She felt it for her mother who showed her how to be strong.

She felt it for her father who would always be there for her.

She felt it for her sisters who were her first friends.

She felt it for her best friend who might as well been her sister.

She felt it for her friends she hasn’t known for that long.

She felt it for her career and her hobbies.

She felt it when she reads and writes.

She even felt it when she was sad.

She knows what it feels like.

So why was she so confused when he came along?

Why did she not know what to do?

She knows what it feels like.

So why did it change the way she acted?

Why was the feeling different with him?

She felt it for her mother who worked so she could have a better life.

She felt it for her father who cooked so she would never get hungry.

She felt it for her sisters who tell her the truth no matter what.

She felt it for her best friend who calls her even after she left.

She felt it for her friends who were there before she triumphed.

She felt it when she studied.

She felt it when she succeeded.

She even felt it when she was alone.

She knows what it feels like.

But it felt different when she was with him

What made it so different?

She didn’t know.

Was it right to feel that way?

She didn’t know.

Did he feel it too?

She didn’t know.

She felt it for her mother who took her to places she’d never been.

She felt it for her father who never left her side.

She felt it for her sisters who hugged her when things went wrong.

She felt it for her best friend who stayed to clean up after the party.

She felt it for her friends who never forget her.

She felt it when she sang.

She felt it when she danced.

She even felt it he left.

She knows what it feels like.

Did he?

She didn’t know.

My Guardian Angel

Why don't you leave me alone? Were you not given a chance to be anything else? Are you just stuck with me? It makes sense. I wondered why you never showed up to anything. You're never there when I need you. Yesterday the boys in my class were pulling my hair again and I prayed to you. Why didn't you make them stop? My mom told me that every little girl has a guardian angel. Did you not want me? I know you're there. I can't see you or hear you, but I feel you all the time. Then I realized, you don't do anything except wait. Obviously they didn't give you to me for no reason. Did they give you to me or ...was I given to you? My life doesn't mean anything to you does it? But you're still here. Why? You don't speak. You don't do anything. You just wait. You wait untill I'm ready or at least until you think I'm ready. What happens when you're done with me? No answer? Fine. At least when you get rid of me I'll get rid of you. Will you die one day? Are there others like you? Do we each get one angel or is it just you guarding all of us? You don't really guard do you? You kinda just take. Do you feel ashamed? There's another word for what you are. It's the same word the television man uses when the bad men force people away to heaven. Is that not what you do? Force people to go to heaven? What if people aren't ready? You don't care do you? Why aren't you kind? It's not kind to take things from people? What happened? Why are you doing this? Stop. I'm not ready. Please. I'm scared.

I wish you could die.

Handsome.

Beautiful.

Invited

Accepted

Enjoyed

Charmed

Promised

Loved

Loved

Confused

Assumed

Tried.

Wanted.

Hoped.

Betrayed.

Cried.

Apologized.

Retaliated.

Ashamed.

Ashamed.

Dear Diary

It wasn’t just me. I left my things in my locker and Seth walked towards me. Only thing is, that wasn’t Seth. I mean I knew that was Seth, his huge smile was unmistakable and his eyes were as bug-eyed as ever. But his red hair was long and it flowed down until it was at elbow length. It impossible to ignore softer features and his airy voice.

Then out of nowhere, came Oak. He also looked different but he just as unmistakable. His long narrow nose and dimples couldn’t possibly belong to anyone else, and yet they did. Like Seth his hair was inanely long and his features were finer. But what stunned me most was that Oak’s deep and gravelly voice was replaced by a high-pitched thin voice. Seth and Oak talked to me about the usual things we talked about sports, our crazy ideas and girls. Well we didn’t talk about girls, we talked about boys. I mean we were definitely talking about the girls but Seth and Oak weren’t describing them as girls. I was dumbstruck. I actually didn’t know what to do. Suddenly Seth punched me in the arm and pointed towards the end of the hall. Samantha was walking towards me with her usual smirk. As always, she was beautiful, except like Seth, Like Oak and like me, she had changed. I’m not going to describe it this time, she was unquestionably a guy. But that didn’t stop me from wanting her except I wanted her in a different way. Before today, every time I saw Sam, I just wanted her, but today I felt sick. My stomach felt jittery.

