Prose

The Bangmaid
She doesn't say it out loud, because who would listen? - Of course she made the bed. Of course she put the dryer on so his clothes are warm and dry.
By Autumn Stewabout a year ago in Poets
The Silence Beneath Her Smile
In the heart of a quiet little town, Lived a girl who never wore a frown. Her eyes sparkled like summer skies, But no one knew they masked her cries. Her name was Alina. A name the town adored. To her classmates, she was sunshine— Always the first to cheer others forward. She danced through hallways with grace, Left laughter in every place. But each smile she gave was borrowed light, Stolen from stars she lost at night. At home, the walls whispered pain, A father drunk, a mother drained. No warmth in hugs, no gentle care, Just silence thick and heavy air. She wrote in journals she hid away, Telling pages what she couldn’t say. A world inside where she could scream, Where ink became her fragile dream. > “Why does no one see the ache? The mask I wear begins to break. I’m drowning in a sea so wide, Yet everyone says, ‘You’re glowing inside!’” In school, she helped others shine, Their broken parts she’d intertwine. She carried their burdens on her back, While her soul quietly cracked. “Alina, you're so strong,” they’d say. “You’re the reason I get through each day.” She’d nod and beam that perfect smile, And walk away, breaking inside all the while. > “They see me as a light to follow, But inside I am empty, hollow. My voice is fading with each breath, I carry the weight of quiet death.” One winter’s evening, the stars stood still, As though the sky had sensed a chill. Alina’s room was neat, bed made tight, A candle burned soft, a final light. On her desk lay a single page— A whisper from a silent cage: > “To those I loved but could not show, I wanted you to truly know— Behind the joy I gave away, My heart was slowly swept away. I smiled so you wouldn’t see, The storms that lived inside of me. I helped you fly, though I had no wings, I gave you songs, while breaking strings. If only one had asked me twice, Looked beyond my practiced ice— Perhaps a hand, a touch, a word, Could’ve caught the pain unheard. But it’s okay—don’t cry for me, I’m finally where my soul is free.” They found her there, a faded flame, Too late to whisper back her name. The town fell still, their joy undone, For the girl who smiled at everyone. The school planted a tree in her name, But the wind never spoke the same. And though seasons come and flowers bloom, Her absence echoes through every room. Now in that town when someone smiles, They pause and look a little while. For they’ve learned from Alina’s fall— Even those who laugh may have it all… …except the strength to make one call.
By TrueVocalabout a year ago in Poets
Before the Final breath
They say death is our finality, The moment all things end, But it’s isn’t always thunderous, Not a scream, not a crash, not a fall, A quiet disappearance before we know it’s begun, A slow, steady, fading of life. It’s the death of dreams once yours to hold, The loss of love, of trust, of moments now cold, Each loss, not just a thing gone, But a piece of oneself, slipping silently away. And in the midst of these small deaths, You wonder if you’re still alive. We live as if death is distant, A final breath, years away, But it lingers in the corners, hidden in plain sight, It doesn’t wait for you to be ready; it takes what it will. A breath, a heartbeat, a soul……… Left behind, you feel the weight of absence, A presence no longer there, yet never truly gone. Death doesn’t always cry out, It whispers softly, a smooth, calm breeze, That shifts and stirs what once was, It begins long before the last breath, In unnoticed moments, Until the chair where you once sat, Sways gently in the wind, Dusty, empty and untouched. You think you’ll recognize death, when it comes, But it is a descent into the shadows, So slow you don’t see it at first, The silence that prepares you for goodbye, Fading laughter, Eyes growing distant, Memories losing their shape, Until all that remains are echoes of the things you knew. It leaves you with a space nothing can fill. Still, you’ll breathe, Still, you’ll move through the days, You’ll carry the silent weight, The loss of pieces you didn’t know were fading, Until the final breath comes, And it feels like nothing at all, Because so much had already gone
By Peace Oputaabout a year ago in Poets
Analogy for Hens
What’s it say about me that returning to my rejections is the first time I’ve felt normal in a week. That despisement holds my hand and tells me when it’s clear to walk. That I show up at last call and get a meal for two. That I can’t feel my teeth after the first drink and I admire the ocean of friendship I already have in this new glass shack. It’s cold like the last one but I know it won’t be forever. They installed a heater for me and the hens out back so we can hatch the double yolked eggs in time for breakfast. What’s it say about us that providing life for life is just giving thanks. That we equate normalcy with any day the pain stays in one spot. Tell yourself it’s easier to ignore that way. Easier to walk with your eyes closed and let God decide your fate. Easier to go back to clay floors when glass straw just makes an eerie view from all sides. At least now you don’t have to look at the dirt. At least now you can say it’s all in your head.
By Olivia Dodgeabout a year ago in Poets
You Will Never Know. Top Story - June 2025.
You tried to kill me. Don’t try to deny it, the evidence is quite clear. It was close, my dear. Very, very close. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you?
By Meredith Harmonabout a year ago in Poets
PARADOX
Lyrics [Verse 1] (Male) We said forever in a coffee shop, Did you mean it or were you just tired? Your playlist still hits me with every drop,
By XDreamabout a year ago in Poets
Why is The Trail Here?
Why is the trail here? Nature enthusiasts: Because it winds around picturesque valleys, ambles through a valley following the river to the sparkling sea, whispers its way through an old growth forest carefully preserved, and tiptoes through a swamp still very much alive with ancient crocodiles.
By Meredith Harmonabout a year ago in Poets
When the Sun No Longer Forgives
Sun-locked rays, clinging to driftwood— the earth’s melting surface boils with dying force. . Shadows fall short. No longer does relief
By Henrik Hagelandabout a year ago in Poets
I understand.
You think I don't understand you but I do Or maybe I don't , but this is what I know: I know what it's like to be alone , to lose yourself, have nothing left in you to give. You want to love but you gave all of it away, people took it away from you. Perhaps you gave the last bit of you to another, and they ran away with it. Your love was so strong they couldn't help but take it with them.
By CotardDelusionzabout a year ago in Poets
Apotropaic
An apotropaic prosaic mosaic Founding member of Melancholics Synonymous Happiness taunts us As our ego haunts us A dauntless existence of seeing all and none at once
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
My Storm Maiden
Lightning flashed as the hailstones smashed and torrents splashed against the rattling windows and doors. Startled, I screamed, dropping my favorite crystal teacup, shards of clear Czech crystal skittering across the barren wood floor of white pine, well-worn. As I kneeled to retrieve the pieces of wet glass, the storm raged on, and the window above me lit with a double flash. Suddenly, I saw her, the Maiden of Storms; I knew my love had finally returned.
By K.B. Silver about a year ago in Poets
Journey-2
A journey without pain Is a journey without growth No reward for the champion No pride in survival If all is trifle How many times can one be made anew
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets