Prose Poem - Blog Posts

An incoming phone call you say

And I freeze like a deer in headlights

Have I been hit, I feel blooding rushing past my ear drums

My heart is beating quick

then quicker, a fast rapid flicker

it's trying to run away, but my body won't move

Instead my body stands shock still and I watch locked in, but so far removed

I'm dizzy spinning around and round in my amygdala, a ringing is pulsing against the outside walls of it

trying to get inside

I cannot hide

Then the ringing just stops

it's stops

Incoming call is dropped and rational thinking has lost.

Wars end when wars do

Wars end when death settles

The graveyard was ready to receive me

I had so much to do still

I do not think I want to be here anymore

Here, I have found

Here is relative

Here in this life I feel small

To not want to be here is to acknowledge

There are things holding you back

There are things you do not want knowing your name

The battle cry was futile

No one wants to wait 

To experience the glory of all that bloodied violence

I am here

Living past things I was sure would kill me

Here

I am here.

I have so much life left to live still

- A.G.

(you can also read the poem from bottom to the top)

This is the last time

That I'm truly here

In every possible way.

Because I've let this place go.

With every visit,

I lose one core memory

Only for it to be replaced with another one elsewhere.

So if you ever ask me,

Why I am done

I'll tell you why.

Because there isn't any of me left here

To come back to.

-simra.t

C R O S S R O A D

We stood at the crossroads,

Thinking for too long,

Watching the way back.

Longing for the solitude.

But there's chaos ahead,

With determination in its eyes,

Hungry for another soul

To be lost in its world.

I know I'm scared,

But who isn't.

As I set foot into this strange world.

Your presence made sense.

F A D E A W A Y

I lost sense of self as I watched myself fading away with time.

Making me a museum of memories;

A figment of your imagination.

An immolation,

An abstract thought.

- the result of desire.

C L O S E R .

You pulled me closer,

And closer.

I let your love sink in like venom.

With every drip i found my life hanging between sweet solace of death and the nightmare of the present.

To you I've gifted my life ,

My love.

To you I find my home ;

Yet you seem like the canon that shoots down my fragile home.

Out of love.

Why say goodbye when you dont mean it ?

Why did I do what I have done ?

Why did I cry Infront of you, begging you to come back and you let me go once again.

And I was left on my own, for the hundredth time.

With love left in my heart for you.

And as I waited for us ,

I ran out of love for you.

Maybe we're all tragedies,

Covered in skins

too stubborn to be tragic.

Illusion

Dreams are wishes a heart makes

Thats why we make so much mistakes

We dont create our dreams with the brain

Its like the chess game

If you play with your heart

Your round wont be a long part

If you want to stay in longer

You have to be stronger

Stop creating dreams just by heart

I know thats the worst part

But if you want them to be real one day

Its the power of edurance that has to stay

And the unrealistic shit has to go away

So go pack your stuff

Cause this journey will be rough

Thats why you need to be tough

You ask me what you will need ?

Yeah in first place your feet.

-B.I

“You’re imagining a new potential future — one with good times and challenges overcome instead of a bleak, powerless tomorrow.” 🙃😲😓😝

- RYAN HOWES, PSYCHOLOGIST

when taylor swift said "i was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere" and when liana flores said "i could do better if i had energy" and when hayley kiyoko said "i can't be alone, i need some help" and when maisie peters said "i was good, just wasn't good enough" and when phoebe bridgers said "how long will it be cute, all this crying in my room?"

romeo

"i don't even like her anymore" i say

"i'm completely, 100% over her"