Sam stopped in from of me and ran her fingers through my long jet-black hair. She leaned and kissed me on the cheek then walked away. It felt strange that it felt good. Sam was a guy and I like girls, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying it. It definitely didn’t stop Seth and Oak from enjoying it. Almost instantly they both started giggling. I told them to shut up and we headed towards class. As always, I sat in the middle of the classroom with both Seth and Oak on either side of me. Class started as usual and me and my buddies talked the entire time. It felt different but absolutely nothing had changed. Well…everything changed but for a split second it felt like it didn’t. I mean, my friends were the same and the people around me were the same, I was the same. The only thing that changed were our genitals.

I realized how easy it was, that is, until I felt strange. I started feeling uncomfortable in my lower stomach. I decided to ignore it but then I started feeling dizzy and even slightly nauseated. Class ended and I went to the bathroom. For some reason, my underwear was drenched. Did I pee myself? I don’t get it. I reached down and my hands were stained with blood. I let out a scream which almost made Oak drop his compact. He told me to relax and passed me some sort of cottony material shaped like a giant plaster. I went to the bathroom and almost threw up when I saw my underwear. Seth asked me to hurry up and I almost lost it. How in god’s name was I supposed to hurry up when one of the holes from my body was leaking blood. I didn’t even have this hole yesterday but I took care of my business and left the bathroom with Seth and Oak. I wasn’t feeling well. I had to change the big plaster stuck to my underwear every three hours and I wasn’t okay with that. I was over it. I was over being a girl.

La Mañana de Alexander y Micheal.

I kept hearing the same shrill voice ringing in my ears. “Alejo” it screamed. “Alejo”. It was insistent. It wouldn’t stop. “Alejo” it kept yelling. “Párate, Alejo”. It was so loud but it would take a lot more than that to rouse me. I had a long night. Not even the neighbors would rouse me. This neighbor however, I had never heard before. It was clearly a deep voice of a man. His voice was husky and almost hoarse but still boomed over my room. “Alejo, si no te paras te tiro por esa ventana”. Alejo, if you don’t get up I’ll throw you out of that window. I felt bad for Alejo. I felt worse for me. Maybe the man’s voice wouldn’t wake me up, but the migraine I got every time he yelled did. I don’t remember what happened last night. All I know was that it must have been a good time. “ALEJO” the man screeched. I almost forgot about him.

I opened a heavy-lidded eye and was immediately taken aback. The room I was in wasn’t mine. Except that it was. “ALEJO” the voice bellowed. I looked around and all my things were there. My guitar, my clothes scattered around as usual. The sketches on my desk, my black worn out desk. It was all there. It was my room. Except it wasn’t. The door wasn’t in its usual side. The room was painted orange instead of green. My bed was in the middle of the room as opposed to the edge of it. I used to have a carpet. Now it’s just a floor made out of clay. If I remember correctly, my floor used to be made out of wood. The paintings on the wall weren’t mine but the signature was indistinct. They were mine but I definitely didn’t make them. My paintings were different, they were different colors, different styles and yet the ones on my wall had my signature on it.

I got up and instantaneously felt a large a pang in my head that made me sit back down. I ran my hands through my face. I got up again but this time slowly. The migraine only got worse. “ALEJO, Párate que vas a llegar tarde” the man boomed. Alejo, get up, you’re going to be late. My head turned towards where the sound was coming from. It was coming from my closed door. I heard banging on my door. “ALEJO” This time the voice was deafening. My head was in so much pain. I heard the banging on my door again followed by the man’s voice “ALEJO, VAMOS”. Alejo, let’s go. The migraine in my head wasn’t going away and the noise wasn’t helping. Suddenly I realized something. This entire time the man was speaking Spanish. The man was speaking Spanish and I was understanding every word he was saying. I was sure Spanish wasn’t a language I knew.

