When I lay on the mellow green

Of the earth

who fosters me like one of its

missing child,

making me drunk on the honey comb

Filtered juice that warms my flesh

from a far away driven sight

and jewel me with its dirt

that smells as though

my entrails have been hidden within,

bewitching me to call it a home.

The autumn wavers its hello

in its brown and crusty foundation

but it feels as if

the spring has crawled on me

Lightly bruising my cuticle,

All naked and archaic

as though It has been waiting for me;

To be the fragrance of the woods

again to be someone

I have always meant to be.

// Even the

Cool ocean's tide

rise against the gravity

when the moon

unveils its parts

Every end of twenty ninth.

Even the

mountains elapse

Over the oblivious clouds

to peck the follicles

Of the sun's rays.

But I,

Like the wolf to its moon

howl to see your sight

and all I could fathom

is your glance

for one half second of my beats;

I see you and unsee you

as if you are breathing

within my eyes. \\

Looking at those amber trees

I sense the fragrance of a past

forgotten parchment memory.

Its aroma drools me over

and entagles me about my being

and I'm bamboozled with this thought

whether it's hugging me or strangling me.

I feel loved but I couldn't feel unseized.

Am I free or am I not?

Is it love or is it not?

The dead petals lie on my ground,

unsalted and deserted

And I feel like crying to leave them a loner

for years of my dusty past

when they needed me to...

Oh! Have I realised it now?

What would they need me for?

"May be to caress them and kiss them

Like how the humans do

To the graves of dead."

Said the branches shading me.

In this garden of amber

where I smell lilies and lavenders

and roses and sunflowers

and sense the shadow of outgrown banyan

and eat from its harboured luxury,

feeling like Alice in wonderland

I keep wondering,

Am I free or am I not?

Is it love or is it not?

"What else do I need to satisfy you with?

You are loved when you are favoured,

You are loved when you regret

For the wrongs of your past,

You are loved when you feel like home

around me".

Said the branches shading me.

If only I didn't make them

my parchment memories,

I wouldn't have questioned

Your love over my guilt swollen worth.

If only I decided to let it sleep

On its natural matress

than my deserted island

I wouldn't have asked

'Is it love or is it not? '

But today

I feel guilt free because

I have mourned my heart

for my dead petals and I will lay

them beneath on the matress of its fate;

One day again when the the bronze of the soil whistles about its fertility

I would know they are happy,

The petals are happy and so am I.

She closed the door.

Then tried to turn on the bedroom lights.

They failed to work.

She heard someone sneeze.

‘Bless you.’

It came from underneath her bed.

She tiptoed and checked to see who was hiding there.

When she peeked around and tried to reach for it~ *Slap*

This was her room, it had no right to disturb her in her private space.

She felt something crawling on her skin.

It was a tentacle trying to squeeze her neck..

She gasped for air!

Then she saw its full form right before her body hit the floor~ *thud*

#TheKrakenstein

Dear young one,

It is ok to fail.

You are allowed to bend and break and grow and shrink and sink.

It won’t diminish your worth.

And you won’t stay that way for long.

You’re too stubborn for that.

It’s ok to say no.

You don’t have to date the guy who makes you feel uncomfortable just because he asked.

You don’t need to drown in responsibly for other people to like you.

It’s ok to take a breath now and then.

If you spend a weekend on the couch with a box of sweets, that doesn’t mean you are weak.

And it’s ok if it takes you a long time to learn all these lessons.

You are strong.

You are loved

And it gets better.

Love,

Future Me

We didn’t always have a family of five. It was once only two. When my older sister came it was three, and when I came it finally became four. That was it. We were only a family of four. I liked our family of four. I always thought that four was a nice number for a family.

But then came a fifth, and that fifth wasn’t even ours to keep. She belonged to somebody else. I remember our car skidding to a stop in front of a dimly lit building I’d never seen before. The only light came from one single door in the corner, almost beckoning us to come in. She was only four months old at the time and felt like a fragile dandelion that could be blown by the slightest breeze.

Mom said she was only supposed to stay the night. That night.

I remember sitting on our big, leather couch watching this giggling mess of a baby trying to roll over on the floor. I wondered what made her giggle so much. I wondered what made me smile when seeing this baby filled with uncontainable laughter.

Mom said she was only supposed to stay this week. That week.

I remember walking through the bread aisle in Publix and being met with the uncomfortable feeling of someone watching my back. Every person in every aisle reacted the same. Their one glance turning into that one stare. She was brown and we were white. Every one of their drawn-out looks was a reminder, that she wasn’t ours to keep. We continued on past the bakery and its sugar-filled smells. Each pastry was a work of art. Yet among the many intricate designs was a simple black and white cookie. Although that simple pastry was made of frosting and dough, not glass, I felt as if my family’s reflection was on display for everyone to see.

Mom said she was only supposed to stay this month. That month.

I remember signing up for the childcare at my church, just so she wouldn’t cry every time we dropped her off. I wondered what made her cry so hard. Did she think we wouldn’t ever come back? Did she think we were leaving her?

