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May E V Watson Oct 2017
I dream of world’s, or at least portals to them.

It always plays back to me like a broken memory. The places location and buildings change, the people change but the two optional outcomes ALWAYS remain constant. It started when I was a little girl, maybe six or seven, I started having serious reoccurring dreams. The one I tell you about now is the one I referred to as “The Portal.”
We are walking along, depending on who it is, we are at school, work, or someplace downtown. There are always others around.

It is always Autumn, a day just chilly enough for the light coats we are wearing. The sky has lots of fluffy cotton ball clouds Drifting by, in the breeze always carries the scent of the Sea, saltwater, the breeze also carries the Fallen Autumn Leaves upon it on the warm wind Drifting by, even if there are no trees. And we’re always, or always end up outside, walking along.

After what feels like walking for an hour or so in this dream of mine, the winds pick up Suddenly. The sharp smell of ozone cuts the air. The tear, Rift, opening, mini black hole, wormhole whatever you want to call it this portal to another place, opens up with a flash of Silent Violet lightning.
It creates suction like squirrel, pulling things into it; mailboxes, cars, Lake posts all seemed to disintegrate when it touches it, all but the birds and trees being ****** in.

And somehow I always know, but the only way for it to go, it’s to get what it came for. I must go, it always gives me the choice though. If I do not jump, into the sky, it fades away over time. It has never forced me to go. Take another thing was, perhaps a faceless person, but I’ve never been made to go against my will by it.

It is always you, or the one beside me grabbing my hand as I jump. My feet dangle in the sky, towards the rift. I am not afraid, but you are. And the tears roll down her cheeks, to drift into the static.

It is a cool and sunny autumn day, and the sky is full of clouds. The breeze and air current is strong going into the portal, but also gentle is the wind Swirls and leaves float to the air. And you are always one or many of you, my love ones, my friends, my family, always holding on to me, onto to my wrists.
There is only ever one thing you say is our tears trip into the sky, “Please.”

Sometimes, I grabbed on in the whole crackles like a bad radio signal, closes and I waken. But the other times, most of the time. I will look you in the eyes, and I will say the three things I never seem to failed to say at this point. And the final thing I hate to say, just say unless I hate you, or it is final.
“ let go. You’ll be fine. Goodbye.”
After those final words for me, and he holding me ceases, even if I must look through your fingers. And I’m drawn into the tear.

I never find out where I go. But I’ve noticed, but even if I wake up and the temperature is 20 degrees, I always and never hold, feeling is the surrounded by gentle Cocoon of warmth.

I never told my mother this story, and not long ago when I was 19, she told me something at a hard time I was having,
“If the Portal opens, JUMP.” ~BLW

It’s a variation of Our Own, on the Total Recall quote get your *** to Mars because she would say that too, but it also meant she said,
“ if you are given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, even if you must leave oh you know and love behind, Take It.”
Written Sunday February 19th, 2017
this is the second of my short story prompts from my friend. and my third favorite.
K Sep 2017
I.
Wild and lonely skies
Reds and yellows painted on clouds
Roses on the side of our brick house
A dream that's slipped away
News of a day I'd forgotten
Still I live on for one song more
They haven't paid the rent
There is no heat
I can't afford to turn it back on
The floors are stained
The beds unmade
No matter how much I scrub
It never gets clean
They bring men home that break vases and leave hand prints on the windows
But I still lift the covers
Let them crawl into bed with me like the dishes were clean, like there wasn't broken glass on the floor
I wish this was a one night stand
I could sneak out
shoes in hand
Tiptoeing around the books on the floor
But I still live for one song more
And I slip back into him as if I'd never slipped away

II.
Wild and lonely skies
An endless loop of coffee shops and classical music and falling in love with strangers
Strange perfections and sweet echoes drip from rose petal lips
Like a dream lonely voices wake to remember
This was a prompt in which I had to borrow lines from other famous poetry and weave my own ideas into them, so if any of these sounds familiar, that's why :P
K Sep 2017
Life is fleeting she told him
They climbed in-between branches of trees
We have but a moment before-
She, rustling through leaves, slipped away
Footprints where feet no longer fell
He buys flowers for the ground
Her words still echo at night
"Loneliness is a condition of living"
"Empty rooms often speak the loudest"
Dakota May 2017
sleek nothingness,
a comforting nihilistic
home. everything is
possible, but nothing is
likely. flowers grow but
can’t be seen. the moon is
eclipsed. despair sounds like
it is the only option, but you
hear a calling from the void.
songbirds growl and you smile.
rain can only be felt, but is
welcomed. let your damp skin
peel off and let yourself drop
down, down to a fate you
trust will be preferable
to the life you are living
now.
my friend prompted me to write a poem about the color black without ever using the word and this was the result/
CautiousRain Apr 2017
I've got to hand it to you,
the curvature of your palms
are so impeccable,
that they easily slip into
the palm of another,
with skin smooth or roughed
by work, and yet even those fingertips,
slender, stubby, even some missing or bent,
can delicately intertwine
as if all gestures could be made together
and your skin and fingerprints could merge
with each touch like a puzzle piece
offered in twos,
designed to craft and to hold on
forever.
Original prompt said to write about a body part so I chose hands. Let this poem lighten up the place since I'm spamming my feed rn.
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