but

sometimes

when i let myself glance at her

i understand how romeo felt

shouting at that balcony

dandelions

the dandelions are back

spring still feels so far, but the dandelions are back

the world may be bleak

but the dandelions have returned

last year i made a flower crown

there aren't enough yet, but at least they're there

yellow peeking out in the corner of my eye

at last, the dandelions are back

Stitched holes in my black boots with fishing line Laced in memories of the hotel room we danced in The night you told me this city wasn't yours anymore Yet I would forever be your favourite home Tattered clothing held together by rows of safety pins Keeping the places you touched in tact a little longer So afraid of the day there's one wash too many And the scent of your shampoo leaves for good Duct tape over every seam of my messenger bag Desperate to hold together our long and messy history Carrying the last stray hairs of yours that held on Rested by crumpled receipts from times we'd share Laminated covers over every message you send me Collectors items, reluctantly aware I now have them all Nothing left but to sort them into colour-coded folders You always kept your desk space so well organized Maybe if I add enough paperclips this love wont fly away Just one more day, week, month, year - eternity One last second spent in the moments between us Before you end up in another beginning, someone else's arms Stationary drawers and laundry hampers can't solve this Our chapter was far too short to end where it did We still have strings I need to haphazardly mend And staples for you to punch through my heart With this final paper plane, addressed from me to you Promise I understand not everything gets to last You've grown too much to remain nostalgic any longer Though, I wonder if the sky can ever contain what you're after If we got another chance to do it all over, start from fresh Tell me, how different could our picture book possibly be? Time after time, I swear to you I would be content As long as on each page, remained versions of you and me I would've stuck to you like glue, unwavering, you know? Taping stories together, convincing myself of grand delusion While I wanted to wait for you, it burned when you didn't stay The truth is, we both deserve better than "someday" ... "You and me, someday."

Date Written: 23rd of November, 2023

I feel so worthless without your gaze on me Stare, glare, bore your eyes straight through Leave nothing of me outside of view Attention to feed from, this insatiable desire to be seen Everyone's replaceably rested in disappointing scenes Wont you please give me pity dripped nice and slow I eat it up past full then shamelessly plead for more Consume me, devour my failed youth as your dinner Make sure to savour every short coming for desert Worry, resentment, anger, lust - dancing toe to toe As long as it keeps your sights set on me I thrive to keep my audience begging on bare knees Anything that holds their vision a little longer Without the only lenses that saw me kindly How could I ever see myself the same? Maybe it's why I search for affection in others despair Why I've chosen to dance, and bleed, and die Come, watch me violently wither by my own hands So long as it's witnessed, so long as it's real I don't care if you hate me, just say my name

Date Written: 28th of November, 2023

"...Versatility was something elusive to me and I can't find it in me to truly focus on what's happening around me, like watching a movie. Dazed, stumbling through a haze, going through the motions, ignoring the commotion taking place outside of my own destruction..."

—Camille Lee, strong personalities

read full poem here.

I've always been the one to talk too much or too loud, but in those moments she was there. Her silent rivers flowed across my cheeks as she tried to comfort me. I used to think she and I were nothing alike, but in growing up, she became all that I was. Silence, the kind of comforting ache that sits with you while you’re talked over and forgotten, but she never forgets you. She once held me in her arms while I sat and watched the stars. I saw a shooting star and wished for her to leave, so I could be heard; yet she always found her way back to me. In silent car rides and silent rooms, she held me the way I wished my mother would. Eventually, I learned to appreciate her. I meditated with her and learned her language. She told me she loved me, but hated that I was becoming her. She told me to speak, to be heard. It's hard at first when she is all you know, but I wanted to be heard. I wanted to be seen. So I became louder and louder and she cheered me on from the quiet corners of every room

I pray ,

somewhere between the folds of some pages,

someone wrote what I feel,

the yearning , the coldness , the grief,

I hope there is an explanation.

_@ineluctablehere

The It

If you see it, you’ll always see it. You’ll try to ignore it, knowing as you do how much easier it is to get along if you don’t see it, but ignoring is seeing, and it will be so much harder to get along.

Punk Spirit

Punk is an aesthetic, a form of music, a style of dress, but it’s also a spirit, a spirit in two parts. It isn’t concerned with how things are supposed to be done. It doesn’t ask for anything. It doesn’t owe anyone. It does things its own way. That’s the first thing. Consequences aren’t important. There’s nothing worth compromising yourself for. That’s the beginning of punk spirit.

