Nov 20
Qwen Block's picture

Protagonist Demands Change

Hey there!

You've come to read my story. Well. You know what? I'M TIRED OF IT!
I'm tired of being read and read and read! Maybe I want a break for once! You expect me to just deal with people putting their dirty hands on my book without permission? That's rude! I have no idea where their hands have been!
I'm tired of reliving this one story one story! I want new adventures and new endings and new outcomes! That's it! I want to be a Choose Your Own Story book!
I want to live through different events each time someone reads my book! That would be so fun!
I'm going on strike. If you want to be able to read my story then make my book a Choose Your Own Story book.

Thanks,
Your favorite protagonist <3
 
Nov 20
poem 0 comments challenge: Snow
CksEH's picture

snow

Snow.

           Driving through the woodlands with a blizzard, a blizzard I say, coming my way. On route to town, down the road I go, but instead I might just go home. I very much just may. Make way I say, make way, for I have to go home I say! For a blizzard, a blizzard may just be heading our way. I rush home, passing the speed limit. Until I start to slip and slide down the windy Vermont road until my car crashes. I get out, out! And start to run, I scream “A blizzard is coming, a blizzard is coming!” Then the snow starts to fall once more, for it is not a blizzard, nor a storm, it is a peaceful Vermont snowfall. At that very moment, I realize that winter can be a beautiful season, but at the same time: catastrophic.

 
Nov 10

Snow

She pauses, and puts a hand on her chin thoughtfully, 
Wishing that the fire crackling in the woodstove 
Would swollow up her thoughts 
And create a picture for her to watch 
Because it would be less painful
If it wasn't inside her head. 
The colors swirl 
And let her eyes inside the thought
But never let them out
As they fall like snow 
And melt like snow 
And dissapear like snow
But it is not snow
It is the fallen ash of her cloud
Of her thought
As bright as winter 
As cold as summer
For her hands will not rest 
Until all of the thoughts are thrown
D
  O
    W
       N
Onto the ground.
Maybe it's snow after all.  
Nov 08

evening thoughts after not writing in awhile

getting better
what even is that?
what is better?
how are you supposed to know when you're better?
is it a feeling?
an unconscious drift in the mind? the body?
honestly, i have no freaking idea how to know when you get better 
but i'm still getting better
every day, even the bad ones, i am getting closer to "better"

performance poetry is hard to write but easy to think of
at least for me
i've always liked performing, whether it's by myself or with others
but doing anything by yourself is scarier than doing it with others
i write when i'm feeling things and i'm almost always feeling thing except when i'm not
but couldn't any piece of writing be performance poetry?
i mean if it's being performed it's a performance
right?
i could perform this if i wanted to but that would be lame, i think
yeah that would be so lame

is this even poetry? can anything be poetry?
Oct 23

When Your Footsteps Fall Heavy

When your footsteps fall heavy
Like shadows,
Echoing behind you
Attached to your feet.
You can’t breathe,
You can’t speak despite
Oh, despite how your tongue
And teeth and mouth urge you to.
When your breathe comes fast and rapid
Closing the space it exits behind it,
And the chill of words settle over your bones. 
Your hair standing on edge with unpleasantries,  
Head screaming and banging. 
Thoughts sinking towards your soul,
Questions float to the top of your brain
Like oil on water. 
When your eyes hurt, 
Your fists are sore, 
Your skin cramps, 
Your imagination begins to become vivid
With a fantasy that will never ensue.
A dream of anger, lust, sadness, 
Dread. 
Emotions. You believe,
No person should have to comfront
That is when you know, your heart has been broken.
 
Oct 02

Right and Wrong (The simple difference)

You are wrong when you say
"feminists cannot make change."

You are wrong when you say
I cannot be part of that change,
and contribute to something
that the world has never seen before.

You are wrong when you say
that I do things like a girl,
with that teasing tone,
when I am a girl,
and you struggled to keep up,
you struggled to go the distance.

You are wrong when you say
I'm not strong enough
I'm not brave enough
I'm not "man" enough,
when I know that I am brave and strong.
You want me to prove it?

You are wrong when you say
I did absolutely nothing
when my group just created something incredible,
changed something once considered unchangable,
conquered something that nobody has ever conquered before.
What have you done?

I know I am right when I say
I don't have to prove anything.
I don't owe you anything.
Sep 24

Empowered

I am no one
I sit alone in my room
Writing words that no one has read
Yet
I dream
The stars call me
Tell me what I could have
But they're not going to give it to me
I learn
Hours
Sweat and exaustion and yes, tears
But someone told me it would all be worth it
Someone handed me the world and said
THIS IS YOUR DREAM
No one is going to give it to you
Dream it
Earn it
Live it
I am empowered
I hold the power to create my own future
No one can take that power away
 
 
Sep 22

song #2

a smoky haze
it's coming from his lips
drinks are orders
"this one's on me"
a spotlight on the stage
sequins on the floor
it's dark
but darker outside
kinky hair
yellow and purple satin
mouths too close to microphones
psychedelic light
smoke in the air
stars in their eyes
Lucy clings to her diamonds
adrift in the sky
the stage is slick with sweat
it's too loud
 
Sep 22
poem 0 comments challenge: Greeting
kat_writer's picture

Dreaming of Home

Walking around the city,
a place I had never been.
Feeling lost, in a pity
and nowhere near being found.

