Tools, tribes, tech People Time Time Time

Conversion Crops to domestication Blade to bomb to bullet Cutting to burning to bombing Taking territory Grabbing, grasping, grinding Construction, cars, computers Grow, grow, grow, Cough to cancer Pestilence to death Greed to power Crash Crash Crash Time Time Time

If you are to read this poem, know this.

The words I’m about to write are intended to slay your bliss.

I hope you’re sitting uncomfortably.

I hope you can’t reach that itch.

Your skin is beginning to prickle, whilst you’re reading this.

Your scalp is screaming “dig your nails into me?”

Picture images of lice, mice, and fleas.

In the corner of your eye, just out of reach, in the contours of your room, hides a beast.

It watches you at night, while your tucked up and asleep.

It runs its fingers down your spine and listens as you breathe.

You’re now aware of every sense of which you possess.

This poem is intended to indeed cause you stress.

Don’t blame me for these uncomfortable words.

I did not come up with this prompt.

But a challenge I must meet, and if it’s uncanny that you seek I hope that you find it here.

What’s that crawling within your ear?

Can you feel its legs inside the drum?

Scuttling, scurrying, rum-tum-tum.

Illusions can be cruel, they can make you feel things that aren’t there.

Remember again the itch within your hair.

Your tired eye is beginning to twitch, you must give in, itch itch itch.

Your nose is tingling, are you needing to sneeze. Itch that nose as if you have fleas.

Your skin is infested, bugs under your skin.

Itch your wrist, rub your eyes, scratch under your chin.

I’m sorry for these words, for these uncomfortable sensations, but if it brings you some solace I would just like to mention; I myself am experiencing these nasty interactions to my own twisted words I am giving a reaction.

I am just as uncomfortable perhaps more so than you, let’s say take comfort in the knowledge it’s just a mind’s trick or two.

Tonight, the song of stars, sweet harmony, It calls your heart away. Please, stay.

In times when you forget our history, Eager to find your way, Please, stay.

Even when all I give is agony, Another broken day, Please, stay.

I don’t know who I am and what I’ll be Tonight, don’t let yourself near moon To float away, Or you will miss the flowers, they will bloom, Under your feet, someday… No matter how I push you far from me, Just stay. Tonight, Please, stay.

Oh, sweet glow of the screen, Your relentless shine bathes me in your artificial warmth. Who needs the sun, that overrated star, When you keep me company at 2 a.m., Reminding me of emails unanswered and dreams deferred?

Hail to thee, traffic jam! You majestic symphony of honks and exhaust fumes, Where I spend my precious hours contemplating life’s grand design— Or simply counting how many red cars pass by. Surely, nothing brings us closer to enlightenment Than inching forward at 5 miles per hour.

To thee, oh notifications, You delightful interruptions of my fleeting peace. A text! A like! A work email! Oh joy! How thoughtful of you to remind me That silence is the enemy, And rest is for the weak.

And let us not forget the blessing of small talk, Those profound exchanges of “How’s the weather?” And “Busy day, huh?” Oh, the intellectual feasts we share! Surely, Shakespeare weeps with envy from his grave.

Modern life, I sing your praises, With a heart full of caffeine and a soul half-charged. For who could long for simplicity, When complexity is so deliciously exhausting? Thank you, dear age of progress, For giving us everything we never asked for.

It’s quiet at this time of day Silence greets me And it brings warmth along with it It smells of pastry and black coffee It’s stirring of memories But I have to finish writing I have to finish this article I need my job or else I can’t afford to have this coffee Black. Reminds me of the worry creeping in. Steeping in, like the tea in that pot.