Mom said she didn’t know how long she was staying. I hoped forever.

I liked the number five. I thought that five was a nice number for a family. I wanted a family of five.

Mom said we were just going on a trip to Colorado. Just a trip.

I remember asking “Why can’t she come with us?” and Mom replying “She’s too little to go on a plane.” I didn’t argue. Mom was always right. Mom was always right unless she wanted to be wrong.

Wrong. I remember sitting in the fake leather seats in the congested airplane. The air was filled with the sound of high-pitched crying. Looking down the aisle, I could see a small infant, no older than four months, wailing in her mother’s arms. I glanced back at Mom, studying her face. Before I could ask that simple question once more, she answered.

“She went back.” Mom said. The word back seemed hard to say in her mouth. A word that I might have written a thousand times over without it truly having meaning. She went back. She belonged to somebody else. Not us.

I remember that night in Colorado. My white, hotel sheets had been darkened from my tears. The cold, wet feeling left on my pillow that wouldn’t ever dry. We were only a family of four. I hated the number four.

For an entire year, we went without hearing from or seeing her. Our four-person family didn’t feel quite right, like a car with four wheels, yet it was still missing its steering wheel. Our even-numbered family somehow felt odd.

For one of the first times in my life, I kneeled down onto the carpeted flooring in my bedroom and prayed. For the first time, I didn’t fight the tears in my eyes. I let them roll down my cheeks and onto the floor. For the first time, I let out everything.

Why couldn’t she stay? Why couldn’t she look like us? Why couldn’t she… Why couldn’t she…

My hands gripped harder onto my scuffed knees. Each tear tore through me.

And I prayed one simple sentence. Just let me see her again.

As usual, we went to church on Saturday. As usual, we would walk by the playground. It all felt like an as usual Saturday. But then came the fifth, running into the playground. There she was. She was there. But as I came and sat with her on the playground, I saw no recognition in her face.

“Do you know my name?” I smiled trying to say without letting the tears fall. The little brown girl with afro hair shook her head, and then went back to the slides on the playground. Up and down. Up and down. I couldn’t help but watch, my eyes following her movements. Up and down. Up and down.

When I met her once again in the childcare room at church, I couldn’t help but feel overjoyed. Now there was a slight bit of recognition in her face. For me, that was enough. I was surrounded by children, yet I truly cared for only one.

Week after week, I held her in my arms every Saturday. Only on Saturday. I loved Saturday.

Mom said she’s coming back.

Back. The word’s meaning had changed so drastically. She was coming back home. This time I promised to hold onto her tight and never let go.

A year went by - I had gotten used to her monthly visits with the mother, and the difference in the way she acted when she came back home.

Another year - I had gotten used to her father’s letters from jail, which she couldn’t yet read, and his drawings of Mickey Mouse.

Another year - I had gotten used to her funny little questions, “Mommy, when I get older will I be white?”

And on May 26th of that same year, Mom said she would stay. And I knew she meant forever.

The push and pull of affection

ignites my blood

yet stills my heart

filling my galaxy with

dying stars and scarred moons

(gliding your fingertips across my veins)

…a symphony long forgotten.

There’s a saying, perhaps

A scientific fact -

No one’s face is perfectly symmetrical.

Perhaps this goes for bodies as well.

For I am right handed.

And all my damage is now

on my left hand side.

I want to tell my past self

That while my wrists are no longer equal

In appearance,

They hold so much more power with

My pen

Than past pain ever could.

Keep writing, babe. Don’t look back.

*So yet again I exceeded the word limit for a Challenge - but it was worth it! So here it is randomly and you can find the original Challenge here: https://theprose.com/challenge/10235

A poem from Mazzmyrrheyes

Another joke or pearl from JimLamb

Finder's posts are hard to find

But worth it when I did

GaryEnglish follows his handle

And Huckleberry is Hoo you follow

Dctezcan warms your heart

Either with kindness or a sociopath's microwave

rLove327 plugs away with coffee

Rhlencash spits out another ballad

Tuskntale makes me smile

While Mnezz curates my whole day

Harry_Situation brings the geek out

2bamboopanda keeps it real

Undermeyou brings everyone together

Ribeyemoshpit makes me laugh

Taki writes mysteriously

Lexicon meticulously

ajrfanze keeps it short but sweet

BarAloiscious has to, but maybe grits their teeth

I nearly miss SaroSathivelu's gems

She digs real deep it seems

Inlovewithwords definitely loves them

Wordvom fills the void with dreams

Luthien diligently taps away

GhostHerald plays a tune

dominospice is sad but nice

Beancounter chases away the grays

Boxcartramp tramps out the dust

Rustknight squeaks along

Dragonchild likes it wild

KassKatt likes it strong

TomJonas spins a fancy phrase

The_Book_Girl_K crafts a castle

charlottewrites (oh yes she does)

Hazelnut blooms like a warm cup of coffee

I can't fit them all

Into a Prose challenge, really

But I will spend as many minutes as I can

When they have spent theirs making my day