Well the park bench, door, and sleeping in the rain / Little kids sitting in the shooting gallery / Set yourself up from innocence to misery / Well this is what you want, not the way of what they fucking say. —Tim Armstrong of Rancid in the song “1998”, from the album “Life Won’t Wait”

There are consequences. You’ll never be on anyone’s short list, or long list. You’ll never get a record contract. You’ll never have a big budget, or any budget. After you’re dead, no one will do a retrospective of your work, no one will make a documentary about your life, your name won’t be used as an adjective. You’ll always need a day job. You’ll die in obscurity, and you’ll stay there.

These things might not turn out to be true—nothing's certain about the future—but you have to believe they will. You can be happy about it, or unhappy about it, but you have to believe it, and you have to persist.

I had nothing, I had nothing to lose, and all that I was doing I was doing straight, always driven by the motto, “Either this way or no way.” —Blixa Bargeld in the 2008 TV show “Mein Leben”, viewable on youtube, translated by Google and corrected by me

Pig-headedness is only half of it. The other half is solidarity with the other punks, the other people taking their own way and taking it to the end.

Further, ever since ancient times, the skeptical Indra, Lord of Heaven, has come to test the intentions of practitioners, as has Mara the Tempter come to disturb and obstruct the practitioner’s training in the Way. All instances of this have occurred when someone has not let go of hopes for fame and gain. When great compassion is deep within you, and your wish to spiritually aid sentient beings everywhere is well seasoned, there are no such obstructions. —Eihei Dōgen in “Keisei Sanshoku” of his “Shōbōgenzō” as translated by Hubert Nearman

📜🖋🍂

Once upon a time there was a girl,

She didn't like who she was.

She didn't like the way she looked,

She didn't like the way she behaved,

She didn't like the way she thought.

She was always imperfect for her.

Once upon a time there was a girl,

Who always wanted to be someone else and would have given anything to make this happen,

Because in her skin she felt invisible, unappreciated, unloved.

This may have changed if she had accepted the love of others justly,

But she couldn't,

It was hard for her because she didn't love herself,

And the love from others seemed unfair to her to have.

Once upon a time there was a girl,

Who only had one friend.

She felt at home when she was with her,

But they haven't seen each other in months,

And remote communication was hard to maintain.

When she was alone it was a torment.

At that moment all thoughts rushed creating unreal worries but he could not escape:

"What if you did the wrong thing?"

"You're not good enough."

"The people you passed by earlier started laughing ... they were laughing at you."

"You look horrible!"

All this was like a rising water.

She felt like she was drowning.

Needing to breathe, her subconscious told her to take a deep breath, a thought she struggled with because you couldn't breathe underwater.

She felt trapped, her own prisoner, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Once upon a time there was a girl,

Who forgot how to love,

She forgot the feeling of being in love.

She forgot how to love love.

She was afraid to fall in love,

She was afraid to love.

That's why she kept the world at bay and moved away from everyone.

She felt like she was building a wall between herself and the others.

She didn't feel sad, but she wasn't happy either.

All she felt was security.

She wished she could feel those butterflies in her stomach,

But at the same time, she was terrified of the idea.

She wished she could feel the warmth of someone next to her,

But at the same time she liked the coolness in which she found himself.

She was lost in a maze of her emotions and didn't want to shoot anyone with her,

That's why she drove everyone away.

For her, love was like a new universe, and no matter how much she wanted to explore it, she was too afraid.

Once upon a time there was a girl,

Which wherever she was she did not feel at home.

She wanted to go home,

But she didn't feel at home at home either.

Wherever she was, she felt like a stranger,

A tourist in a space that does not deserve to be, surrounded by critical looks that judged her every move.

She wanted a place for her, but she couldn't find it;

She wanted to feel safe, but she didn't feel;

She wanted a house, but she didn't have one.

The only place that was closest to "home" was the place he saw only in his imagination,

Where she felt safe,

Where she was the person she always wanted to be.

But it hurt.

The feeling she had when she returned to reality hurt;

Sadness, anger, disappointment,

It all overwhelmed her and made her feel like she was drowning again,

Until she took it from the beginning again, imagining.

It was like a drug.

The most beautiful and painful drug the girl could not part with no matter how hard she tried.

