Prose

Learn more about other poetry terms

you don’t really know me you know what I put on Instagram, and what I tweet about on Twitter or what I hide behind these Snapchat filters.  but truthfully you don’t really know me
I met him in  the deep black-coffee  night,a milk-cream moon  pouring  between us. I came to a crossroad    with rum and gun-powder  (like  all of the  books  say to do)to seek  a favor,    but all he  wanted  was 
It is there with me every day all night. In the morning when my alarm blares, and in the evening when sleep evades me.
PRESENTING: "Technological Habits." Paid in part by the subliminal masses.   (OFF MIC) "We could start by listing all the reasons why we can't have this. For instance, Class.
It's interesting to have to even consider what my Village would be, considering I am supposed to be in a village. Yet, I find myself having to define what village I am in, because the village which was assigned to me feels foreign.
Personally, I've always liked sunsets more than sunrises. Call me sadistic, but I've always found endings more beautiful than beginnings, if for no other reason than to watch how the universe ties up the strings.
BPD
you can be as  kind & as loving  as you want.    but  i still won't believe that  i deserve you. i'll  disappoint you.   suck the light
i should probably  thank you.  when you left,  i had found myself. in pieces.  when you had  gone, not just with the flat screens & fine  china, but with the 
  i'm too depressed for poetry so i keep writing prose that never goes anywhere looking for happiness between my legs and handstand kegs
Rainfall, thunder Crashes, electrifying lightning, there is something in a storm that is incredibly poetic. Past the metaphorical washing away of sins and literal lifegiving superpowers that comes from the rain.
You are an ocean I promised myself I wouldn't get lost in, but I went into this with no compass, no map, and no intention of asking for directions.
Let's get lost. Get in the car and drive until the buildings no longer look familiar. We can sing along to our favorite songs, ones we're embarrassed about knowing all the words to, but then scream them at the top of our lungs.
I can feel myself beginning to drown in you. My lungs are empty and I need the soft exhale of your breath as we kiss to keep me alive.
She taught herself how to lie. Through gritted teeth she claims that she's fine, but the world sees otherwise. She has fought for so long. Collecting purple hearts from the battles her soul has faced.
i taught you how to love again. i helped you open up your heart to more than just the familiar. the love you had grown to know.
Oh, fire walk with me? Dance with me, Kill me,  Push me. Ignite the words I speak. Kiss the people I miss. Burn my memories. Let your flames dance with me, Before it goes on eternally.
Lark,   My voice could never reach your ears, but I hope this letter might. Listen for a moment, nothing more. Let my moonlit misery reach your heart and fall into you.
II.
Soft peach cheeks Fat and lovely sweet; my babygirl Her voice is soothing and deep Like the ocean’s waves She is a caterpillar
They say candles bring peace and so I dug some out from the back of the linen closet, lost under a shuffle of old rags and never-been-touched placemats.  
I was caught between a rock and a hard place. The ancient cliché was literal. I was in the dust storm and the moon seemed tiny. 18 was the number and it seemed it would stay that way. 22 was the catch; I was ready for release.
Dear twin sister,  
If I had more time To unwind rewind the fast forwarded Crime in the brain salted lightly Not everything is flighty  Alrighty Every morning the dawn before the sun As clocks tick life to dust
When the one you love most is getting hurt, what do you do? I knew her the best; we spent so much time together, it's impossible anyone surpassed our closeness.
About 3 months ago, there was a depressed girl in college.  She was depressed because her mother was dead and her father was a drug kingpin with a different chick.
My mind is a constant war,Brewed from the dross of the emptinessAnd confusion drawn from decipheringThe concepts of reality and falsification.  
I love the way a flame dances;Slowly and gracefully moving aboutWrapping itself among the wick and emberMelting the air that we breathAnd how it does it’s gentle danceIt brings everything else to move with it
His moansAre more beautiful than any songI could ever listen toBecause through such a simple soundThat escapes from the depths of his lungsHe is capable of expressing more emotionThan words could do alone.
She knew that loving him would be disastrous, but she was already a disaster. She knew that by holding onto his hand meant that she could be left all alone, reaching out for a hand that was never meant to touch hers.
It comes suddenly, doesn't it? That feeling, that prickling sensation, crawling across the nape of your neck.
standing at the mirror and i look like a shell of myself skin stretched over bone, barely hanging on, but so am i dark circles reflecting dark corners of my mind that attack me at night like monsters playing hide and go seek impossible to catch i
It's so strange and almost silly that I noticed little things about him, sometimes things he might not have realized about himself before...  
"Hello this is the Plum Wood Police Department. How may I help you?" "I'm calling because there is a dead woman in the woods by highway 77. She has no face or eyes." "Who am I'm speaking with?"
She touches the cool surface, the reflection of her hand a shadow of herself A suburb in Utah drifts light through the small window Have you seen the news today?  
We’ve been here before, why this place again.  We built it back up when we went there again. Yes, we went there again.
When you hear or say a word too much, it stops sounding like a word and you question it, yourself, like, “am I spelling it wrong, am I saying it wrong?” and then “is this even a word?” that’s so odd, isn’t it? Why does that happen?
Whenever I hold a pencil, I get the feeling of social justice and the implication of empowerment. Empowering myself and empowering others is something that America lacks, and I make up for.
