Nina
I kissed the warm wood of her casket just before she was lowered into the shadows of her grave. My heart, my friend, and my little girl since our mama died in a blizzard so many years ago. I returned to work a week later, still struggling to function and put on a normal facade. I had asked that my coworkers not mention her death; I knew I could not attempt to comment without breaking down. I heard that one coworker had commented, "What's her problem; it's only her sister." A week later she got the news that her sister was dead. She died as my sister had, from a car accident. Karma
I don’t get a thank you
I'm always here for everyone and not me do I get a thank you no I do not. I treat everyone with respect and nobody notices how i'm nicer than I should be. People only notice when I'm arguing with them or lashing out. I give more than 2 chances and nobody cares how i'm getting hurt by doing it. Why can't I have a thank you. I just want a day when people notice me and how much effort i put into everything. if i died today would they notice me. Can I get a thank you for forgiving everyone, even the people are why I am so broken, can I get a thank you for keeping my mouth shut when what I was gonna say needed said, for treating everyone with respect even if they don't deserve it, even the ones who made me broken, who taunted me every single day. I thank everyone can I just get a f**king thank you. I'm here why cant you see me. Heres a thank you to you, thank for breaking me, for making me feel like ill never be loved, to make me feel like i'm ugly, for not paying attention to why I act the way I do, for judging me, for taking advantage of me, for ruining me, Thanks, then I deserve one.
The line between enthusiastic and dramatic is blurry
Sometimes I don't see the difference between the two
I cry out for my passions, my desires, my wishes
The reply: don't be so dramatic
I pout, I complain, I refuse to play along:
Can't you be more enthusiastic?
What if drama and enthusiasm was just one and the same?
Challenge Winner- A Meal that Changed Your Life
Holy cow.
Let me start by saying that these challenge entries blew me away. I thoroughly enjoyed reading every last one of them. There were at least four tied for first in my mind. That said, a winner must be chosen.
The winner of this challenge is...
Mazzy with her post: Hug on a plate
If you haven't read it yet, you should. This piece won because I smiled the entire time I read it. Not many writers can do that, and Mazzy seems to have a gift for it. Beautiful work, Mazzy.
Ferryman also wrote a piece entitled Saturdays that sucked me in and made me feel like I was sitting in the diner's booth, that bitter-sweetness of words unspoken hanging in the air. Excellent piece.
rlove327 wove words in his usual brilliant way with his piece called Breaking Bread and made me wish to be invited to his retirement dinner. I could feel the echo of a life well lived in the air of the yet-to-occur dinner party.
WhiteWolfe32 wrote something about Frozen Burritos that was relatable in the most painful, beautiful way.
And last, but not least, SamWebster posted his work in the last few days of the challenge, and boy, am I glad he did. His post Communion was simply magnificent. A revelation. It is something I have no doubt I will read again. I enjoyed every last sentence.
There are others I could mention, but I think I'll stop there. Just excellent work typical of Prose. You guys are incredible, truly. If you haven't read these yet you should: https://theprose.com/challenge/13839
Thank you all for sharing your work with me.
hold it in, like medicine
It's the disgusting sting on my tongue.
hold it in, like medicine
It's the burn in my throat
The sick in the back of my mouth
hold it in, like medicine
I've been given the wrong dose
The wrong pill. The wrong drug. The wrong cure.
hold it in, like medicine
But it destroys the natural harmony of my inner workings
It messes with my pH, triggers a fever;
It's killing me.
hold it in, like medicine
If I emptied my stomach onto to floor, my still pearly teeth would rot.
Spit would dribble down my clothes. I'd stink of vomit and natural digestive fluids. Eyes would draw to me, and they would see a mess instead of a victory.
I hold it in, like medicine
I keep the barf in the back of my throat. My nails break into my skin. I bite into my own tongue. The pain masks the acidic burn and the blood mixes with saliva. I pinch the sides of my mouth tight—none of that foul liquid will seep through.
No one will see.
hold it in, like medicine