Prose Stories

I'm running out of explanations here. I'm winging it. I'm always winging it. The title just felt right and damn, here we are. It's poetry so if it's not your thing, you might like it. Occasionally, it may be a little prose, depending on the feeling but we'll try to keep it consistent. Does anyone ever even read these things? Ok it's about a boy, a lonely boy. Sometimes he feels like he's a thousand leagues under the sea. Other times, it's like he's been severed from reality. Whatever that means. This boy, just wants the world to understand him. But it has no obligation to. So he's stuck on the outskirts of everything and everything else hoping for some sense of clarity. It never comes. It never will. This is a documentation, of his never ending pursuit. That was decent, right? I do love letters, letter letters, confessions, police statements on the side, in case you need them. Basically, I'll handle the ever living heaven out of your writing needs. The sick part, is that it's free so feel free.. to blast the message board and I'll take the time I usually use to do something constructive and meaningful to tend to your requests. Read well, friends.

──────── ₊⋆☽◯☾⋆₊ ──────── 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 is a poetic memoir of becoming, an unfolding of myself, one fragile petal at a time. This collection traces my journey through the fragile and tangled years of teenagehood. Through each poem, you would get a glimpse of raw and unfiltered moments of love, heartbreak, loss, confusion and even hints of clarity. The title is more than just a name : it is a metaphor of growth and acceptance . Each year, each experience was a petal unfolding . Some were soft like teenage innocence while others were jagged, stained with blood, weathered by heartbreak and resilient in reaching. Some were glowing red under the eternal sunlight of euphoria while others were withered due to the droughts of insecurity and floods of pent up emotions . But together these roses compose the bouquet of my becoming. Now I offer this bouquet to you, dear reader, and hope you find petals of your own and embrace the garden you are meant to be. ──────── ₊⋆☽◯☾⋆₊ ──────── 𝟗 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 ⟪ h i g h e s t r a n k i n g s ⟫ #1 in poesia (out of 15k stories) #1 in spokenword (out of 4.57k stories) #1 in personalthoughts (out of 2.5k stories) #1 in personalexperience (out of 1.57k stories) #1 in freeverse (out of 7.74k stories)

scribbling and saving those flash flood feelings

🌸❯────「🌸」────❮🌸 Drenched Cedars - A Poetry Contest/ Best Cover 🥇 🌸❯────「🌸」────❮🌸 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬. 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬. What began as a chessboard became a garden-of grief and laughter, faith and forgetting. Of fathers who never sat on thrones. Of men holding the wrong flowers on blind dates. Of a lab explosion and a Marble Queen shaking her head. Across eleven poetic forms-𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞, 𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚, 𝐤𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞, 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞-𝟑❃ 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 is not one story but thirty windows into the same human heart. Some open onto darkness. Some onto dawn. Some onto beauty you didn't know you were allowed to name. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬. For readers who recognize themselves in the specific, the restrained, and the resolutely alive. 𝐕𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐕𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐨 🌸2026🌸 🌸❯────「🌸」────❮🌸

and other poems about how i lost my best friend, how i loved him in secret, and how i wished i never said a thing. #Shortys2025

The lesson will repeat itself until you learn from it. This quote alone symbolizes the tale of A dance with A Necromancer. A foretelling memoir of one woman's secret double life finding her in each and every lifetime. All secrets don't stay buried and not all Ghosts are dead.

a collection of her

Life is like a slam book. We open ourselves to others, inviting them to leave their mark. Their words - scribbles on our pages - reveal their thoughts and feelings. We can't control what they write; we can only read, turn the page, and move forward. Each entry becomes a testament to our shared experiences. We cherish them, learn from them, and grow through these interactions. And so, this book - Remain Unsaid... - holds the unspoken feelings I've gathered from the people who filled those pages, alongside my own moments of quiet futility. Feelings of love, betrayal, and blessings - too profound to express to the ones who wrote them - find their way here instead, poured into words that mirror my soul. To those who have walked similar paths, who have felt the depths of love, loss, futility, and longing - may these words validate your emotions, comfort you in silence, and remind you of your strength. - A'nonymous

The storm said to the wall, "I rage to give you purpose." And then the storm said to me, "I rage to give you life."

"Some people are like the moon-far away in distance, yet never distant in feelings." 🌙 Still Breathing is a collection of prose about unspoken love, fading memories, midnight thoughts, and the quiet ache of longing. These pages are for the hearts that loved in silence, waited endlessly, lost pieces of themselves, and still chose to keep breathing. For the hearts that broke softly... yet kept breathing. 🌙

Writing has always been my thing-my quiet escape and my loud confession. Here I share my creations: the raw pieces of a mind that never stops thinking and a heart that never stops feeling. Welcome to my world of ink and impulse. This collection of poetry and prose is for those of us who feel we've lost our connections. For those who sometimes feel a little less than human because of it, yet somehow feel all the emotions in the world at once. 🖤

Some are born original. Some are forced to become. Esha was a woman who saw through the world as a guest, possessing it was never a question-hope of belonging, giving more than taking-remaining invisible fit like a glove instead. A man like Antares, waltzed into her life, promising the universe in exchange for her trust. The world she stood on tilted, the heart murmured fears, the body recoiled in memory of hands unbidden, the mind curled into itself hoping to have dreamt it away, while the soul recognized a kindred spirit. Yet when two wounded strangers recognize themselves in each other, the personas they built to survive begin to fracture. How to trust a woman whose scars marred the body like ink? How to trust a man whose skin bleeds from his very sins? What to make of kithship so visceral-it possesses the body in stupor? Who were they when no one was watching? A story of identity. Complexity. And the selves we keep becoming. Reader discretion is advised. Updates every Wednesday, 12:00 AM EDT.

The words l couldn't say out loud

We spend our whole lives begging strangers to handle us with gentle hands. We write grand rules for how we want to be loved, yet we never stop to ask the only thing that actually matters: "When was the last time you were gentle with yourself?" This is not a story about finding your other half. It is a sharp, surgical look at the quiet execution we mistake for romance: the decision to carve away your own landscape just to purchase an hour of quiet in someone else's shadow. Stop starving yourself to feed a stone.

© 8ront3 xxmviii compilation of writing over the years; poetry, short stories, recollections of experiences.

°°° If you want me to describe what this book is about, just imagine being a child and making a "magic" potion by mixing different sachets of shampoos. My favorite number is four. I have so much things to say that I end up just blabbering nonsense, but if you wanted to seek what's inside the mind of a curious girl like Alice in Wonderland... You are welcome to dwelve. ଓ.°°°

These are the things I never said out loud. The soft truths, the quiet aches, the unguarded pieces of me. This book is a collection of poems and prose written from the heart of an introvert-someone who feels too deeply, thinks too much, and speaks only when the world inside becomes too heavy to hold. Within these pages are late-night thoughts, unspoken confessions, gentle heartbreaks, small joys, and the silent battles no one notices. If you've ever felt misunderstood... If you've ever loved from afar... If you've ever stayed quiet even when your soul was screaming... These words are for you. Let this be your safe space. Your soft place to land. Your reminder that even in silence, you are not alone.

Just a bunch of fictional diary entries I came up with because i was bored lol ! Very Victorian-style prose and vocabulary A/N: This piece is stylistically inspired by older literary English rather than written as a strict historical or linguistic recreation of any one period. It's a creative exercise focused on voice and mood, not accuracy. Cover: Pinterest

doodles but with words

Open the cover, read between the lines-perhaps you'll find your own heart beating in the rhymes.