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Carsyn Smith Aug 2014
If I could rearrange my body,
I'd move my humorous bone to my brain
because, honestly, I'm the last one to get the joke.
The sole of my feet would house my heart
so every step I take, Mother Nature feels my love.
My ears would be close to my hands
so when I reach out, he'll see that I'm listening.
One eye behind my head, the other facing forward,
one looking for stray daggers, the other focused on the future.
I'd move some bones to form a breastplate
because I'm more afraid of what's to come than what happened.
I just wouldn't want to loosen my humanity.
Prompt: misplaced bones
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
They say in this world that everyone starts with nothing, that everyone has the opportunity to climb to the top with a cup of effort and just a sprinkle of integrity, that everyone is born equal, and that everyone succeeds.
They are lying, if not to you, then to themselves.

Fact is that inheritance will always be present in this world; parents will always die and pass on their wealth to their children.
Whether we are aware of this or chose to acknowledge its existence is independent and non-influential to this fact.

A lying billionaire may have one daughter and she may never have to genuinely work a day in her life, while an honest but unlucky displaced man may have one son and be unable to give him but a pair of shoes to place over his soft feet.

We are unable to alter this occurrence, for it is natural to wish for one’s own legacy to continue not only in genes, but in wealth, fame, and power, but it is crucial to acknowledge the differences of the lives into which we are born.
nissa Jun 2014
never mistake the spilled blood of a lover in a glass vial to be red wine.
prompt: So today I challenge you to write about wine-and-love.
prompt credits to NaPoWriMo
nissa Jun 2014
i had the same song on replay as i walked around boston - the same sad song that had you saying goodnight  moon - and i think these lyrics have started to settle in my bloodstream, i'm pretty certain they don't want to leave - you would know how great it feels to call my veins home.

if only i could get on a big  jet  plane on autopilot; i'm pretty sure it's the only thing that can lead me to what i truly call home.  and i'd have that same song blasting throughout the plane.

except i don't think i call anything anywhere home, so i would be on that plane until my teeth and my fingertips turn yellow.
prompt: take any random song play list (from your iPod, CD player, favorite radio station, Pandora or Spotify , etc.) and use the next five song titles on that randomized list in a poem.

credits to napowrimo
Jenna Vaitkunas Jun 2014
I never liked being alone
I found comfort in the sounds of you
The deck of cards you kept in your pocket
And the coffee you left on the kitchen table
I never minded cleaning up your messes
I never minded the fact you loved Jazz
And fell asleep to the sound of an alto saxophone
But i never needed you
Like i need air
I wanted you
I am not a fragile butterfly
And you will not tear my wings
I used a "weird prompt" for this because writers block.

169: Random Things
Use some or all of these items in your story or poem:
A *** of rice
A butterfly
An alto saxophone
A deck of cards
It's been ten days since I've written.
Ten days I've been an uninspired mess.
Ten days I've had the little dizzies after standing up too quickly.
Ten days I've felt rug burn in my cheeks and cotton mouth in my eyes.
Ten days I've felt the grease ooze from my hair down my back.
Ten days I've found a home in the unswept floorboards by the door.
Ten days I've bathed in crumpled, ink infected papers.
Ten days I've drawn blood from dry lips no longer able to whistle.
Ten days I've doubted tomorrow.
Ten days I've...just...
...the hair grease part wasn't about not showering...just so we're clear...I'm clean...bye.
Leah Hollis Mar 2014
I don't know whether I should kiss you,
or destroy you.
Maybe I can’t do one without the other.
Maybe it’s the same thing.

Is it cause and effect?
Or simultaneous occurrence?
Not so much the spark that started the firestorm,
but spontaneous combustion.

Maybe you and I are the Big Bang
And we are the earth.
Fragile and young,
but, oh, look at that potential.
The first line is from a prompt found at writeworld.tumblr.com.

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