I noticed my college medic uniform was on the chair as always. I looked at my clock. It was 10:00am and I had already had missed my first class. If I was to make it to my second class, I had to leave now. I put on my uniform and went to the horizontal mirror near my bed. Unlike the rest of my room I thought my uniform looked the same. I looked closer and noticed two major differences. On the breast pocket, there was a flag but it wasn’t American, it was Mexican and on top of it was a name tag but it didn’t say Alexander, it said Alejandro. Without being able to process what I was seeing, the door swung open. The man I’ve been hearing this whole time barged into my room, like he usually does when I’m late. It was my brother, Michael. He was yelling. He was only slightly younger than I was but he always acted like he was older. Mikey was wearing the same uniform I was. I looked at his name tag and it said Miguel. Something was wrong. Something had changed. Scratch that. Everything had changed. Mikey had stepped in front of me and pushed me onto the floor.

“Hermano, no puedo seguir detras tuyo. Todos los fines de semana es lo mismo contigo. Sales a beber y no regresas el domingo hasta la. Hazte responsable de tu vida Alejandro. Párate que vas a llegar tarde. Eres un desastre” Mikey was screaming at me in Spanish.

Mikey grabbed my arm and hoisted me up. I looked at him in abject horror. He must have noticed because his voice softened substantially.

“¿Estas bien, Hermano?” He asked.

Are you okay was what he asked. That’s funny. No, I wasn’t okay. I honestly didn’t know how to respond to my Spanish speaking brother.

“Wey, ¿Que te pasa?”

I was understanding him. How was I understanding him?

“Alejo, Respóndeme”

I was starting to feel lighted headed and I felt like the entire world was coming down on me. I felt drops of sweat falling down my face. I started shaking uncontrollably.

¿Que me está pasando? I whispered almost inaudibly.

Mickey looked at me like I was going insane. I must have looked like It because that’s exactly what was happening. Me understanding Spanish was one thing. Me speaking it was another. It was impossible. I didn’t know it before and now I was fluent. My face was drenched in sweat and the waking got even worse. There was a pit in my stomach that got bigger every second that passed. I was getting dizzy to the point where I almost lost my balance.

¿Miguel, Que me esta pasando? I screamed into my brother’s face.

My knees were buckling and the only thing keeping me up was Mikey. My body felt like a weight and my head felt like it would blow at any second. I couldn’t take it anymore. I saw my brothers face grow pale. That was the last thing I saw because I had passed out.

No me acuerdo de nada.

I’m not running. I’m not hiding. I’m not floating in a cloud. I’m here. I’m not pretending. I’m not acting. I’m not drowning. I’m here. I’m not angry. I’m not sad. Don’t take pity on me because I’m here. Look at my eyes. Look at the way I do my hair. Look at the way I wear my clothes. I’m here. 

I’m not trying to confuse you. I’m not trying to brag. I’m not trying to be better than you. I’m here. I don’t own a pedestal. I don’t have a crown. I’m here. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be weak. I don’t want to be young. I’m here.

 I don’t know everything. I know a lot. I know enough. I’m here. I want you to like me. I won’t change. I can’t change. I won’t change. I’m here. I don’t have importance. I’m invisible. I don’t feel like being visible. I’m here. 

I’m not waiting for anything to happen. I’m not making it happen. I’m in charge of my life. I’m here. I’m loud. I swear. I talk too much. I’m here. I don’t speak to you. I don’t know you. I didn’t get to know you. I’m here.

I don’t lie. I’m inconsistent. I depend. I’m here. I’m limited. I’m neutral. I’m passive. I’m here. I’ll question you. I’ll fight back. I’ll stay. I’m here. I care. I’ll judge. I will always listen. I’m here. 

Am I not enough? 

