Poetry Writing Prompts

After a long day,

I open up my bedroom door,

close it,

and lock it.

I tamper with my face a bit,

loosen a few strands,

peel off some layers of cloth,

and take it off.

I open my closet door,

and hang it on an open hook,

with the other ones.

It’s a mask.

They’re all masks.

Masks of my “emotions.”

The ones I can’t express.

When I wake up the next day,

I grab it—

number twenty-six,

the smiling m...

The weekend drags its feet

As I spend my day indoors

Note-taking, Sunbathing

When the sun slips past the door

Five days of cloudless skies

As blue as I feel trapped in here

Working slow to save some time

Under a fluorescent atmosphere

Friday tucks me in at last

And soon I rise from my bed

I open up my curtains and

Rain, rain again...

When the storm comes, my compass always points to—

You.

You’re always there when I’m at my lowest.

The time I broke both my hands,

And you held my spoon up so I could eat.

That time my apartment flooded,

And you let me crash in your house.

When I got laid off from work,

For something I didn’t do,

You took the rest of the day off,

And we went out for drinks.

My first heartbreak,

You threw a bo...

Writing Prompt: May 17 - "We all look the same in the dark."

In the light, we're sharply defined.

Unique.

Each showcasing our own talents and abilities.

In the light, she's an elementary teacher

In the light, he's been changing your oil for the last 5 years

In the light, they're the checkout cashier at your grocery store

In the light, they're your boss, your coworker, your husband, your niece...

A pair of children

Hand in hand

Skipping, tripping,

Through the sand

“A whale, a whale!”

The younger shouts

A rising, splashing, falling spout

The older tugs him towards the road

To the crumbling, humbling home

The two go in, the sun falls down

The sun comes up and two go out

A pair of siblings

Hands awry

Running, fumbling

Down the drive

“A boat, a boat!”

The younger cries

A pu...

Life is like a sharp stick,

Meant for great things,

Like marshmallows,

And pointing at stars,

And poking the fire just enough to make it dance.

You drop a few dreams into the flames here and there,

Burn the edges every now and then,

But oh—

How sweet the middle stays....

Solemnly, he sits in his leather chair as time moves slow and thin, staring at the mantle piece,

The haunted captures have seen him shrivel and bend,

Monotone photographs rest easy on the mantle,

With ghosts for unattended company, and for friends.

He wasn’t there alone. He had his captains, generals, friends.

A collage of suffering that lingers in his home.

He had a job to do so why should h...

I was the clay

You sat to mold

And in your embrace,

I was all you wanted

And more

And as you threw me

On the wheel

My edges became curves

And I was becoming pottery

A prized piece of art

Painted and fired

Set to stone in the kiln

Only to be admired

I was set on the very highest shelf

Put as an art gallery attraction

And when I was draped round your arm

That’s all I was, a piece

Of the latest fashi...

The day I turned 18, sweet sunny, summer day!

Was I by forest’s edge, kept saying I’m okay,

That day, from all of days, wasn’t supposed to cry!

That day, unlike the others, wasn’t about goodbyes!

I wanted, one more time, first time in adulthood,

To hug a special oak tree, my friend so strong and good,

To tell him that I’m sorry I didn’t come to see

The forest, I was busy to grow and simply be…

...

i asked for advice

up and down the bar

and every response

had something to do

with my heart

to listen with it

to view with it

to feel with it

to decide with it

and i thought about the thing

the horrible shape

the pumping

the blood inside

like a highway

keeping us going

doing a lot

but still expected

to do more

the hideous heart

so grotesque it had to be

put inside, away from sight

and i thou...

I’ve lost

everything.

each part of myself

auctioned off to

the one on the

highest pedestal.

and they still

ask for

more? somehow

my entire soul

doesn’t satiate their

hunger.

they ask me for help

because they

“don’t have the time.”

instead,

I make the time

for them....

The voices calm

My back is sharp

I have been impaled

On this street corner

I cannot sit

I cannot slump

The pole has been jabbed into my back

Propping me up

Like a doll in a case

People pass

But do not look

They do not see what has happened

My gasping is not loud enough

I cannot catch my breath

People pass

But do not look

Now I know

They do see what has happened

They do not care

My final breaths...