Mourning Idealism: Prose Poetry

Nothing prepares you for the ache of mourning. I am mourning my idealism today, trying to hold onto the ideals in a quicksand hug while reality grapples me like an inseparable birthmark. The trajectory of growing up is learning how to make a coral museum of grief inside the wormholes of your heart. Unable to build a Lego bridge where your idealism kisses your reality, unable to write yourself a soft epilogue.

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Unlocked Outposts: Prose Poetry

When did we start folding our souls like an origami of backspaced texts? When did we decide to play Russian roulette of “what ifs” before displaying fragments of our hearts to people? When did we become security guards with 7 years of experience to keep an eye on the people who wandered in our minds? When did we master the warfare of defense mechanisms with self-depreciating jokes? When did we construct an outpost to prevent the softness of vulnerability?

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The Witchcraft of Adulting: Prose Poetry

They didn’t tell me growing up was nurturing houseplants of responsibilities and often failing to water them because you are binge-watching a DVD of nostalgia on nights when loneliness sublets you it’s house. They didn’t tell me growing up was walking in circles in my room past midnight trying to remember the face of my imaginary friend. Dimming in my mind in slow motion like the night mode of my phone.

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David Redpath

We're all on a road to somewhere.

EternalDiscoveries

Once in a while you need to be able to let go of the world and sooth and relax. This is the place set up with the best options...

Enigma

A surrealist spilling ink and dwindling between enigmas and epiphanies

artsy words

where dead metaphors meet dead feelings

The Gorgeous Wrecks

Unchartered paths, treading desires and my way out of the labyrinth

Unordinary Life

Beauty is found in the most unordinary places

LIGHTHOUSE OF RHYME

Creation of Beauty through Words .

Discover

A daily selection of the best content published on WordPress, collected for you by humans who love to read.

Bottled Metaphors

Words I lost before the end of winter.

Raw Earth Ink

spit, mixed with dirt - muddy words flow

saania2806.wordpress.com/

Philosophy is all about being curious, asking basic questions. And it can be fun!

Short Prose

Poetry and Short Prose by Gabriela Marie Milton 2019 Author of the Year at Spillwords Press and Author of Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings