Writing Prompt: Help Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt. Giant black garbage bags sat to the left and right of her.
pink lipstick over coconut oiled lips in chapped winters. the cold drives out the lady demons. sends them back to places i’ve never been. ©
Writing Prompt: Shelf Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt. Little eight year old girls make soccer balls in Pakistan; fingers roughened
This is another piece I was working on that I think could become something. It’s unedited. I think it might make a good short story.
I wait for the day. Blue sunshine on green skies. I wait for change. Land covered lush, and fertile. I wait for the dawn. Candle
Everything exists in the space of memory. There is no past, no present, no future. There is only now. There is only memory. There is
in the land of dreams, weeping willows stand watch. they cry not for you or me, but for the world. they cry for what we
Writing Prompt: Flow Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt. My soul flows from here. Along rippling riverbeds smoothing stones. Across silt,
i return to you dressed in red painted toenails carrying my heart in my right hand my pen in my left you admire my purple
I grew black wings today. I spread them wide and flew beyond Mars. I pushed my wings to flap through thick dark space around Jupiter
Stay with me for a little while A small, tiny, infintisimal while We don’t need words only loud and invading silence We will dance to
I carry my pain on the tips of my fingers where touch finds me hiding. The world is not grand. It is a scared child
i am between the rugged spaces of non-time the spaces breathe in false yesterdays and invisible tomorrows then exhale the unpredictable now, the moment, the
Just wrote this piece. I love experimenting with prose/poetry ideas. I was thinking about how I comb my hair and whether the experience has meaning.
I am shaped by fierce white clouds against ancient blue skies Nova bound stars hang from the ends of my long black warrior locs Bright
The dusty black tar receding behind Panga ran into the forlorn past. Far from the groping and needy future, the road ahead beckoned her to
the sea boiled hot lost children cried within the foam waves carried to shore their last days rainfall is not their tears it is the
i sleep atop living and dead leaves shadowed by sensual trees whose leaves play upon my sun bathed skin untold stories whisper through fallen leaves
“I am not asking you to remember who you are. I am asking you to put everything aside and discover what has never really been
I am torn between sunrises and snow flakes, between Timbuktu and Saturn. I am wedged between the grass blades between my toes and the forgotten