(hears A Song Lyric) This Would Make A Great All-lower Case Fanfiction Title

writing prompts! all about night edition

hands are cold but feet unmoving, watching magic in the night

I didn’t mean to say it in my head and I didn’t mean to whisper it at night

it’s nearly night, frost creeping in on silent feet

it’s the song of night that draws me in

at night, when I’m alone, I look up and I can see the stars

a lantern far away glimmers and I can run away into the night

take me to a place in the middle of the night when the stars shine brighter as the sky turns slowly lighter

in the coolness of the night, send the shadows into flight

But as I’m walking forward, I’m walking into the night

in the heartland, where the night creeps in solemnly

you bought tomorrow and banished the night

if I ever think about you at night, if I whisper your name so soft

make a little more color in a lightened up night

and the night was upon us as the dark came creeping in, do you remember?

sometimes I dread the night, and feel so bitter

if the night can hold my hand and if the shadows are my friends I guess I’m alright

I can’t see the moon against the brightness of night

waiting for the light to untie night’s strings and the sky to come undone

the night was ebbing in and out like the sea

I am the power, I am the night

the past that haunts and fears that slide around in the back of my brain at night

like the closing of a story, the night rolls across the page

which is more lovely, the night or the day?

late night hurting, fever’s chill, I want a word, I need a will

let me stich your constellations onto the quilt of my night sky

🪄 ✨

Moments and Memories

A home is sometimes a person,

sometimes a place.

But mostly it's million tiny feelings you can't erase.

A nostalgia,

A flutter in your heart or

An aching memory that makes you fall apart.

It's in the familiarity

Of a touch, sound, and smell.

How you can recognize footsteps so well.

It's in the fragrance of an old detergent,

The coolness of a freshly made bed or

Within the worn-out pages of a book, you once read.

The way you can recognize

The chair that wobbles and,

The coordinates of every dent from squabbles.

You'll be taken back in time

At the sound of a video game

When new high scores were the only mark of fame.

You're back at your childhood home

When you smell your favorite meal

Reminiscing how mum's food has powers to heal

Home could be right now,

Right here, but the feeling is

Forged out of moments that were once dear.

Rainer Maria Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus: First Part (XXV) (tr. J.B. Leishman)

Cardan's Letters to Jude

—burned by Lady Asha

endearments in letters to véra

I tell you, I tell you not.

I love you, and I think you love me.

But that's how far it gets, so I put it in poetry.

I write about you sometimes.

Hide my truth within similes, metaphors, and rhymes.

Of hushed conversations in a crowded place

Memorizing each thing so I can later retrace.

You ask me how I feel when I'm with you.

Like I'm in a cellophane bubble of a soft pink hue,

La vie en Rose

A dopamine doze

You ask me what I think of you.

Words to which I wish I knew

Universe pulled a few invisible strings,

Put you in my life to change everything.

We stand inches close yet light years away.

Cliche!

We stay long enough to touch, not enough to hold

The world is unfair, or so I'm told.

So I pretend your smile doesn't put me in slumber.

Memorize lines on your hand as one would with numbers.

You ask me why I hold back. I say I'm scared.

What I hold back is what I'm scared of:

It's not being unable to find the right words for what I feel

It's being able to say the right words and never heal.

I love you, but I don't tell.

I try to show you, like casting a gentle spell.

Through metaphors and rhymes

And words that were written by dead poets sometimes.

My Body: A Crime Scene

I was told the body is a temple. I was taught to treat my body like a temple. Sacred, Holy, somewhere God resides, somewhere a person can be at peace. But with time, the sacrality has begun to fade. It has become a realm of my internal demons, something sinister.

My body is now more of a crime scene than a temple.

I've put up barricade tapes around me. Of bright "when life gives you lemon" yellow and black. A cautionary measure for the lighthearted.

Some understand and stay away.

Others push right through like the case now belongs to them.

They say they've seen this before.

They say no amount of gore can keep them away.

They say they'll take care of it.

Only to realize it's bloodier than they could've imagined.

Multiple fingerprints, Multiple footprints: An evidence marker placed for every person I let walk all over me, and for every person, I gave my heart only for them to poke my wounds.

Blood: Numerous splatters, but all mine.

Weapons: Some sticks and stones, knives that I willingly handed over hoping they'd protect me, now covered in my blood and, a pen.

Many witnesses: Either dumb or hostile.

Signs of arson: Ashes of everything I burnt down. Pictures, letters, broken promises, false hopes, unfulfilled dreams.

And now, all that's left of me is a chalk outline. Everything else faded, picked apart or withered away.

My body is not a temple anymore. It isn't sacred or pure.

It's not a place I can stand barefoot.

It's now a place where I need a hazmat suit and gloves.

maybe the rain is there to teach us that falling is beautiful. some people are a map when you didn’t realize you were lost. you’re the ache that never left, the first line of an unfinished song. it doesn’t have to be a poem to be poetry.. have you seen how carefully the light can touch your face? and even though I’m an abandoned house in search of a ghost, I don’t need anything from you. I want everything with you.

you're not hard to love. you were only made to feel that way by someone who didn't know how.