You’re too quiet 

I’m funny. You’re too quiet. I love music. You’re too quiet. I’m not from here. You’re too quiet. I like every single thing in my closet. You’re too quiet. I laugh a lot more than you know. You’re too quiet. I sing. You’re too quiet. I dance. You’re too quiet. I like wearing oversized shirts. You’re too quiet. We have something in common. You’re too quiet. I like that band. You’re too quiet. I can do a handstand. You’re too quiet.  It’s been awhile but I bet I could do a back bend. You’re too quiet. I think I love him.  You’re too quiet. I can help. You’re too quiet. Let me help. You’re too quiet. I don’t care. 

You’re not like us. I’m here. You don’t belong. I’m here. I can’t hear you. I’m here. You’re petty. I’m here. You’re mean. I’m here. You don’t know how to be normal. I’m here. You go out of your way to be abnormal. I’m here. You’re just pretending. I’m here. You don’t care. I’m here. You’re arrogant. I’m here. You can’t do anything. I’m here. You don’t want to do anything. I’m here. You’re not visible. I’m here. You have nothing to empathize with . I’m here. You have no attitude. I’m here. You have no personality. I’m here. You’re lazy. I’m here. You could be better. I’m here. You could be bigger. I’m here. More people could love you. I’m here. You don’t speak to me. I’m here.

Am I not enough?

Do I bother you? 

Yes.

Then i’ll stay silent. 

"What are you doing with your life?" she kept asking.

An old convict, let’s call him Purple, sat in his cell stirring in sorrow. A guard walked up to tell him that he had a visitor. He was let out the cell so he could see the visitor. He was lead to a room with a table and two chairs on opposite ends. An old woman sat there. A woman with very similar facial features as the convict. She wasn’t much older than Purple. This woman had spent most of her life with Purple while Purple had spent all of his life with her. She was the only familiar face that would visit Purple these days. No matter how ashamed she was of her brother, she would always come back. Purple remembers his sister being kind while having an incredible talent to make him laugh. He saw her sitting there and the humorous girl was gone. In her place was a cold icy being with an exterior so chilled, Purple would have rather stayed in the cell. He sat down and gazed at the woman. She stared back dryly. She knew this was the last time she would see him. They were silent for a few minutes until the woman cruelly spat the words she would always say when they would see each other.

What are you doing with your life?

A young student, let’s call her Orange, sat in an auditorium filled with people. She was in the front row with people who had spent their years with her. However, little did she know her best years would come much later. To her it was the end of an Era. Like most of her clothing, her robes were too big for her. When they called her name, she had tripped. Luckily she was caught by her best friend. A young woman who was kind and had the talent make others laugh. Orange stumbled onto the stage and received the document that would get her into college. She was honored for being the best in her year and shuffled back to rejoin the others. The hats were thrown and not long after Orange was partying. She overheard many conversations about the future. What would become of the people she thought she had spent her best years with? They all had dreams. Her best friend walked next to her. She turned to Orange and asked the question Orange had dreaded to answer.

What are you doing with your life?

An experienced waiter, let’s call him Green, was in his fifth semester of law. He couldn´t pay for his education so he would wait tables all night at a high-end restaurant who overworked him. He was already in debt with the bank and slaved away to get by. On good days he would sleep 4 hours a day on bad days he wouldn´t. It was dawn and his shift was almost over. He took a bus and headed to his university. Green rushed through the halls of the university to get to his class. He made it just in time. The class was full of people. He scanned the room and picked a seat next to an experienced woman in her fourth semester who was kind and had a talent in making people laugh. After the class had ended, Green was getting up to rush to his second class. The woman who was sitting next to him stopped him and pulled Green aside. Even though they shared a few classes, the woman couldn’t help worry for Green. She knew he worked harder than the rest and she also knew Green was oversaturating himself. She gave him advice and offered her help. Interestingly enough, both her and Green would grow old together. However, when she offered her help the day she pulled him aside, Green ignored her and kept walking. She called after him and wailed the question she frequently seemed to ask.