Desperate for a trace of home, was I
Wishing to again see myself,
sitting under a tree eating pie.
Happy as could be at home.

Reflecting on how I got here,
wondering how it could be.
Longing for my friends, wishing one was near,
those neighbors I should not have left.

I jumped as I felt a tap on my back,
but from somewhere I knew
this was no attack.
I turned around and said "Hello!"

It was my best friend Jack.
Sep 21

song #1

fabric flys
twirls in humid air
drinks are in hand
sticky table
laughing
whispers
holding hands, pulling away from the crowd
to be alone
a soloist takes his turn on the keys
the dancing never stops
after it's over, cheers
a slower song
love, in pairs, floats on the floor
Sep 20

Freeze

     When I was eight years old, my mind began to find loopholes to obsess over in everyday life. Some things would randomly freak me out, and some things would bore me to death. One night, as I was lying in bed, I was obsessing over the image of a pool ball rolling on the green carpet in my mind. I fell asleep eventually, and when I did, the image of the ball rolling was still in my mind, but it was rolling closer and getting larger and larger, but it never seemed to reach me, and sometimes it would get small again and start its journey closer towards me all over again. The green carpet turned into grass that was getting torn up by the ball. 
     When the ball was at its smallest, it was so quiet that the silence was almost deafening, taking over every corner of my mind. As it got larger and larger, quick tapping sounds would grow louder until it was shattering me from the inside... 
Sep 12
Icarus Blackmore's picture

Language (words)

I love language.
the way it sounds,
the way words
roll off the tongue.

Its roots stretch back,
through time
to that first, single,
unknown, utterance.

Yet still it grows,
branches twisting 
and turning.
They sprawl off
into the unknown
with words growing
like leaves,
every one there
because it was needed.

because there was some
thought, or emotion
so complex,
that all the words
that had come before
could not express it.

In this way language grows. 
Some new shoot of life
Or another original utterance
emerges and changes.
Meanings blossom
then fade
until the flower wilts,
forgotten by time.

Yet still,
the tree stretches,
back, back to the beginning
and that very first,
unknown sound. 

 
Sep 12
poem 0 comments challenge: General
alexmistkowski's picture

Writing

When I was young I heard many things about writing
But what I was told the most
Was that writing is the most wonderful thing
That writing saves lives
And I never understood
What power words on paper hold
The power within a few words
Scrawled in messy pen marks
Across a faded off-white paper
Until one day
The day I picked up a pencil 
The day I wrote
And wrote
And wrote
Spilling my heart across the blank sheet before me 
Releasing everything I've held in my head
And suddenly I know 
The power of words
 
Aug 16

When Will it be Enough

I'm a beginner guitarist having a try at songwriting... I'm not sure how it sounds, hopefully it's decent...

Lyrics:
Well you're so great and I can't get over the modest things you've said
You're so very amazed with yourself, you're a star in your own head
Who did you think would be lining up to be your backup crew?
Open your eyes, to your surprise there's no one there but you
When will it be enough?
What would it all be for?
You had everything
But you wanted more
Here you come, the one and only
Not at the top but you're still lonely
Who will you turn to for help
Now that you've lost all to yourself?
When will it be enough?
What would it all be for?
You had everything
But you wanted more
Jul 31

Origami Wolf


I saw your eyes first.
You had a little bit of grey behind them.
Your eyebrows strung together,
And your forehead knit itself into a scarf.
I think it would be orange.

You said
“This is for me?”
As if you were surprised
That someone would take the
Time to make something for you.

...

I said “yes it’s for you (silly)”
Your scarf unraveled quite quickly.
You kinda bit your lip
Before you smiled.
It was a small smile.
It was only a tiny bit of light let
In
Through the blinds.
 
Jul 30
serenamae2020's picture

Drowning

frothy 
foams
surround me

swirling
waters
drown me

​captivating
seas
​consume me


 
Jul 19

Abrie Howe Art

Jul 01
pbellomo2021's picture

9:15

             Looking back at this past school year, I realized something. It's not the big events that matter so much. Yes, the dances, the basketball games, those do matter. But what makes a great year are those small moments that make you smile. One of those moments for me was during my 2nd period study hall everyday. At 9:15 everday in the fall, I would ask to go to my locker on the third floor. As I climbed up the stairs, it started getting brighter with every step. Then once I reached the top I saw the beautiful sunrise through the window. It overlooked the parking lot and the baby blue sky. This was my cup of coffee. Every morning I said to myself, "Today's going to be a great day." 
 
Apr 10

The Girl at the Window

There she is, in all her glory
Looking down into the street
Roses in her honey hair
Like honey, she is sweet
Stop and wonder, stand a while
'Til the sun leaves the day
Lift your head, and call her name
But she laughs and turns away
Wearing white, a silken gown
With lips as red as wine
You turn to go, she calls to you
"Come back and stay sometime!"
 
Apr 09

Everyday

Smile.
Breathe.
Smile, wider.
Close my eyes.
Think.
Second guess my next words.
Think again.
Say something.
Bite tongue.
Watch reaction.
Breathe.
Laugh along.
Second guess.
Wonder why.
Breathe.
Watch.
Bite tougue.
Speak anyways.
Watch varied reactions.
Play along.
Breathe.
Feel out of place.
Watch.
Remain quiet.
Laugh.
Close my eyes.
Breathe.
Snappy one-liner.
Smile.
Maybe it's fake.
Wonder:
"Does anyone else feel this?"