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19. Complete: Be inspired by a project or task be completed – whether it’s crossing something off the never-ending to-do list, or a project you have worked on for a long time. https://thinkwritten.com/poetry-prompts/
To do: X Wake up Get out of bed Get dressed Take a shower Clean the never-ending pile of clothes on my floor Leave my room For the first time in days Let’s try to not be alone today Okay? Cook myself a meal Something real Instead of uncooked ramen And bags of stale chips Brush my hair Try not to stare At my face For too long Go on a walk They say that the sunshine Is good for a melancholy mood Go to therapy That’d be a start Go to see some friends Oh Um Nevermind To do: X Wake up Get out of bed
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You know that moment
Where something sets in In your mind And it's not like Well I knew things weren't good before From a detached standpoint People can say words like "toxic" and "unhealthy" And I can know what those words mean I can take a step back Look at the situation from the outside And say "Oh. This isn't the best." But I don't really get it I don't feel it Not until A good thing comes along A really good thing So good that I can't put it into words A glass of cold water on a day full of heat and sweat and sunburns Handed to me with a smile A pat on the back Water dripping down my neck Soothing my throat That feeling of utter relief And sure I knew I was dehydrated before But I never knew that it had gotten this bad I never knew that all of that heat and exhaustion and discomfort could lift With a simple drink And there's so much more where that came from For the first time Maybe for the first time in my life I feel I feel I feel Unburdened No heat is suffocating my lungs, my vision There's just the cool comfort of water Against my aching throat And no matter how much I try to convey my gratitude It can never come across quite right There's no words No words that aren't some convoluted metaphor About a glass of water on a hot summer's day That can show you the relief that's holding my heart aloft in my chest So I just keep saying Thank you Thank you And hope that the quantity will make up for the lack of quality You smile Kind of confused as to why there are tears in my eyes After all, it's just water But it's not It's never just water It's the fact that I've been working out in the sun for an eternity With no break No respite And my throat's been dry for days So long that I forgot what being hydrated feels like And I didn't drink water Not because I didn't deserve it or it was too hard to find But merely because there was no point After all, the heat will always come back to suffocate To suffer There's no point in easing it Because in a mere moment I'll be out here again But here you are Holding out a glass of water and a smile No judgement for my torn up, sweat-stained clothes Merely telling me "Whenever you need a glass of water I'll be happy to bring you one." I can't say thank you again I can't say thank you again So I smile and nod And say "I'll take you up on that" TW: suicide
It’s not over by @growyourpoetry on Instagram https://www.instagram.com/p/CfYyXlgKnz5/ If I could tell her one thing If I had one last moment with her I’d let her know That it’s not over That someday Maybe the pain wouldn’t cease But it would ease And be drowned out By the splendid colors of joy I’d tell her that someday The plagues of her past Wouldn’t haunt her every day That she’d find love That she’d find a purpose A reason to keep going I’d tell her That it’s not over That it’s never over Not really Not until you pull the trigger Caelyn thought that she was going to burst from the weight of it all. The feeling of a thousand eyes on her, the rapid thumping of her heart in her too-small chest, the pressure of the heavy crown resting above her brow. Her vision seemed to be outlined by a steady layer of pulsing red. A faint stinging sensation on her palm made its way to the forefront of her brain. Her fingernails digging into her hand? Most likely.