I was once asked what I think God's greatest creation is. Some say people, chocolate, music, naps. She said love, he said Disney World, I said words.
The First, his bones creak. The kick of his artillery jolts his body And he moves with it, a jerky dance that goes unnoticed As the air is filled with the sound of metal and collisions –
image: desert background with magazine cut-out text reading, "but you always like it better when it sounds like i'm in pain".
OPEN LETTER TO MY MOTHER –
We've been taught to hide behind prose So that no matter what the words say nobody truly knows What's going through our heads Ever hour until we finally turn in to our beds.
Her eyes were like shadowsReclusive and tauntingHis eyes were the sunShining, yet dauntingShe had seen him before but they never had spokenUntil one day she left him an affectionate tokenShe'd seen him at his locker, 46-BBut what she left he'd hav
If I were to be stranded on a deserted island, the one thing I would take with me  would be my empathy that stems from love that I always carry with me.  In all the time of solitude that 
When you say that you are fine, It leaves me lost to where your heart lies; What to make of such a quandary With diction so abstract in nature - I am granted the privilege akin to a diety:
I lie to myself to be good  to my self.   I'll say:  I'm going for a 5 minute walk NOW! ::::: An hour later i return smiling. :::::
I would like to wrap my words around this page-
I was glowing and I was beautiful, 
Tick Tock Two hands On a clock Six to twelve At two o’clock Five chimes ring, Schoolhouse rock   Ticking red hand, Metered like Bach; Cursive Roman numbers
Prose Poem  
As the woman swallowed the man her child watched.  Suspended in time, the child will peek around the doorframe having confused eyes.  Slowly, slowly swoops the scavenger, down on the weak, white-haired bear.  Once strong, now he is unable to claw
  Time is a terrible thing. There’s never enough and it never lasts long.
Change, change, change. What would I change about my appearance?What would I change about my life?What would I change about my world?
At any given moment you could ask me what's on my mind      and I could give you a categorized list with bullet points to spare           left blank for the few memories that are climbing out of bed
I can't see you, but I hear you. I don't know who you are. I can't determine if you are one or many, but I know you're here. Are you an angel? Are you a demon? I'll never be sure. It's too dark to see my tears.
            She went for a swim. When the sun was high and vicious and scalded the ground she walked on, she went for a swim.
Old Nichol Street Rookery, named after the devil himself, scoffed its way between High Street and Spitalfeilds. The old Victorian slum was patched like a quilt, stitched together by the neoteric architecture.
Pride was a notorious lover and womanizer. His life revolved around his constant involvement with women. Pride could woo a woman into submission and bring her to do his bidding.
Determination became a cop. Her job was hard on her the moment she earned her badge. She fought down the demons that lurked inside the criminals, all in the name of Justice. Determination was unstoppable.
Virtue owns a fashion line. She has styles that are sinful and seductive. She makes it chic and timeless and appealing. Every piece of her couture line was made to bring out the desire and passion of every woman. Virtue doesn't play it safe.
I’m not an idiot.I am smart,Clever,And deprecatingly funny.
Are you comfortable enough that even long pauses- seem complete?
Filled with rapture and glee, You were chosen among several; And now this is your departure from me, You leaving was only inevitable.   The nature of your leave was filled with sadness.
The stylus I grip in my palm is a stylist. I can create tears of joy, as I can create tears of pain. A grin, or a sharp smirk on another person's face.
Remember when you learned to walk Remember when you learned to talk Remember when i taught you to share Remember when i taught you to care
“You just told me you’re taking somebody else home because I, Your girlfriend, won’t go home with you.”   “At least I told you this time. So you can’t get mad at me.
Many start out ordinary like another walk around the house, that familiar air all around you, protecting you, misleading you, paving a path into deeper regions and then dissolving, suddenly and surely, as your imagination takes hold and fuels a wh
Ears ringingNeeding to scream but can't because of fearVision blursCan still see shapes of friends as the collapse onto the floorPain of kneeling isn't felt Lower head in admittance that I will die POP
Writing is a passion Real truth in time I write with compassion To seek what is mine Everyone will see the overwhelming passion that flows through my veins
Reality is fatal, but only a small percentage overdoses it can suck the life from you leave you tired, depressed an empty shell. So my hobbies are my drugs, my imagination my dealer
From friends from before, to friends I’ve never met… Like playing cards they are, when the deck is shuffled Same cards, different cards, Or a mix of both.
You flourish an extent of bounded knowledge only within yourself. Ignorant, what is love you ask. Clasp this wonder, your mind not be inquisitive, but at peace. Listen, Let me guide you. A flailing heart only knows so little.
Your people claim their free, but is empty of leaders with faith. None can draw a single sword from their diminutive pocket.
This world's a ticking timebomb just waiting to explode. Our maticulous lives so carefully planned, our stories go untold. There's still time left to change our ways, before our rotting bodies will decay.Here.
X
(poems go here) x. I said my goodbyes in kisses And so did you. And when you did You always waited For the next goodbye. xx. You told me you were bothered by a man that said
The icy cold water of the shower races along your skin, leaving trails of goose bumps. Your breathing is shallow; your heart works endlessly to pump life support through your veins. Your mind is numb; your world desolate.
Subscribe to Prose