Poetry Writing Prompts

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...

Somewhere in Florida,

a strawberry finds itself growing

on a tree, beside an apple

long past ripe.

Plump and red. Swollen like a cheek.

It knows it has no business being there,

but it admits—

it is nice, for once, to be tall.

Nice, for once, to feel the sky

closer than the ground.

And somewhere in California,

Half Moon Bay,

a girl stands on a rooftop

and thinks the same.

Sick of the ocean,

of al...

Two languages colliding:

your body’s rough syntax, my heart’s messy grammar.

Both saying: stay. Stay for what comes next.

Stay for the way light bends through my blinds at dusk,

for the heat caught between our skin and my sheets,

for the dull ache that lingers a bit longer than it should,

the kind you stop noticing until it starts to hurt again.

We write stories for each other in fingerprints an...