The moon was keeping the night at bay

The stream lit black; the green grass grey

With lightest breeze, the bluebells play

With tight closed eyes, the girl would pray

Her red velvet dress was made to thrill

It bent her husband to her will

But with that came the bitter pill

Of knowing he was missing still

At twilight, when the pink skies came

She'd trace her route; she'd mouth his name

With no reply, she shouldered blame

And played her nightly crying game

Her long black hair would shroud her face

Darkening her natural grace

But still, there kept an empty place

No-one could chance to fill that space

The letter that she clutched so tight

Could have given some insight

Would have shed a knowing light

If only she'd have shared her plight

She'd spill a single burning tear

She'd never sob; lest someone hear

The water, deep, her greatest fear

She could so simply disappear

Instead, her vigil kept her there

Within the hopefulness she'd wear

Despite her thinly veiled despair

She thought it only right and fair

To hold his memory bright and strong

To think of him in right and wrong

To hold a torch, sing such a song

Even in death; they would belong...

 Write about an injustice:

 Heart pounding, boiling, a flashing white hot rage of anger spills over, a tidal wave of        

       unrepentant fury. I gaze upon the golden plains, the rising mountainous crusts 

           that bubble and simmer from the heat of passionate hands. What have I 

              done? What curse has befallen me, what sin is so great and so terrible

                  that it should so belittle me, so humiliate me? A faint whiff, a 

                     fading wisp of a memory flutters in front of me that frays

                        and fractures as my fingers stretch out, as I try and

                             make it whole again. Wafting, wading, will

                               my desire be fulfilled? Will taste rectify?

                                   I long, I yearn as a soul craves the

                                      loving touch of the familiar.

                                         The tender kiss of lovers

                                            embrace. Alas, should

                                               dark clouds that

                                                  blossom on 

                                                   the cracks

                                                    of mine

                                                     heart.

                                                        I

                                                      told,

                                                    begged, 

                                                pleaded with 

                                              them. Absolutely, 

                        explicitly, unequivocally: no olives on my pizza. 

Love's a rollercoaster

It starts out fast

Gets even faster

You climb higher and higher

There's a moment as yiur suspended in air

Then comes the drop

The turn

The screeching halt

And then you're back in line to do it all over again.

But is the ride worth it?

It looked so simple,

Just a normal wishing well,

Who knew that one wish,

Could bring about such hell?

My wish was spoken,

My coin then fell,

But suddenly I'd followed it,

Down into the well.

I gasped for air,

As the shadows descended,

Could this possibly be,

How my life is ended?

My vision's going hazy,

I can no longer see,

It seems the well has granted my wish,

For now I'm finally free.

I'm sorry.

The words ring through the air,

Echoing in my ears,

I don't know what it really means,

But it usually comes with tears.

Does it mean you wish you didn't do,

The thing that made them cry?

Does it mean you can feel the pain they feel?

Or are you just telling a lie?

Forgiveness is not easy,

At least it's not for me,

But apologizing is harder,

And that's really the key.

'I'm sorry' are two of the hardest words,

That ever can be said,

And though you often think them,

They're hard to get out of you're head.

But saying that you're sorry,

Especially after a fight,

Is the best thing to possibly say,

Trust me, you'll sleep better at night.

it's easier said then done

to take off my mask

because I live in the box

where society puts outcasts

i've been pushed and prodded

until my figure fit the cube

and the walls are so tight

there's no room to move

i've become claustrophobic

my breathing is shallow

so many limits and expectations-

not all of which I can straddle

i'm tired and sore

my back needs stretch

but i'll be here forever:

i'm society's wench

I hate that you don't give a shit

and that I care what you think

you tell me i'm crazy,

then normal, a weak link?

then it's okay to cry and

I can't help what I feel-

it'd be nice if

I knew my feelings were real

we don't all have that luxury

so when did we start

saying that depression

was cool and that a heart

is meant to be broken

we're not all the same

it's not fun to be anxious

my life's not a game

that you can imitate, no,

you can't be my mirror

you don't really understand me

I can't make it any clearer:

by confining people in

expectations and opinions

we lose originality

we all become minions

there's no one way to be

stop pretending to be sad

it's a shadow, a dark cloud

not another passing fad.

Sammie Thomas, known here as @sammielee46, says she hates acronyms.

Since the advent of chat rooms and smartphones, everyday conversations are now over-saturated with lazy, annoying, unsophisticated abbreviations of what were once actual words.

"I write, so I love our language, I love what we can achieve with just twenty-six letters, but I also despise what some people do with those letters. LOL. See what I did there?

"LOL is the most overused acronym ever. In the world.

"My mum, when I was younger, thought it meant “lots of love” and, to be honest, that would have been better than “laugh out loud.” I have an issue with this one. It pisses me off. Yes I said it out loud, only I didn’t, because I am typing here, not speaking. Therein lies problem.

"Someone messages me, I respond, and they type back "LOL."

"Why? Did you really laugh out loud? Because I didn’t hear you, and what I said wasn’t even fucking funny."

Look for the complete article today on The Official Prose. Blog at blog.theprose.com/blog.

I wrote numbers on my skin

In hopes you'd treat my like a

Paint by numbers

-I wanted you to

Revive my soul and

Return the color to my world

-Instead you used them as targets

And the only color you used to paint me

Was my very own blood red