Writing Prompt

They say Mary Poppins is the only one who can fly with an umbrella.

But I guess she’s not the only one with the magic after all.

———

The umbrella didn’t stand out in any possible way. It was black, with a plain curved handle, the kind you’d see hanging by the door on rainy days.

There was nothing special about it; no spark, no markings—nothing. In fact, it was so ordinary, people looked past ...

Dust. I was waiting for the rain, but it doesn’t come. I know how to dance in the rain. I don’t know how to dance in the dust....

As I’m getting ready for bed I take a look in the mirror,

the bathroom light reflecting in my eyes as the dark circles beneath them starts to become clearer,

In my room I steare at my desk, trying to draw away my attention from the workload of paper files that lays in front of my eyes,

In bed all my thoughts resembles and reminds me of my work I’m behind in. They cannot be silenced nor ignored...

Raining, water drops on my head

Make sure you have your umbrella they said

To be safe today my umbrella is in my bag

The weather man said it might rain, that hag

Not a drop of water

Just the rising sun...

I made room for her.

Cleared a space at the table

with trembling hands

and a heart I swore

was brave enough

for all of us.

I said,

_“Talk to her.”_

_“Feel with her.”_

_“If it’s there, chase it.”_

And God—

I meant it.

I meant it even when it choked me.

I thought I was being strong.

Thought love meant letting him bloom,

even if I wilted a little

in the shadow

of what they used to be.

She was an ...

What is freedom?

I’ve never been good at describing things. Being free. What is freedom?

Is it really as good as it sounds? People say it’s being comfortable in your skin, acting however you want, or maybe it’s feeling unrestrained by the rules. Isn’t that just confidence? Rebellion? Acceptance? What makes freedom feel so free?

What makes people so happy about freedom? Is it being left alone, l...

(First poem, feedback is appreciated❤️)

Do the dance of the black widowed bride

Take the umbrella, go and glide

Across the feilds that hold tears cried

Do the dance of the black widowed bride

Your deceased husband’s name in hand

Go to the feilds, the one in his homeland

There you will dance and there you will stand

With you deceased husbands name in hand

Do the dance of the black widowe...

Misty was lost. It had been months since she had a job, and nothing seemed to grab her interest anymore. The more her job search went on, the less connected she felt to the world. “Who wants me? What’s *wrong* with me?” She often wondered quietly.

Sure, she had tried all the usual stuff. Paint by numbers. Exercise. Doom scrolling. But nothing could fill her day.

As depression and anxiety began...

In a field of flowers,

I look up into the sky.

I hold up an umbrella

And then I close my eyes.

There in the field of flowers,

I feel so calm and free.

Everything that once did,

Cannot bother me.

And in that field of flowers,

I begin to pray,

And tell God everything

That bothered me that day.

And even though I cannot see him

I know that He is there,

And that He loves me and loves to hear

My eve...

There is an open field where she can be alone, but her mind is constantly running. Some days she just wishes she could be without any noise. She looks up at the sky and wonders what is up there. For now she will try to just be here in field by herself....