so much of me is tired of writing poorly
so much of me is tired of writing poorly
but another much of me knows I need these
pretend drafts to pile up until I use real
energy to write.
I don’t know who I’m apologizing to.
Maybe me. Maybe you.
Pride, perhaps. But that would indicate to be proud. What do I have to proud of? Who am I to assume my bad drafts are not just another regular piece of mine?
Should I cry? I don’t know. My eyes don’t care anymore. But somehow I still see potential in a me that maybe no one else has ever even see before.
Asking for approval? Wanting acknowledgement?
Oh, the qualities of the useless.
What is this, then? I ask to myself.
Is my pride from love or hate?
How arrogant to assume anyone’s reading at all?
But I am, I say.
I’m reading my writing and shudder at the nonsense. While other me deep down inside says, keep going. It’s almost time. We’re getting closer with every line.
Every second Sad
Why so mad lad? You Sad? As well as your, how is your dad? (Mr.Sapp)
I got a hunch. As to why your panties are in such a bunch.
The old mans out to lunch. Drinking his own cool aid. Proudly presenting his damned self to punch. Drunk! Skunked!
He’s off the short bus and making a B line for us. Sad set upon Sad. Second sons time has come to do something about Dad. Threes company but Juniors a coward. The old man ain’t himself so I felt empowered.
To act! And that was that. Im glad I finally got to see myself nap the old Sad Sapp out. Erasing some of my own lingering doubts. That worried I’d never get my chance to take the title in a rout.
No Ill will remains. You’ll find none the need to pout. Two wrongs don’t make a right. So no two Sad Sapp’s will go to sleep before making up tonight. Nice and polite. As granny Sapp would’ve liked. Psyched! Call her Ms. Sappy if you nasty. All else take a hike.
insert coin
Insert a coin
and words fall
o
u
t
of my mouth
Machine
out of order
I want to make you
realize that these thoughts
aren't free
for you
and especially not me
They cost me
dignity
and they could cost us
our friendship
It's all just silly
so don't even listen
if something
s
p
i
l
l
s
Don't take my
ramblings
as truth if it
makes it
weird
pretend
insert coin
nothing was
insert coin
said at all
Cause sometimes
my mind is just
broken
Challenge Notice
Hi! I started a challenge thread here on Prose! It’s under the Gaming portal, so I’m not sure if it’ll show under the Challenges tab. I thought I’d talk about it here, too, just in case. The challenge is to write a piece related to a video game you enjoy. It can be any format and any length, as long as it’s over 15 words. Gaming is one of my favorite hobbies, so I’m really excited to read your entries! I’d also appreciate any shares, so we can hopefully spread the word. Thank you!
You can find the challenge here: https://theprose.com/challenge/8573
Zeus and Hera
She didn’t know what happened. She always thought they were the perfect couple. They had done everything together for as long as she could remember. She always assumed they would end up married and making babies like Mom and Dad. No one could convince her otherwise, although they tried. As she stood at the window outside his perfect home, that should have been their home, staring into his living room looking at his perfect wife, and perfect children, she was confused. Why was she outside looking in? Why was she standing in the cold, shivering, fingers numb, curled around the handle of a knife, her nails digging so hard into her palms she was bleeding? What did Mila have that she didn’t? Nothing, that’s what. She didn’t have the life-long history that she and Mark had. She didn’t have the shared memories. Nothing. She had nothing. Except Mark. And the life she was supposed to have. The life she always expected to have. What did she do wrong?
Inside, she saw Mark pick up his son while Mila picked up their daughter to get ready for bed. They turned off the lights and headed up the stairs. She waited. When she thought enough time had passed, she creeped around the back of the house to the French doors off the family room. She knew they never locked them. No one did in their town. There was never any reason to do so. The Family Town, they called it. Nothing bad ever happened here.
She looked up and saw the lights still on in what she knew were the bathroom and children’s bedroom. Of course she knew. She had been there just that afternoon cooing over her niece and nephew. Oooh, how beautiful baby Myra is. Look at all that hair! And Donny looks just like his daddy at that age, doesn’t he? And Mila acting all goofy happy and hugging on Mark like she wasn’t even there. Like she didn’t love him first and more and better than Mila ever could. She almost killed Mila right then. But she didn’t.