Her lungs were rapidly tightening. When had it become hard to breathe? Still, when she stood, her legs were steady and her voice was calm. “Excuse me,” she said. A few of her closest allies and advisors turned to face her, but the majority of the room continued their side conversations. The chatter of the people who utterly ignored her sent a fresh wave of rage and frustration coursing through her body. Her teeth grit. “Excuse me!” She didn’t uell, surprisingly, but her voice was forceful and left no room for disagreement. The other voices in the room slowly died down, each member turning to look at her in confusion. “This is a council meeting. A royal council meeting,” she said. “We are now starting ten minutes late because of all of your disrespect.” A few of the people shifted uncomfortably. A masculine figure in the back of the room snorted. “Sorry princess.” Caelyn found the source of the voice. Lord Harshaw, a ruddy-haired, stout member of House Fillamont. He’d been particularly…displeased with her as a girl. She remembered being told off by him on a number of occasions for chasing her male cousins around, being told that her behavior wasn’t “appropriate.” It was funny how they never received the same complaints. She held back a string of frustrations. “I am your queen, Lord Harshaw,” she said. “Not your princess. You will address me as such. Do I make myself clear?” Lord Harshaw frowned, his jaw bouncing as it was clenched. “Yes, Your Hi—Majesty.” Caelyn didn’t know whether the slip-up was intentional or not, but it wasn’t exactly like she could call him out for it. She took a breath, trying to call her father’s words back to her. “Never let them see that they get to you. If they see that they can exploit your weaknesses, they’ll never stop.” So, instead of lunging across the table and snapping Lord Harshaw’s neck as she so wished to, she pulled a tight smile onto her lips and said, “Splendid.” She turned to face the room. “I know that a lot of you have your concerns about my leadership,” she said. It was putting the blatant insults and threats that had graced her waking hours since her father’s death lightly, but, well, politics. “But, for better or worse, I am now the ruler of this kingdom. I expect to be treated as such. I will listen to your advice and wishes, but I will not bow to them.” “No offense, your majesty, but the kingdom has never been ruled by a woman on her own,” said a young lord from the back of the room. Caelyn had to hold back a bite. Why was it that when a man was forceful in the face of insults he was called assertive, while when a woman did the same she was called a bitch? She sighed. “And how will you ever know what I am capable of if you do not give me a chance to show you? I was named—” “But how can—” “—my father’s heir—” “We know, but—” “And how will you ever know what I am capable of if you do not give me a chance to speak?” she roared. It wasn’t like the big cats that the trainers had brought to the palace in her youth, but rather like a kitchen fire that had had salt thrown upon its flames. The lord who had been speaking to her jumped back, as if the flickering fire of her words could burn his skin. “The gods have deemed me fit to rule, else they’d have struck me down at my coronation. Whether you like it or not, I am your queen. If I am interrupted again, I will not hesitate to have my guards not only throw you out of the meeting, but out of this castle. Am I understood?” The table around her hesitated, seemingly unsure of how to respond. Finally, a chorus of, “Yes, Your Majesty,” echoed around the room. Caelyn sighed, tucking a strand of loose hair back behind her ear. “Now,” she said, waiting a second for the voices to die down. “Does anyone else have something that’s so important that it cannot wait until the open call for discussion?” A moment. Two. No one spoke up, either having no need to or too intimidated to. A small smile graced her lips. “Excellent. Then let us begin.” 28. Poison: Describe something toxic and its effects on a person. https://thinkwritten.com/poetry-prompts/
You’re toxic You drew me in With pretty words and gentle touches Like a moth to a flame Or a mouse to a trap You promised safety, shelter Arms to hide in Arms to hide from Why do you detest my arms? Why can’t I hold you? You promised love You promised fun Your lips tasted like candy But they felt like poison Sinking into my skin Infecting my brain With your words With your hate It’s been years Why won’t you get out of my head? I guess it’s too late For the antidote I miss last summer
The smell of chlorine in your hair The taste of lemonade on your lips The warmth of the sun And the warmth of your arms Keeping me safe from harm Late night talks And evening walks Toasting food and skin by the fire My love I miss Your summer kiss And the way that we desired Write a story about two characters who have been fighting for so long, they can’t remember what started it.https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/general/write-a-story-about-two-characters-who-have-been-f/
