to know that nothing

will break us

early

except mistake

or faith in fate

or something outside

of our control

is good enough

when the

head is clear

and the moon rolls blue

down the arms

and the fire in our

bellies

fans up and out

to beat the

ugliness

while Coltrane

rips the notes from

his heart

and throws them at yours

while the heat pipes up

from the vents

and the dogs

dream on the couch

while you know the night

moves through you

while the words bite

into the page

while the bums

fuck in the alleys

and the women bait

the tables

alight by wax or neon

while the streets are cold

and stink of exhaust

of smoke

of broken-tooth breath

and slimy whispers

we stay

where we are

warm with

red wine music,

poems,

and these nights at the table

the guts in the

wood of the room

even the lamps and

light from the kitchen

hold a dignity

the streets can’t

touch

the window and moon and

sound of the keys

our burning punk compulsion

against the

ordinary things

on the other side of

the door

on nights like this

when we

get back to

what we’ve

learned from

our dead.

Growing up

My mom always said

That she would accept me

No matter what

Even if I ended up

Liking boys

Or

If I would be happier to be a girl

She always said

It didn't matter

Because her love was

Unconditional

But now we're here

And I've told her

That I'm not one-hundred percent

About this boy that I am

But instead

Of open arms

And love

I get

What she likes to call

"Pointers"

Things like

"You wouldn't be pretty as a girl"

And

"You're body is too straight to be feminine enough"

"You wouldn't have big enough breasts to be a woman, you know."

The worst thing is

She doesn't even realize

That what she's saying

Hurts

I have an aunt now

That used to be an uncle

On my moms ex-lovers side

(She used to love girls)

She refers to her

As her previous name

"Ernie"

Not as who she is now, "Giselle"

I try and tell her

To use she and not he

All she does is yell in reply

That I'm always on her case

I wonder if she realizes

That she's part of the reason

I want to take a blade to my wrist

Or down all my pills at once

I try and think positive

That I don't have it so bad

That others have been kicked to the streets

After telling their parents

But this isn't easy either

Some people can't just

Roll out of bed

And love themselves

For others it's a long process

Of telling yourself you're worth it

And that

You're strong enough

To make it through this

Trace your fingers

About my cracks

Fix them

Patch them up

Make me feel

Whole again

With your touch

Look at me

In the eyes

And tell me

Everything's

Going to be

Okay because

You're here

To wrap

Your arms around me

Chase away

My fears

With your

Passionate kiss and

Don't let me leave

Hold me close

'Cause god knows

I want to be

Let me lie

My head

On your chest

And make me feel

Calm and collected

For once in

My life

Squeeze me

In your embrace

And show me

How much

You care

One of the greatest pleasures in life, especially for Prose., is discovering new talent in the literary world.

When this prolific Proser first surfaced late last year, all of us here were taken aback.

Her deeply insightful voice and stylistic variations left us curious. Admittedly, we developed a number of preconceived notions: we thought she might be older, possibly married or recently divorced. Had she retired from a long career and discovered writing late-in-life as a recently developed hobby or means of therapy?

The only way to know for certain was to ask her. Who is Lynn, really?

Born Gabriella Lynn, her friends and family often call her Belle. She was born in Corbin, Kentucky and has six siblings. She says she’s moved around quite a bit, to five different places in Kentucky, then three homes in Virginia, two in North Carolina, and finally coming back to Virginia where she currently lives.

“Years from now,” she says she hopes to further her education and land a job she can love.

P: What is your relationship with writing and how has it evolved?

L: I’d say it’s a love-hate relationship, honestly. I’ve gone back and forth trying to determine if this is something I could actually pursue as a profession or otherwise. But I think my writing has evolved tremendously. Not only in being comfortable with a style of writing but also with connecting better with myself both through my own words and others’.

P: Briefly discuss the value of reading has in your personal and professional life.

L: Reading always puts me in a good mood. It helps with creativity and learning something new. When someone interrupts me while I’m reading I get a little hostile.