And she knows that because she tried,

But she couldn't.

She was always pulled back by the awful feeling of peace, tranquility, security ... at home.

Once upon a time there was a girl,

Who needed help ...

But he didn't know who to ask.

Ok, so, I am sorry if my english is bad. It's my second language, but anyway here is the version written in my language:

A fost odată o fată,

Ei nu îi plăcea cine era.

Nu îi placea cum arăta, nu îi plăcea cum se comporta, nu îi plăcea cum gândea.

Pentru ea a fost mereu imperfectă.

A fost odată o fată,

Care mereu și-a dorit să fie altcineva și ar fi dat orice pentru ca acest lucru să se fi întâmplat,

Pentru că în pielea ei se simțea invizibilă, neapreciată, neiubită.

Acest lucru poate s-ar fi schimbat dacă ar fi acceptat iubea celorlalți din just,

Dar nu putea,

Îi era greu deoarece nu se iubea pe ea insăşi,

Iar dragostea din partea celorlalți I se părea nedrept pentru a o avea.

A fost odată o fată,

Care avea doar o prietenă.

Se simțea acasă când era cu ea,

Dar nu s-au mai văzut de luni întregi,

Iar comunicarea de la distanță era un lucru greu de menținut.

Când era singură era un chin.

În acel moment toate gândurile năvăleau creând griji ireale dar de care nu putea scăpa:

"Dacă ai făcut acel lucru greşit?"

"Nu eşti suficient de bună."

"Persoanele pe lângă care ai trecut mai devreme au început să râdă...râdeau de tine."

"Arăți oribil!"

Toate acestea erau ca o apă în continuă creșterea.

Simțea că se îneacă.

Având nevoie să respire subconştientul ei îi spunea să tragă o gură de aer, gând cu care se lupta deoarece nu poți respira sub apă.

Se simțea blocată, propria prizonieră și nu putea face nimic în legătură cu asta.

A fost odată o fată,

Care a uitat cum se iubeşte,

A uitat sentimentul de a fi indrăgostit.

A uitat cum să iubească iubirea.

Îi era frică a se indrăgosti,

Îi era frică a iubi.

De aceea ținea lumea la distanță și se indepărta de toți.

Simțea ca și cum construia un zid între ea și ceilalți.

Nu se simțea tristă dar nu era nici fericită.

Tot ce simțea era siguranță.

Ea și-ar fi dorit să simtă acei fluturi în stomac,

Dar în același timp era inspăimântată de idee.

Și-ar fi dorit să simtă căldura cuiva lângă ea,

Dar în același timp îi plăcea răcoarea în care se afla.

Era pierdută într-un labirint al emotiilor ei și nu dorea să tragă pe nimeni alături de ea,

De aceea îndeparta pe toată lumea.

Pentru ea iubirea era ca un univers nou și oricât de mult și-ar fi dorit să îl exploreze îi era mult prea teamă.

A fost odată o fată,

Care oriunde se afla nu se simțea acasă.

Dorea să meargă acasă,

Dar nici acasă nu se mai simțea acasă.

În orice loc în care se afla se simțea străină,

Un turist pe un spațiu care nu I se cuvine înconjurat de priviri critice care îi judecau fiecare mişcare.

Își dorea un loc al ei, dar nu îl putea găsi;

Dorea să se simtă în siguranță, dar nu se simțea;

Ar fi vrut o casă, dar nu o avea.

Singurul loc care era cel mai apropiat de "acasă" era locul pe care îl vedea doar în imaginația sa,

Acolo unde se simțea în siguranță,

Acolo unde era persoana care și-ar fi dorit din totdeauna să fie.

Dar durea.

Durea sentimentul pe care îl avea atunci când se întorcea la realitate;

Tristețea, furia, dezamăgirea,

Toate o copleşeau și o făceau din nou să se simtă ca și cum s-ar îneca,

Până când o lua iar de la capăt, imaginându-şi.

Era ca un drog.

Cel mai frumos și dureros drog de care fata nu se putea despărții oricât ar fi încercat.