Her eyes blaze. Then again, when do her eyes not blaze? Her angry words catch in my chest, lump in my throat. Whereas they might’ve once set me alight with her—a match to a puddle of gasoline—now, they just make me tired. How long have we been having this same argument? This same fight but in different fonts? I sigh. “What?” she snaps in response. “I’m tired.” “Then go to bed.” “I don’t mean sleepy. I’m tired, Jaden.” I run a hand down my face. “What is this?” “I could ask you the same question.” “Do you even remember why we’re fighting over this?” Her brows furrow and her mouth opens, ready to jump into another heated retort, but nothing comes out. She pauses, frowning. “I—I asked if you, if we, could talk about our future and you said—” “I listened. And I said that marriage wasn’t something that I could ever do, and you kept telling me you wanted it. Hell, Jaden, we’ve been having this same fight every day for three months.” “Not every day,” she pouts. “There’s been some good days.” “Some,” I concede. “But they’re always ruined by the bad ones. The wondering when the next fight is going to be.” She doesn’t have anything to say to that. “I’m tired of fighting with you all the damn time.” “Me too.” “So we need to stop this, love.” I cross my arms. “I don’t want to keep fighting. I know it hurts you, and I’m sorry for that, but I’ll never get married.” Her eyes light with angry fire once more. “See, this is why we keep fighting. You’re so fucking stubborn. Have you even thought this through at all? No, you’ve just made up your mind.” “That’s not true,” I say as gently as I can. “I’ve thought about it every day since we’ve been together. I wish that I could change this. If nothing else, it’d make you happy. But I can’t.” “Why not?” “You know about my parents.” “Why does it matter what happened to them? We’re different.” “We’ve fought for three months straight, and we’re not even engaged. What’s to stop it from becoming ten, twenty, thirty years if we’re married?” “So what? You’re just…giving up on all of this?” “I’m not saying that—” “But you are. Marriage is a part of the deal for me,” she says. “I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a little girl. I need that commitment, that agreement to keep trying.” “And a relationship isn’t enough?” “No, it’s not. If you think that you’re going to get trapped with me, then it’s not.” She hunches into herself. “If marriage is a deal-breaker for you, then we can’t keep doing this.” “Yeah,” I say. “I guess it is.” She looks up at me, her eyes wide and scared—as much as she tries to hide it. It breaks my heart. I wish that things could be different, but I don’t tell her that. “So…we’re done?” “Yeah,” I sigh. “We’re done.” I can’t get you outta my head
I can’t keep you outta my bed All of my friends tell me That I’m distracted Something’s off Something’s rough Please tell me why I can’t say no Please take me and let me go Don’t leave me hanging on Either take my hand Or take my heart Or leave me standing in the dust Baby if you must If you keep playing this game I won’t ever be the same Show me mercy Don’t destroy me I’ll make it worth your time It was rainy today
The water soaked through my clothes Soaked through my skin Chilling me down to my bones The overcast skies Did absolutely nothing To brighten my gloomy mood I’ve felt like this before That death grip on my heart Tying me to my bed Sending pain signals through my head I stay still for two days And hate myself when the clouds finally clear This is the first time That the fog hasn’t gone away It gets easier to see through at times But the heavy clouds over my head Never really leave my side Every single time the sky starts to clear My hopes are doused With bucket-fulls of rain Will I even remember what the sun looks like By the time the skies finally clear? “Do you miss me yet?” From me! My post on dialogue prompts on my instagram, @writerial_ https://www.instagram.com/p/Cd8V39krrpH/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link
My finger hovers over the send button. The world around me looks a tad fuzzy. It sways for a moment before falling back into place. I’m not sure whether it’s the alcohol in my system or the general lack of my self-preservation that made me think that this was a good idea. The two are battling the ounce of self-control still in my head. He’s putting up a valiant fight, but he’s not winning. Anyone can see that. My finger hits the screen. It only takes a moment for the text underneath to change from “Delivered” to “Read at 1:16 AM”. I watch as the dots appear, go away, appear again. “What???” I frown. What’s there to be confused about? I once again type my message, though the typos are more apparent this time around. “Do yuo miss mr yet?” More dots, then, “Charlie are you drunk?” “No,” I type back. “Jusr tipsy.” I can practically hear Jamal’s sigh from the other end of the phone. “Charlie, you’ve gotta go to sleep man.” “I’m nor tired.” Idiot. Like I’d be texting him if I was tired. “Uyo didm’t answer my quesrion.” The dots appear, go away, and then appear again. “I don’t know how you want me to answer that.” How do I want him to answer that? Do I want him to miss me? I’m not sure. I frown at my phone. “Idk.” “So then I just won’t answer it,” he says. “And you can get some sleep and we can all pretend this never happened, alright?” “No,” I reply immediately. “I wanns answer.” Dot dot dot. Dot dot dot. They go away, then reappear. The process repeats. I pout angrily at the phone, willing a response to come through. But it seems Jamal is as indecisive as ever. I have to wait for what seems like an eternity before he says, “Don’t make me answer that Charlie.” “I’m not naking you do antyhing,” I say immediately. “I miss uyo.” “I know.” “I likr you a lot uyo know.” “I know.” “Wht don’t you likr me?” There’s no response to that, so I double down. “I mran, you sais that uyo were curoius so why not mr?” I wait. The dots appear, then disappear. “You make me scared, Charlie,” he says. “You make me feel things that I didn’t know that I could feel.” A pause. “Now please just go to sleep. We can talk about this when you’re sober.” “I sm sobre,” I say. But I don’t say anything further. I turn off my phone and stretch out on my couch, not trusting my body to get me to my bedroom without falling over. I curl into myself and let myself fall into a deep, restless sleep. |
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