When the lights went out, she waited until she thought they might be asleep, and then quietly opened the door. She walked softly through the family room to the bottom of the stairs. She listened. Silence. And then the squeak of a bed spring. She paused. When the air remained still, she started up the stairs, the knife raised in her hand. Mila was going to die tonight, and then she and Mark could live the life they were supposed to be living. She smiled as she gripped the door knob to their room and slowly pushed it open.
When Love & Agony Collide
It was midnight when Melissa showed up at Goldie’s, All-Night Eatery. She had a call from Myra, and she sounded insistent that she be at Goldie’s. Melissa could tell by Myra’s voice something had happened, but what?
Stepping inside Goldie’s, she saw Myra sitting in the far side to her left. She went over to the table and sat across from her.
“Girl, you look like a train wreck. What’s going on?”
Myra opened her purse, spun it around where Melissa had a good look at a gun inside.
“What the he—is that a gun?”
“Yes. I used it tonight on Mark.”
This shook Melissa. “Mark! You mean you….”
“He’s, yes, he’s dead.”
“But, but, why?”
Myra spun the purse around and reached inside for the gun.
“I think you know, Melissa. Mark and I were an item until a week ago. Then I found out you and him, were seeing each other. And that was all it took. I took my gun I use for self-protection at home, loaded it, went to his apartment and shot him four times.”
The look of shock and disbelief was all over Melissa’s face.
“Myra, I, we, I mean,”
“Shut up and do what I tell you. Get up and go to your car. I’ll be right behind you so don’t try anything stupid.”
Nervously, Melissa made her way out of Goldie’s until she was by the driver’s side door of her Mazda.
Turning she looked at Myra and asked, “Now what?”
“This.”
Myra fired the last two bullets from her gun catching Melissa twice in the chest. Melissa flew backward hard into the car and slumped to the graveled parking lot.
Myra, exhaled, putting the gun away and casually walked over to her car, got behind the wheel and drove back to her apartment.
Once there, she stripped down, took a long hot shower, dried off, put on a robe, then went about to clean her gun and put it away.
She knew the police may find out it was her that killed Mark and Melissa, but she didn’t care. She had just killed her former boyfriend and what she thought was her best friend in the whole world.
A thought crossed her mind and she retrieved the gun once more and loaded a single bullet and cocked the hammer.
Looking out at the city’s night landscape, tears running down her face, she raised the gun to her temple and squeezed the trigger.
… and the night never felt a thing.
Pen and Paper
Dear Pen and Paper
You have my words and my sentiments rolled down in vapor...
I’d say: “see you later”
but the moment is now; so don’t be a stranger.
I heard the echo,
I just didn’t feel like dealing with the words.
Dear Pen and Paper,
Have you any idea of what you do?
Do you have the slightest clue?
I write and spray words like bullets,
Yet there you remain.
Nothing needs to cover you, for it seems you are my shield.
Or maybe a punching bag…
I’d say: “see you later”,
but I have you now,
take me where the grass perspires...
take me where there are no boundaries,
so I may stretch my arms wide, and so I may hug the lies.
The words that I scribble, seem to cause fires( I say let them burn)
In Autumn the words felt like they began to fall, every time I stood up to do the emptiest tasks I could hardly cope, I could never do much on my own.
I stood away from you because I felt that I needed to breathe , to lay in bed for another hour so I could finally bloom, but how can anything grow when there is no sun to cover you?
I never let go of the shadows that followed me in the night, I kept running in a constant loop.
I was a star in a show I could hardly continue acting in, I wanted a better role.
Dear Pen and Paper,
I spoke to you at my most dire of times,
I read aloud, or not so much, the perpetual tower of words that continued stacking.
I wanted to let you know that I’m not tired of you,
I have you not a mile away,
“I drip with excellence”- Or so I think you say,
I tried the book of ages,
But why should I pray?
I need but two entities in my hands.
This letter has had its cup half full, but I don’t like to exceed the midpoint,
I find it best to stop when a smile has peaked.
I gravitated toward you!
So please listen once more.
Dear Pen and Paper,
I’ve known you well since my hands could dribble you across the theatrical court.
I sat down as a child curious of what you had intended,
now I see.
It was
therapy.
