Your silence grows in the orchard of my lonely

A reticulate overgrowth taking root

Sewn among my insecurities

In a row filled with every boy who could not love me

I will plant you there

#lonely #saltedfields #fuckboys #neveragain

i'm a girl

who wishes

on scars

because

the stars

have never

shone for me.

Good Morning, Prosers,

The way publishers find new authors might have just changed forever.

We are pleased to announce that we have joined forces with publishing giant Simon & Schuster, whose legacy includes Ernest Hemingway, Carrie Fisher, and Stephen King.

Simon & Schuster’s editing team hopes to discover the next generation of great authors by utilising our challenge feature and our social community, initially through a 500-2000 word writing challenge that ends June 1, prompting you to, “Write a story, chapter, or essay about whatever you like. The 50 best entries will be announced by Prose and read by Simon & Schuster’s editorial staff for consideration.”

This challenge stipulates a minimum of 500 entries and a maximum of 2,000.

We will announce the top-50 entries on June 21, 2017.

Here is the challenge URL: https://theprose.com/challenge/5367

We hope you are as excited about this as we are. If you know people who would like to get noticed by Simon & Schuster, spread the word(s).

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.

There is a sickness

That looms in my body,

Slowing my vital organs

As I hallucinate

Into pure blackness.

Only to realize,

I was asleep.

But now, my eyes are open

And I can see clearly.

The monster isn't

Inside me.

I am the monster.

I glare at the reflection

Of a girl I once knew,

But I murdered her.

I murdered me.

I think maybe I was just built broken,

Built unfixable, built incapable,

Of trust, happiness, of love. Forsaken.

Years of betrayal, I'm not savable.

Every plea for unconditional love,

has left me barren, drowned another

piece of me, now no sun shines from above,

I'm cold. I yearn, deeply, but I'm smothered.

Your calm grasp makes my doubts fade, disappear.

Your warm hold brings me firm reassurance.

You aren't trying to fix me, but rather,

guide me back to the road, give me balance.

And I whisper, scared, never let go.

You hold me tight, you will never let go.

For poets considering publishing an ebook or iBook, please be advised that epub is suited for prose not poetry. Therefore, if you are going to use this tool for poetry, you must either know what you’re doing, or you must be willing to revise your document several times for the proper page breaks and various font sizes for poems in order to make the book aesthetically appealing. I will say after about 14 lines and 10 syllables per line (typical English sonnet), your poem is going to roll over to the next page. If I had to do it all over again, my poems would not exceed these standards. My poetry ebook was torture because I didn’t have a clue that epub is not suited for poetry; the iBook went a little smoother because I had survived the ebook. I would say that if you want to give it a try, go ahead, but understand that presentation is important, and because you are trying to fit a square into a circle, it may require quite a bit of effort. This advice was prompted after I purchased a fellow poet's ebook in which the poems were floating around in space (which will impact reviews), just as mine were when I received my first draft.  I cannot tell you how many times I had to chang my page breaks and vary the font sizes from poem to poem before my own ebook/ibook met an acceptable standard for me.  Good luck.

-JC

In your sunshine I'm basking. On your rays I do ride. Thru your Milky Way Galaxy. So our words may collide.

From a cosmic vibration. Into this liquid creation. Down a rainbow of magical twin fin flotation.

My double bump swallow is so hard to follow.

Gliding passed Calypsoing curtains of indigo pearls.

Many wallow and wail there's no wind in there sails. So from were do I get all this speed to set rail?

What they don't understand is. I'm not of this world. I exist in my own mind of mythical curl.

Finding lines of lost legend. Surfing some corduroy candy. Doing laybacks not seen since?

Old Bert (Larry Bertlemann) first got sandy.

Got an arch in my soul that's as true as the moon. And as always. I'm down to surf with my brothers of Dune.

5 things I can see

the almost visible light of the old glow-in-the-dark stars pasted to my ceiling

the faint glow my phone creates on my grey sports bra that's way too small for me

the door to my closet awkwardly kind of open

the shadows my pillows create on the wall

a lot of black

4 things I can hear:

my own heart beating

my own lungs heaving

my own joints popping, and cracking

a ringing that is almost too faint but is definitely audible in the persistent silence

3 things I can touch:

the jagged cracks on the smooth screen of my phone

my almost comforting pillows on my head, and neck, and knee, and thigh

my back sinking into the bed that feels oddly hard tonight

2 things I can smell:

the remnants of candy on my bedside table

the general smell that hot weather creates (sweat, humidity, and false hope of bliss)

1 thing I can taste:

something disgusting in the back of my throat that's a mix of those candy remnants and bile I'm trying really hard to keep down

The bright arrogate colors

Surround me in mass

Closing my eyes is futile

Their obnoxious laughs

Mock me?

It's the red one

That taunts me relentlessly

With a disturbing madness

Which barks after me?

The others whimsically dance

A sadistic destruction

They paint war upon them

A trademark

That no two carry

People fawn over them

Placing them everywhere

No matter my hiding

I'll never be free