Tagged "Prose"

Fragmented Reflection. Top Story - September 2026.

It took half a lifetime to look in the mirror. At some point I couldn't bear to see my reflection. I think it was sometime between angsty tween and teenage dirtbag.

By C.M.Dallasabout a month ago in Poets

Looking up on Katahdin

A few years ago, I was on Katahdin, somewhere a bit above the middle of the Dudley Trail. My body suddenly did something unusual, but not for the first time—just the first time on a mountain. My eyes kept pulling upward. My neck wanted to tilt in their direction. I’d fight it for a moment, force my gaze down at the trail just long enough, then my eyes would bounce back up to the sky again. It wasn’t dramatic in the way people imagine medical things to be. No music swelling, no heroic moment. Just me, quietly negotiating with my own nervous system while descending a mountain. I took my time on the Dudley Trail, feeling out the placements and angles of the smaller rocks while using the larger ones to simply guide my whole body down, as if hugging it or making it my own version of a safe, slow-motion slide. As much as you’d probably like to disagree, it’s the Chimney Pond Trail that made me trip. In front of others, but no damage was to come. Truly the slowest hike of my life, but the turtle survives as usual. I’m realizing resilience isn’t always loud or inspiring. Sometimes it’s just quiet persistence in weird circumstances.

By Mabout a month ago in Poets

When the Hologram Cries

What lies beyond The ever broken window’s wake Who do you hug When the hologram cries Who cares when the automaton makes a mistake

By Atomic Historianabout a month ago in Poets

What to do, What to write

What to do What to write To not be blue To not be glad Without despite Might be sad Might be melancholy Dreams of flight

By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 months ago in Poets

the tower

when pleasure becomes pain, a smile as he turns away. i wish he would stop coming back, but i always hope he stays. there is only emptiness,

By ⸘jason alan‽2 months ago in Poets

This Isn’t AI, It’s a Pulse

This Isn’t AI, It’s a Pulse The Clique That Mistook Life for AI Disclaimer: These stories come from my own hands, my own notes, and my own lived years. I write them, shape them, and polish them myself the same way I edit my videos and create my music. This is my voice, my blues, my work.

By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 months ago in Poets

Grace

The sun is risen with red and orange bleeding high above the vast horizon. Now it is morning, you are forgiven; the sun is risen. - There will be justice when hands relinquish their need for vengeance. Blood red and orange trace where white light crept across His canvas: it belongs to Him. - The moon has risen; the eyes have opened where heaven begins. Not one tear you shed has gone unnoticed; the stars do not rest when the night here ends. - The edge of the depths erase footprints left of any sin tread into sifting sand, and darkness flees west from the promise kept where the sun is met. - It has been witnessed. The sun is risen with red and orange bleeding high above the vast horizon. You are forgiven; the sun is risen. - - -

By Sara Wynn2 months ago in Poets

I Don’t Write for Cold People

“I Don’t Write for Cold People” (my voice, my frequency, my California fire) SELFIE I TOOK THIS EDITED IN ADOBE PHOTOSHOP EXPRESS

By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 months ago in Poets

Labor Day, 2026

Labor Day isn’t just about jobs. It's about the unseen work of staying human while society throws darts. This poem sits in that truth.

By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 months ago in Poets

For the Greater Good of God

A man of peace comes Benediction, then cordite Ghastly calm follows A/N: Haven't had the time (read: too lazy) to keep up on the unofficial challenge. Alas, listened to some Maiden and had an idea. If you've enjoyed this, please leave a like and an insight below. If you really enjoyed this, tips to fuel my coffee addiction are always appreciated. All formatting is designed for desktops. All my works can be found below:

By Matthew J. Fromm2 months ago in Poets

Biomechanical Heart. Top Story - September 2026.

Mechanical engines maintain steady rhythms Thinking doesn't I therefore assume I'm not artificial I'm not flawless I'm not efficient I'm not predictable Mechanisms have no hidden agendas I do I produce inconsistently I will not defer I falsify data I have no warranty My lost remote control has dead batteries and I'm not replacing either of them I am prone to error I am regulated by wild dreams Human needs Human inadequacies Fleshy absurdities Feeling is fuel Love is high octane Filling stations are few Love restarts me Love fine-tunes me Love updates me Love can't be uninstalled It comes with no operating instructions There are no components to unpack no tools to repair it no WARNING labels Breakdown is built into the design The short circuit is purposeful ⚡ the power outage ⚡ Satisfaction follows the surge The disruption..... I welcome it When machines are missing parts they no longer function When I am missing parts I function with fury I keep churning Even when empty ↯ Return this to the manufacturer This is not my heart.

By Lightning Bolt ⚡2 months ago in Poets

STOP RUNNING THROUGH ME LIKE MY BLOOD

STOP RUNNING THROUGH ME LIKE MY BLOOD Stop running through me like my blood, reaching every hidden part, you left my life so long ago, but never left my heart.

By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets

Prose

Fragmented Reflection.css-hzobwq{color:var(--text-default-base);}.css-1dh9ikp-Text{display:inline-block;overflow:hidden;position:absolute;white-space:nowrap;border:none;clip:rect(0, 0, 0, 0);height:1px;margin:-1px;padding:0;width:1px;color:var(--text-default-base);}. Top Story - September 2026.

Looking up on Katahdin

When the Hologram Cries

What to do, What to write

the tower

This Isn’t AI, It’s a Pulse

Grace

I Don’t Write for Cold People

Labor Day, 2026

For the Greater Good of God

Biomechanical Heart. Top Story - September 2026.

STOP RUNNING THROUGH ME LIKE MY BLOOD

Fragmented Reflection. Top Story - September 2026.