Growing up was constantly Swimming With no gills In a pool of ice water Always moving Pursuing The label of Your perfect daughter You love me, you applaud me You know that I’m smart But what happens when Miss perfect Stops playing her part? Will you still adore me If about me You can no longer brag? If I start speaking my mind? Waving a more colorful flag? If I center my values Instead of padding your pride? Would you say it’s fine But then subtly Toss me aside? I know you like us To lay low Avoid making a racket But now your little girl Is trapped In the tightest straitjacket Your expectations linger Unsaid Like trash in the sea So I don’t know if it’s you Maybe it’s just me But a pressure unsaid Doesn’t make it unfelt So no matter the source I must untangle The knot I’ve been dealt   You love me Unconditionally   I think   But I wish You would say it   Overtly   I need proof How hard is it? Come on please set me free!   Say that you’ll love me the same If you can’t brag about me

Red shoes on the pavement Step step step Red converse on the sidewalk And I rep rep rep There goes my shoes on the cold hard ground There goes my shoes No one’s around I am known for my shoes Dirty red and beaten I wonder how much longer this will keep repeating I can’t silence my head so I walk walk walk And stop stop stop When I can’t think anymore Unwired, Too tired To think, anymore

We shadows are fickle creatures. With wavering and shifting features.

Staying static. It’s causes a panic.

We don’t like staying put, Yet in the darkness we stood.

Banished to the inky black. Always pushed back.

Forgotten. Fallen.

No more. We swore.

We cut ourselves free. We flee.

Oh what peace this day should bring In a solar orbit’s sling Because sound doesn’t know yet how to yell In the cosmic great nothing

But when it’s quiet enough to hear my thoughts The inner supernovas spark The BOOM of chaotic swirling stars Cloud the relief of the quiet dark

Jupiter’s stormy eye entraps me Swirling unable to unwind Why does the mass of a trillion galaxies Have weaker pull than my own mind?

Is it true there’s a creator? But it turns out that it’s just me? Because it’s the crashing orbs inside my brain That have the strongest gravity?

Their waves clash inside my stomach The site eternal peace belongs Oh I ache to know an exhale But those never linger very long

So while I long for cosmic silence I chase the moon to drown it out Asking the stars if they’ve ever felt it That “inner peace” they’ve bragged about

Sometimes less is more Like a handwritten letter for your birthday It feels like more than a meaningless item Like smoking cigarettes The less you smoke the longer you live Like being in a relationship It seems the more I care The less you care

(Thanks for suggesting this Just Another Teenage Girl! This is draft #43)

Love is a _strange _word. It means something different Every time you say it A truth, a lie A way to say goodbye.

Love is a _terrifying _word. You can’t say it without commitment Without a promise That you’ll stay Night and day

Love is a _funny _word. You don’t know what it means Until you have truly lost it Remembering, missing Dancing and kissing

Love is a _beautiful _word. It persists and changes And grows Against all odds Though we’re broken and flawed I am here.

The milk expired when I decided I wanted coffee.

Well, it didn’t expire in the seconds between craving and rising. No— it had been dying for days.

A full gallon, untouched, slowly curdling in the cold.

Why didn’t I notice? If I’d known it was expiring soon, I would have used it, saved it.

Instead, I watched as I poured it out, a thick, sour stream down the drain And something inside of me broke.

Once, it was good, once, it was fresh, once, it was mine.

Why do good things go bad?

I guess I could just take my coffee black, stomach the bitterness— I have before.

But I’ve never had to pour out bad milk, watch something that once was dissolve into nothing.

I thought of buying more, but what if I forgot again? What if I let another gallon turn to ruin in the back of my fridge?

As I struggled with the loss, the coffee sat there, slowly turning cold.

Cold black coffee isn’t good, and reheating it seemed pointless when the air was still heavy with the scent of what I’d already thrown away.

So, I poured the coffee out too, leaving me milk-less, and coffee-less.

I could buy more— there’s always more to buy, isn’t there?

But instead, I found myself lying back down, thinking of what I’d lost.

Maybe later I’d go to the store, get more.

But maybe first, I’d stop at the park, let the sky wash over me, feel the grass between my fingers, listen to the birds.

Maybe things would be okay, regardless.

But how would I know if they hadn’t been bad first?

If I hadn’t poured out the milk, ever thought about coffee to begin with— would I ever have gone outside that day?

Would I ever have noticed the morning breeze, the soft light of the sun?

So, it’s okay.

Maybe, there’s no need to cry over spoiled milk when the world is still so beautiful.