What are you doing with your life?

She was kind and took joy in making others laugh. But she was also cruel when betrayed and strict when necessary. Organized and always collected, she always had a plan. Her life was sketched out from the day she was born to the day she died. She was controlling but the people that surrounded her taught her that life can’t always be controlled. Life is about mystery and knowing that there are things in life that are fine the way that they are while other things remain evil no matter what you do. She learnt this when, to her surprise, Purple, Orange and Green looked at her in the same exasperated manner and told her the answer she always got when she asked what they were doing with their lives.

I don’t know.

I am so very sorry to hear about your awful experiences. As a follower I pay attention to your works very closely and noticed that there is in fact a prominent theme in your recent posts. If you don’t mind I really would like to give my opinion. I was going to post this as a comment in your post “Showing Emotion” but it became so long I decided to write you a letter. Please, I don’t want you to think that I mean any ill will or have any bad intentions. I’m just a friend on the other side of the screen that would like to tell you how your writing made me feel on the topic in general. Something you can’t always do when reading something from a writer you take inspiration from. I’m glad Prose lets me have that ability the way it lets you express the things you feel like writing. That being said, this is just my personal take on things. I am not expecting you to agree or to like it. If at any point you feel like you disagree with the things I said or felt like I crossed a line I very very much want you to tell me. The last thing I would ever do is hurt you or make you feel less than what you are as a writer or as a person.

Here goes.

I am so proud to see you talk about something that isn’t easy to talk about. Men’s rights are usually seen as oppressive and tactless. I completely disagree. I think it’s something valid to talk about and am glad you did and hope you continue doing so.

I am a strong advocate of human rights myself. I feel like all people are in their rights to defend their rights. However, the minute one person hurts another because they believe that their rights are above others is not ok. Women have made large strives in history to receive the rights that we deserve (such as vote). Today we are still fighting for some rights ( such as wage gap), something I believe is necessary. Nevertheless, there are some women who believe they are superior to men for whatever reason. They think “oh because men oppressed us, it is now our turn to oppress them”. I strongly disagree with this type of thinking because it honestly gets us nowhere as a society. None of us has the right to hurt others especially when the goal is to make our rights known. Pursuing ones right by taking away someone else’s right is just not the way to go. Something tells me this is something we agree on.

I absolutely adored The Red Pill movie on the men’s rights movement. It was an interesting insight and the debate was magical. I was distressed to find out that the feminist community shunned Cassie Jaye for presenting ALL sides of the story the way a genuine documentary should. It only proves that some women that would identify as feminists would in fact take the rights of men to show superiority is, in my opinion, senseless. I know ex-feminists whose goals are to create a society with equal rights but left the feminist movement because the goals of some women who identify themselves as feminists are to make themselves superior to men. Again, I don’t think this is the way to go. Doing something awful that was done to you won’t solve anything. Yes, its true men have a large history of oppression, I know that. But my father never made me feel like I don’t have rights. My brother never once acted superior because he was a Man. My childhood friends who are Men never once treated me like I was a lesser human being. My boyfriend of three years never once laid a hand on me. Oh, but because there is a Man on the other block who rapes women I should hate all Men. It just doesn’t make sense. At least not to me. I know that not all men are evil. Many men do evil things just like many women do evil things but that doesn’t mean we should cast the blame on ALL men or ALL women. Maybe I was lucky to have such good men in my life just as I was unlucky to meet such awful men in my life. I understand that there are very particular situations in which women only have bad experiences with men in which I usually implore them to see reason. What one man does, doesn’t dictate what another would do. It’s just not how people work. Blaming ALL men for the history of bad things men did or do is so arrogant. I find that in this world there are women who don’t understand that men who believe that women are their equals exist. There are men who believe that oppression is wrong. There are men who believe rape is wrong. There are men who fight for themselves because being oppressed is wrong.

