Prose
6:50pm
So if you can’t do what you love, you survive. You pierce your ears above the bathroom sink and try to look anywhere but at the blood. Your daughter starts teething and you rip the earrings out again. They were a gift from your father but you always hated them. It serves you right, too. Doing what you love is without raise, without pull, so you take the plug from the drain and watch. You find yourself in cages made of gold that’s worth more than the girl in your house. She’s foreign like the walls and the rules you wrote on the mirror. You can’t believe you wrote those— you don’t believe any of it. You write a file of the things that break her teeth and export it into the trash. It’ll stay there forever and you’ll find it when you’re a decade older, but you still won’t find the humor in it. None of it makes any sense because living and surviving are synonyms and they’re not the same at all.
By Olivia Dodgeabout a year ago in Poets
Pride Under Pressure—A Love That Refuses to Vanish. AI-Generated.
There is a weight to being seen. A sharp, unrelenting pressure that presses against the ribs, constricts the breath, and warns—too much visibility will cost you. It is the unspoken lesson of survival, passed down through glances, through silences, through doors that close quietly when you walk into a room. Be careful. Be small. Be quiet.
By taylor lindaniabout a year ago in Poets
Is This a Lollipop World?. Content Warning.
I WROTE THIS! I CREATED THIS! I REALIZE YOU GUYS ARE GOING, "Oh, there she goes again same ole tune, same ole to take up my time. I HAVE A MESSAGE TO SPREAD. I AM OKAY AFTER EXPRESSING THE TRUTH AND RELEASING THE DREAMS OUT OF MY BRAIN. It is 3am and I am still writing and creating! I WROTE THIS! I ALSO WORKED ON THE MUSIC! IT IS 3AM.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
