Prose

How will it end?
We’re halfway through a show I begged you to watch and I’m beginning to think it’s not up to me anymore. Not the tv rotation but maybe everything else. It’s all been laid out and kneaded and covered with saran wrap and you’re not supposed to wake it up too early for risk of eczema or whatever the bread equivalent is and does it even matter when all I could ever want is right in front of me? Days are passing like overloaded shipping containers and not one of them has my name on it. There’s no room for me anyway. My fingers aren’t strong enough to hang on since the incident. But where do I want to go? I’m right where I want to be and I’m not here at all. The frames on the walls are just out of place and my arms feel weaker than they did last week and I just don’t know if this is my decision to make or if it’s already been spelled out and erased and rewritten a thousand times. We’re inching closer to an ending with every sun that rises and sets. I don’t know where it goes when it’s not shining in my eyes. I don’t know what to do with the me that’s sitting right here. Are you watching? How do you think it ends?
By Olivia Dodge7 months ago in Poets
The March of Spring. Top Story - March 2026.
I’m out and about Strutting through the daffodils Flicking back my hair Doing my thing I feel your stares I hear your whispers
By Mother Combs7 months ago in Poets
Out of Conflict, Strength. Top Story - March 2026.
You hate, When I am right, and when I am wrong, When sodden swamps to me are crystalline waters to you, When crowning a champion is more important than cooperation.
By Kenny Penn7 months ago in Poets
Echoes in the Grey City
The city moves quietly beneath a ceiling of clouds. Breakthrough lights scatter across the streets, illuminating fragments of existence, fragments of forgotten faces. You walk among them, yet the air is thick with absence. No one turns to see you, no one waits to be seen.
By Ibrahim 7 months ago in Poets
Misery My Friend
Misery, my special friend, you’ve darkened my world enslaved my hopes. You’ve pushed me through doors to many bars, made me a fool
By Dean Traylor8 months ago in Poets
Whispers of the Old City
In the heart of the old city, where narrow streets twisted like threads of forgotten tales, lived Mara, a young woman who had always felt a strange attachment to the stones beneath her feet. Every morning, she would walk the same path through cobblestone alleys, past shuttered windows and balconies overflowing with potted flowers, feeling as if the walls whispered secrets meant only for her.
By Ibrahim 8 months ago in Poets
The Window Facing Evening
Every evening, at almost the same hour, I sit beside the old window in the small room at the back of the house. The window is not large, and its wooden frame carries the marks of many seasons. The paint has faded slightly, and the glass holds faint scratches from years of wind and dust. Yet it is my favorite place in the house.
By Ibrahim 8 months ago in Poets
Who is Fate
March 5 2026 Forgiveness is a man I met last night. The moon was stuck behind a building and I couldn’t climb anywhere near it. He told me my efforts were hollow— God bless your mind but it’s got no use here. Craters dug into my palms by his crescent nails left me with brandings— belonging to a foe is more than belonging to none at all. More implication, more value, more sense of thing; so I ask Forgiveness a series of questions and he does not answer. What am I meant to do? When the moon watches me and I cannot return the same. My nails have been gone since the second my teeth grew tall, so I am left taking and never giving. I am left in darkness with no moon and no place to be, no thing to which I belong, a foe’s mark and rigid divots in enamel. If every part of this body is branded, where will my soul continue? Where does it stop now that I am fluid in daytime wires? Lampposts line every street forever and he knows I’m weighing them down. The power’s been out this whole time. Can I ask you one last question? Who decides my fate now that I’m dead?
By Olivia Dodge8 months ago in Poets
Face the Blitz
Sir Winston slept thrice Tucked beneath foggy London Others? With his charges ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By Matthew J. Fromm8 months ago in Poets
This is Reality
When we are young, we are full of hope. We have innocence and boundless energy. First, we are children. The world is new.
By J.B. Miller8 months ago in Poets
THE ERA THAT SET THE TRAP. Content Warning.
"In 1983, they didn't just change the laws; they changed what it meant to be human. They reclassified the elders and the 'obsolete' as managed expenses—units to be monitored until they expired.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 8 months ago in Poets
Men's hair growth and loss solutions
Men's hair growth and loss solutions Men's hair growth and loss solutions work best when you act early. Androgenetic Alopecia usually starts out as gradual thinning, but it can shake your confidence long before the hair loss gets obvious.
By Leo 8 months ago in Poets