Hi there! It’s me, justaperson, a teenage writer that you decided to follow whenever.

Thank you for being so supportive!

I started to write more frequently once I found this website. Between the challenges and random thoughts that came to me, I slowly started to spread my wings on here.

Once again, thank you all for being so supportive! Without all of you, I don't think I would still be on Prose today.

Thank you for letting me vent when needed, and helping me see the views of others.

Thank you for being so chill about others' opinions (though I do see some lovely arguments between the best of us).

Thank you all for letting me be me, and accepting me for me, something I don't always do.

Thank you for welcoming me when I started and helping me grow.

Thank you for being such kind and caring folks, and supporting not just me, but others on this amazing website.

Thank you for learning and growing right alongside me.

Thank you for reaching out, introducing yourself to me.

Thank you for being you.

I love you all and wish you the best of luck in anything you try to accomplish!

Keep imagining,

Keep talking,

and most importantly,

Keep writing!

- Kat

aka justaperson

She said she was fine

She said she was okay

You trusted

You presumed

That she was not lying

She looked happy

She looked carefree

You assumed

You believed

She had a mask

She had a facade

You judged

You concluded

That she was happy

She was lost

She was broken

You didn’t notice

You didn’t know

Until

That dreadful day

You found her

A knife by her side

The color red blinding you

The scars on her skin

One was recent

One was deep

One took her

And kept her for themselves

Canary yellow sunshine

glides through my air

my shutters are thrust open

to breaths of pure elation.

#Challenge #FourLinesNewPoem

I can feel the wind rushing through my hair.

The speed lifting me from my feet.

Its an addiction, its a curse.

The adrenaline in my veins as I look in all mirrors searching for police.

The lightness of my car flying as it reaches triple digit speeds.

The exhileration of acceleration.

The power at my toes, controled by my fingertips.

The roaring sound of the RPMs raising in the engine.

Its in my veins, poison traveling through me.

An addiction, a drug stuck in my system.

This is a time for art

For bold colors and

Attention to detail

A time for the good

To outshine the bad

It is a time for blending

For blurred lines to

To curve and disappear

Off of the canvas

A time for tearing down

Grey wallpaper and

Thrashing the panels

With neon blasts

I want to paint

The world around me

In pastel imagination

And dab my brushes

In dreams

I bid you fun rest

The poet is asleep, see

It cannot make poems

for now, currently.

Its mind is filled

in murk and filth

it seeks to hurt

to rage, to quit.

Maybe it thinks

a poem would taste more sweet

if filled with salt

and bitter things.

Of course such thought

is quite, honestly foolish

because to drown in pity

is to admit defeat.

So once again, the poet

in frustration, heaves.

Because, says its unbitten tongue,

Poems filled with empty bubbles

tires him out, ceaselessly.

#poem #prose #poet #drama #sigh

fire when you touch my skin

fire when your lips reach mine

fire spreading in your smoldering eyes

sing to me of the summer nights,

when the cold reaches my veins

when it hurts my hands,

tell me about the sun

and the almost nightless days

whisper to me how it was

the warm breeze touching my skin,

tell me this and so much more

my scorching lover

while the Winter cold

spreads under our hearts

and under the covers

the snow falling to the ground

chilling me to the bone

clouding my vision

and making me numb...

keep me warm to all ends

with your blazing loving arms

and a burning gaze

to devour me slowly...

spread the fire my love

so we can burn together

and turn to ash

under these white sheets

and the silvery moon

with a heartless night

and a Winter's tale

setting the world on fire

in a tight embrace

feeling like we belong in Heaven

while stuck endlessly in Hell

strings and hooks tempt and lure

but only some ascend

from the water, cool to hot

and none can contend

severed, skinned and seasoned

crackling flames offend

crisp out and soft within

in and down a different trend

Splash. Splash. Splash.

Against my legs the waves splash.

So hot... no. Cold. Cold.

Numbing cold.

So cold I can't feel

Anything.

My legs are turning black,

Black with numbness and cold -

No. Black with ash.

My legs are melting away.

The waves are fire,

Lapping against my skin.

The heat...

It's too much.

It's not even heat anymore.

It's cold. So cold.