Și ea știe asta pentru că a încercat,

Dar nu a putut.

Era mereu trasă înapoi de îngrozitorul de frumos sentiment de pace, linişte, siguranță...acasă.

A fost odată o fată,

Care avea nevoie de ajutor...

Dar nu știa cui să il ceară.

one.

I loved them like I loved the sky- with starry eyes, real smiles and a beating heart.

Hellooo all of you lovely people!! So, I've been thinking about writing short stuff like this for a while (fun fact: I actually used to write more spontaneously, like just write out my thoughts/random pieces of writing that are born from them before I came here) And I can't believe how much this blog and all of you lovely people have helped me grow with all of your amazing love and support (and I've been having so much fun with storytelling here thanks to you all) so this is just me trying to live up to all of that love by giving you guys some new style and content to keep reading <3333 (I know it's not heroxvillain, but the bonus is you're always welcome to imagine these lines with whomsoever you wish to do so, so I hope you all will enjoy this regardless ^^) This style would also help me post more often (when story building becomes a bit too much) so yaaay<3

Once again, thank you all so much for 300 followers!!! I love you all❤

Note: As far as I'm aware among my mutuals, @literally-just-kirby also writes some amazing creative writing content!! It's not heroxvillain (so the stuff I said above applies to this as well), but their writing is such a treat to read!! So please check those out^^ (also if there's anyone else among my mutuals or followers or people I haven't met yet who writes/is planning to write some creative writing content that is not primarily heroxvillain, please feel free to tag them /tag yourselves in the comments below)

The main goal of writeblr on the whole is to promote writing so let's give some love to all the different kinds of writing out there (because words are awesome 🤚💖)

After all, writing isn’t the whole damn world. Fuck this writer’s block.

I’ll walk around, watch Béla Tarr or Andrei. I’ll call Joyce she never runs out of words.

Or I’ll sleep it off, because I refuse to let a blank page make me consider the unthinkable.

Spilled ink

Her dark hair is falling over her naked shoulder and nape.

Spilling all over the white linen sheets like a writers mistake.

Afternoon

Afternoon sun slithers in my room

peeking from the curtains, it brightens up the room.

Warm light floods the room as my eyes struggle to open from my slumber

The song is still playing on the loop as silence echoes in my mind

Rolling off the cushion, I stare at the light in my room

I struggle to be afloat in my drowning thoughts once again.

I gather myself and go on, repeating the life on the loop.

The afternoon sun fades as the night takes the charge

The song is once again on the loop

I'm once again asleep.

Rough edges

I'm made of rough edges.

Made from torn pages and scribbled papers

Made from broken glass glued together

I'm made up of things.

I'm built on the stones thrown at me

My garden is watered by my tears and blood.

So the next time you say that I've had it easy.

Remember this human is built back from scratch.

Things weren't handed to me.

Strangers

We are now nothing but strangers. With broken promises, unsaid words, lost love and forgotten dreams. We are now strangers with just spilled love and hate.

Hope

Watching the sunrise while I chase away the gossamer of the dreams from the night.

Sipping tea and chasing the time to sunset I hope

Hope a word that makes you do the impossible.

Hope a word that gives you the courage and crushes you.

Hope a blessing to the world as well as a curse.

I hope and hope and hope.

I hope the time slows down

I hope the world brightens up

I hope to see flowers bloom on my balcony

I hope to chase the small bits of happiness with my calloused hands.

I hope to dream of the oceans and the streets far away

Because that is the only thing I can do

As I fall into the depths of my slumber tonight

I hope to see you.

Chair

I watch you read the newspapers and sipping your tea

Basking in the morning sun and little care.

You talk about nothing and everything

I see the shadow of the time as it creeps.

You sit on the chair and talk to the wind

I sit back and watch you.

You have slowed down and your voice is laboured

I watch you and sit back.

Your brown eyes and the greying hair test the time

I can now see the final line.

You have your back now hunched as you are giving a final bow

I can now only ponder.

You grow older with each passing minute

I am still frozen in the time

You sit there sipping tea on your chair

I can only say goodbye and take care.