prose-poetry Tag Posts Index

Withered Hearts

Each year I vowed to be better. There are nights when I pray myself to sleep dreaming of something grand I wish could pull off. Like time traveling or becoming the

Sober Revelations Arising from Drunkenness

Image retrieved from double_exp0sure via Instagram Drunk in misery and loss, I know for certain this another evening will be tantamount to death. The night made

Immorality of Hunger

Photo retrieved from shankuuro via Instagram of revolting famine; this grief-kindled flesh yearns to devour a mouthful of inflaming fondness. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ to cradle what

What Wonders Terrifies Us

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Photo by Hanna Postova on Unsplash ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Sometimes I wonder when a time will ever come when I can let go of this hurt in my chest. Or will I ever have

All Things Terribly Made

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Photo by Jay Wennington on Unsplash ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I am counting the days until a supposed-to-be significant fate comes crawling back on this lonesome roof. It

Lifeless Memorabilia

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Day 310 Everyday is emotionally well-spent. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I stare at these corners and walk back from a dream. I fill these sheets with entangled bliss and

Converse in Wild Notes

I grew up longing for a home which most people defined as their safe haven. Broken glasses scattered on the floor, two voices shouting at each other—echoing in this

My Lungs Melt at Dusk

I thought it was just a phase. I woke up one time and stared at the clock, hoping it would come to a halt. However, the world is rapidly changing and I am caught

Youth in Scraping Sunsets

I built castles in the air and every once in a while, I would flap my wings to visit. It had sort of things a child wished to acquire. There was freedom, and I could

Sadness is like an old friend

Photo retrieved from Pixabay (items and whatnots) It's the sadness that stays without a notice that weakens me the most. The one that shows up more often than the

Death

What do we need to realize before our impending doom? That it isn't as deadly when your words cry for it to show up on your doorstep? That it's a fresh start for

I'm built for poetry

Photo retrieved from Pixabay I'm built different. I'm built wrong. I'm built out of guilt. and I have frigid bones and fiery palms that burns and leave criss-cross

Point of View: Life

Photo by Warren Wong on Unsplash “I am sick of haunting myself from within like an old house.” — Erica Jong, from “Bitter Herb,” Witches (as seen in Becoming Light:

What I'm Made Of

Photo by Gustavo Sousa on Unsplash ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “I fear I will be ripped open and found unsightly.” — Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait In Letters. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ My eyes are mists

Growing up with undiscarded emotional baggage

Photo retrieved from Pixabay Little boys like me indulge on blasphemy when it's shaped like a candycane to feed our sweet tooth, and more than often, was pronounced

Realizations at seventeen

Photo retrieved from pixabay. I always feel left behind. While my mind is eager to wander around the concepts that made adulthood, my body is still a vessel of an

Sunsets Are Metaphorically Tangible

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I was not allowed to leave the house for unnecessary events and it didn't take me long to realize I have missed out on half of my childhood years. Plus,

First-borns Existing In Pages

Photo retrieved from Pixabay. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I have this habit every time something remarkable has happened or made me feel down. I find it hilarious to even think that

Lullaby Prisoners

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ It is always the lingering burn in my chest that made my fingertips bleed. I do not want to be seen just because they knew that I hid—I want to be looked

Writing is ...

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ long post ahead ! ♡♡ Photo retrieved from Pixabay. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ The realization hits different when you have known everything is going so much better. One moment,