Reading has greatly furthered my knowledge of the literary arts and I can’t thank authors enough for sharing that part of themselves. Every book I’ve read has influenced me in some way, and changing lives is a big deal. Every person who has tried or does write is an inspiration.

P: Describe your current literary ventures. What can we expect to see in future posts?

L: I’ve never been much of a risk taker, but I plan to continue trying new styles of writing. I’ve been trying to read some of my pieces aloud in hopes to grow more comfortable with what I’m writing, but I always seem to fall short. I guess I’m embarrassed to share a part of my mind openly like that, even if it’s only the walls to hear it.

As for future posts, I would say expect to see more poetry. Things that have to do with lost love and summer scents. But I’m no psychic. My mind has a habit of surprising me from time to time. I might attempt to even write a few short stories but, as I said before, I’m not much of a risk taker.

Prose. means everything to me. I’ve published more than 400 posts and almost every single one (if not all) would not have been created if it weren't for this place.

I have never connected with a group of people like this, especially with writing, and it means the world, the universe and all the stars to me. I have no websites or blogs so, if you’re here on Prose., you won’t miss anything.

Be sure to follow @Lynn here on the app and visit theprose.com/Lynn to read more from her growing body of work.

__________________________

This #FridayFeature blog series is designed to help you get to know your fellow community members better. Would you like to nominate someone for interview? Have a question you’re dying to ask of someone on the platform? Send us a private message here or visit our contact page to get in touch: theprose.com/p/contact.

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'm so goddamn sick of being black and blue I'm through it's time to lay down a new coat of paint something the rain won't penetrate I'm no bedroom wall my skin is being berated by hurricanes I am a lighthouse with a fear for waves I am the survivor and I am the storm pick up your feet don't wander you've got to run if you're looking for anything but comfort let's move on let's take another road maybe the one with pot holes so you don't fall asleep maybe the one with gravel so you're numb once we get through let's go let's get there let's leave here I can't breathe beneath the sheets it's suffocating please keep reading have you ever had that feeling like maybe you're making a mistake but you keep right on reeling with someday and too soon and take two

I never wanted to fall apart all I ever wanted to be was art all we ever needed was a brand new start and how can I be proud of these walls when it's coated in chipped paint and water stains from when heartbreak leaked in through the roof it's just proof I'm no longer pure how could you tell me to just keep going when there's no where to get to how could you

here we go and there we went and do you wanna go again we used to be breathless we used to know butterflies but they've flown and we've grown and what's the use of crying over cartons of spilled secrets when everyone could see through me anyways I want to remember what it is to be new what it is to meet you what it is to be blue like the sky like your eyes like everything you never knew

and I might be a mystery but my heart has always been on my sleeve all you've got to do is dig through a few layers of cellophane to touch the rotting remains of feelings I now fake my life is in refrain my mind is down the drain

I buried my blades I flushed the pain that doesn't mean I don't remember how it was to rain saltwater what it means to bleed rivers how it feels to swallow smog and sewage what it is to slip on your own spewage

look away saving face saving grace

I just need a new layer of paint

pale blue like you were under the moon pale blue like I was under you pale blue like we were in the morning dew new fly flew

just let me cover up my bruises

don't give me grief as I touch up my smudges because I never asked to be imperfect all I ever wanted was blending and if you have the beauty to judge me then good for you how about a hand

how about a leg

let's remember we were only ever here to surrender and as I recall you arrived prepared to fail but somewhere you lost your brush lost your touch

grab a roller and let's get going

these walls won't paint themselves

White wine

scallops

the ocean breaks the shore

fucked up thoughts

pervasive through

the centuries

drunk and sober

the failure of love

the failure of time

the confused and hungry

years

failure is the heart's

excuse to accept

mediocracy

do your best work

piss gasoline

on the flames of fear

failure is

for the rest of them

not you

not me.

hammered and on fire

in Santa Monica.

birds

hovering

prey

beyond

the big sheets of glass

while the wine sits

chilled

and

the world fails

with

poetry.