Category: Prose Poetry

Your whole body feels tight, like you’ve crushed every inch of you. Your heart races and you feel out of breath, like someone’s sucked the air right out of your lungs. Your hands and feet feel cold, and you can’t quite figure out why. You want to run, but you cannot – this is not…

I’m not looking for an escape but an embrace. I live in many worlds, sometimes at the same time. It’s enthralling, it’s terrifying. I don’t know how to navigate this mental maze, and it overwhelms me too often. Maybe that’s the problem – trying to run away from the maze when I should be enjoying…

I’m a performer, my mask on. As the show starts, I feel sick to my stomach. I don’t want to do this. But the show (and I) must go on. So I play my role, though I would rather be doing anything else. My mask shows a smile, a happiness I don’t feel. I impatiently…

The night belongs to the poets, because we’re the only ones strong enough to embrace it. It belongs to the lovers, who know that the heart is most awake in the middle of night. It is the artists who own the dark, because we see not absence but the presence of the hearts deepest desires.

If the pen is mightier then the sword, then I’m definitely a keyboard warrior. And like many of the warriors of old, I wake up at night and fight my literary battles in the dead of night. The longer the night goes, the mightier my words. And when the sun awakens, my literary warrior goes…

My heart beats faster and faster. I’ve started and it’s the middle of night. That’s bad news because it means I can’t stop. I no longer have control. Intention, deliberation, structure, these are foreign to me. My muse has awoken and she leads the way now. I do my best to channel what she says…