Prosepoetry cerita

14 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 ──────── ˚ ₊ ‧ ⋆ ──────── There has always been an 𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐬 residing in me. Something hollow and deep and empty. Something that screams to be heard. Something that aches for meaning in this haunting world. Through this collection I try to pick out the pieces of my heart and bleed out words that have haunted me. And maybe try to find peace with a truth that always scared me. because maybe this is how its meant to be : me, floating in the abyss of my misery ────────˚ ₊ ‧ ⋆ ──────── ⟪ h i g h e s t r a n k i n g s ⟫ #1 in poem (out of 199k stories) #1 in poetrycollection (out of 34.5k stories) #1 in words (out of 16.5k stories) #1 in poembook (out of 15.8k stories) #1 in prose (out of 9.07k stories) #1 in freeverse (out of 7.72k stories)

"They say the war is over. So why is the world still so loud?" For Matthew, 29 July 1944 isn't just a birthday, it's a mark of shame. In a post-war Norway that wants to erase every trace of Germany, Mattie is a reminder they can't burn. He only has two things left: a wooden boat in his dreams and Gutt, the teddy bear who knows all his secrets. This is a story of a boy trying to find a harbor in a world that has no room for a 'War Child.' Matthew is a Lebensborn child a product of a history the world wants to forget. Now, as the dust of World War II settles, he must navigate a life of silence, prejudice and shadows. While others see a 'Little Nazi,' Mattie only sees a horizon. He is waiting for the adoption ship, hoping that across the sea, someone will finally look at him and see a son, not a sin. Was supposed to be the "Perfect Child". But when the flags of the Third Reich fell, he was left behind in the cold Norwegian soil a living ghost of a fatherland that no longer exists. With a tattered teddy bear named Gutt as his only witness, Mattie spends his days staring at the horizon, waiting for a ship that will carry him to a home where he isn't called a 'monster.' But in the aftermath of 1945, some wounds don't bleed they just whisper. First title: Mattie God's gift of Lebensborn Second title: Tyskerbarn In the land of snow ___________________________________________ Draft: 26 July 2025 I always update depending on my mood 🗿

For everything that endures, season after season.

poems from my journal about ptsd & my guilty conscience.

Random/disordered pieces. Generally written in a dreary haze of sorts. More lucid than brain fog yet with the oppression of hallucination. A wakeful dream; The sense of it, at the very moment it's written been clear, slips away when revisited later. It's rather useless by then. Passion never lasts. And I'm stuck romanticizing the ephemeral. <> Finding human writing/art/media apart from ai will become as pedantic as abstaining for organic produce from the conventional in a market. It all feeds the same anyhow: SFX Props? VFX CGI? GenAI? At some point, barely anyone would bother differentiating. The consequences overall lies in rumor and superstition with a scientific flavor. Getting ahead of the curb by acting on suggestions/hypotheses as mandates; could such gamble be afforded over and over? Doesn't gambling lead to a net loss on average? By the end of it, organic's the minority, as against automation, so will be humanity. Writing on itself as a form of sincere expression, like this, is a type of clownery. A doomed hobby, mutually outmoded as reading. Doomscrolling would've been a better use of time on my end. "Fast fashion" form of writing has always been the point for the mainstream. Writing's streamlined for a long while now. LLM-AI is that final step to maximize the output. Really, is it bad? Its a self-sufficient haven: Why complain over getting more of what one wants, like the want of reading? Quality in art is in the mercy of subjectivity. Not good enough? Want improvement?: Improvement is the expertise of ai. It's only natural. What can be done? I don't know: spiting against a tsunami will not prevent it from coming and washing everything away that's good. And sometimes it takes even the bad amongst the wreck. I'm here; Luddite. Inept. I can only wait to be swept away or drown by it. Whichever comes first. "Sent from my IPhone"🙏🌽⚽️ Cover: Self-Edited(Muhammad Siyah Qalam miniatures)

In the outskirts of the city of Murkam, witches are allowed to breathe. In this state, Ruhi struggles to discover her identity and falls into the fate of ancient elemental powers far greater than she ever imagined. As destiny unfolds, three other women from vastly different worlds-a pirate's daughter, a royal trapped in a palace, and a cunning courtesan-are unknowingly drawn toward the same fate. Bounded by secrets, curses, and lost legends, their paths collide to form a single journey: a **Qafila** destined to change their world. But as hidden powers awaken and dangerous truths surface, the four women must decide-will they embrace their destiny, or be destroyed by it?

teenage memories immortalized through words ✒️ 2018 - 2022

1 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 ──────── ₊⋆☽◯☾⋆₊ ──────── 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. ──────── ₊⋆☽◯☾⋆₊ ──────── ⟪ 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 personal thoughts (out of 2.5k stories)

Just some poems.

This is the journal I write in when life feels quiet on the outside but loud on the inside. The place where love gets messy, calm gets interrupted, and I learn who I am in the moments between the two. These entries aren't polished. They're raw, unfiltered, and written from the space between wanting peace and chasing fire. If you've ever loved someone you shouldn't, waited for someone who didn't show up, or felt yourself slipping in and out of chaos - this is for you.

My selected journal entries ranging from May 2025 to present day.

'Noble Heart: Words of Passion' ay isang likhang sining ng mga salita na hinabi mula sa iba't ibang tauhan na isinulat ni Jcena Mortiff. Sa loob nito ay matatagpuan ang mga pukaw-sa-puso na linya mula sa iba't ibang anyo ng pag-ibig, maging ito man ay kasiyahan, kalungkutan, tagumpay, o pagkabigo. Naglalaman ito ng mga salitang hindi lamang nagbibigay-diin sa malalim na damdamin kundi naglalaman din ng mga aral na kinuha mula sa mga karanasan, kaisipan, puso ng bawat likhang-isip na mga tauhan, mga tauhan na binigyang buhay ng may akda.

a story, in prose format of how it began, how it flourished, how i fell into it, how it ended and the process of letting it all go.

Here you will find fantasy poems, poetic short stories, and fragments of myth. Some were written in the quiet spaces between novels. Some are echoes of worlds not yet born. Others were written while creating Of Demons and Men, revealing characters and moments that live between the pages of the story. These are pieces gathered from many years of writing, fragments of imagination, reflection, and myth.

My latest collection of prose poetry and short experimental narratives, IOU (a phonetic acronym of the words "I owe you"), chronicles the teeth of self reflection, the harrowing bottomless pits of the mind, the grieving of the ego, and the wounds of girlhood. This book also includes pieces from the Sea of Faces anthology. A collection that lulls the ache of futile relationships, of navigating the depths of the self - and the unspoken burden of losing your core as you shift through love. 2017-2024

Kumpulan prosa flash fiction. Menyampaikan kerinduan dengan cara yang Tsaaaaahhh .

but of course life can be messy. take a look inside what's going on in my mind. blurry. a collection of prose made by me, my thoughts, and my feelings.

｡⁠*ﾟ🍃:: prose poetry: when your life is in chaos grab your pen and paper; start to write your thoughts and feelings.

A prose poem about a boring summer afternoon in bed.

Ongoing poetic ramblings from the recesses of my mind.