In your post “Showing Emotion” you wrote about how women want men to show their emotions. You said you were exempt because you always showed emotion, something that resulted in people disrespecting you or not taking you seriously. I honestly think you should surround yourself in a more positive environment. If people are constantly disrespecting you because of the feelings you may or may not have towards a specific thing isn’t healthy for you. I think you make a good point in saying that women, or people general, need to create a safe space for a man to feel safe. I found interesting the psychological aspect you put in women and their wants towards men. I personally thought it was valid. However I honestly don’t really see why a man’s emotion should put off a woman if it’s what they feel. You can disagree without disrespecting. People can have different opinions. If a woman is put off by your emotions, move on. I don’t think a man should stop showing emotions because it’s in their interest “to have sex”. If a woman is put off by the real things you have to say then maybe she isn’t a woman you should be having sex with. I also don’t think you should have related emotion with sex in the way that you did because it reinforces the idea of women thinking “Only men want sex. They don’t feel anything. They think only about sex. Sex is their only emotion”. In your second to last paragraph You implied ever so slightly that men only relate emotion or lack of emotion with pursuing sex, which I know isn’t true. I feel like you should have expanded a little more on men’s emotions, not just towards women but in general. That’s just my take on things.

I know you included in one paragraph that you showed emotion to a fellow female prose writer after disagreeing with her advice for young men and she was put off. Like I said, not everyone will agree or disagree with the feelings and emotions others have. I really do think tolerance is key, especially in a place where writers are free to write about a part of themselves however way they deem fit.

I think that’s about it. I wholeheartedly enjoyed reading your take on it all. And again, I hope you don’t take anything I say as offensive or as a personal attack. You definitely inspired me to write and expand on this topic. Keep up the insights. Watch out for my piece on your challenge “How do you see the opposite sex” and I really do hope you get back to me however you want.

Your friend and follower,

Torrence Thomas Thrashford

The wind whistles in each of our ears as we fly. Higher and faster than any of us alive, we soar through weathers unspeakable to our kind. Gliding through clouds then skimming through waters. Our strength  grows together as our efficiency keeps us alive. With the same burdened responsibilities we fly. We are brothers in the air. 

When strong we lead, when weak we follow.  Our potent leaders tire and step down for the next mighty forces to charge our flight. The formation never breaks. With vigorous commitment we are unshaken by the miles we fly. Our common goal keeps us disciplined because only together can we reach our mark. That has been our most natural law.

And yet, there is nothing natural like an anchor in a race. A debilitated soldier. A rusty cog in the machine. A weak link spotted from the corner of my eye.  A weakened joint across from where I glide. We both having just stepped down, I rejoin one end of the formation and count the seconds for my commrade to reach the other. Each second more eternal than the next. He flaps his weakened wings with invalidity. Frail and almost incapacitated he eventually reaches the other end. Even when he’s making the least effort out of the rest, he is still flying with strain. I watched the tumor in our system as his breakable resistance dooms us. I turn forward in disgust. The exact same labor was done by each of us yet all showed composure, but my friend on the other end. But, I cast away my concerns and give into my own resolve. We were nearing our destination.

It was time to land. Our Powerful leaders landed first followed by the recovering champions. Me and the susceptible degenerate across from me would land last. It was finally our turn to reach the ground. I let him get below me so that without hesitation I could eliminate the thing that threatened our order. With surging emotion, I rushed to attack . I sunk my talons deep into his feathers. His blood had drenched over my talons as we whirled through the sky, neither giving in. But as expected, he wavered and I positioned him towards the ground. My wings, never exhausted after flight, pounded the air as I aimed for the ground. We crashed on soil with him underneath me. My wings spread in victory and I basked in ending the imperfection that resided in the flock. The others only observed what needed to be done. Without warning,  the disgrace pecked a chunk of my eye and rendered me half blind. With one swoop he released himself from my grip. His talons now wrapped around my neck.

The swift and harsh movement of his talons was enough for the snap to be heard. The others only observed what needed to be done.