Hey everyone! So, I've been kind of lacking inspiration for what to write lately and I was wondering if people could give me any poetry prompts! I'd love it if y'all could just throw me any cool prompts you may have come up with or come across, or writing challenges, or any themes for poems, or vague ideas, or pictures, or really anything I could use to write poetry with. Thank you! <333

I wrote two poems today from Abi's prompts!

--

a shaded, mossy forest of green tree leaves and interwoven roots

envelops a small girl, wearing a leaf crown, as she slowly fades from the amber sunlight

--

(This one was fun) 

dear time,

i regret showing you my skin like pumice

the geographical blue lines that travel

my arms like a vein map

over abrasive hands, and skin, porous, dry

the regret smothers my heart,

a fibrous net, as thick as pudding

pulling me away like i'm a tugboat

--

Does the love poem have to be about a person? Because I wrote out lists of cooking things and it seems like the poem is going to be about "Oh, my passionate love for--cinnamon rolls" XD Haha. 

Ooooh, I'm hungry. I can almost smell them—warm, just out of the oven!

Admin

buckingham turned out to be a disappointment

——

remember in london when i almost threw up

on the double-decker bus

doubled over against a grimy window

shaking like a gingko in a hurricane?

remember how we stumbled down the grainy steps,

half-lost (and me not caring),

too far from the palace

we were meant to be by ten?

my stomach and head churned alike,

sending me staggering, blinded,

a dying dog, eyes crossed, hands clenched

against my sides

as if to squeeze the pain out through my palms.

keilin whined about having to walk.

we walked,

him with feet-dragging, me with mounting nausea,

past bakeries and hotels,

cafes and restaurants,

a city made more foreign in its similarity to home.

the speak the same language

but their tongues have different shapes,

to live, to die, to be a tourist—

time wound alongside us,

tracing under the leering curves of bridges,

through a park

plush with green and spindly benches.

dad studied the map,

mom remarked on the trees,

and i tried to remember how to breathe.

the shirt i wore: mustard yellow & white stripes.

mom loves it and i do not,

and now when i put it on i feel ghosts:

sleeves and collar at once too tight, clenching,

fixing to rip my flesh down to bone.

what if i throw up right now, on the grass

in this pretty london park,

and all my insides spill out

and what if i can’t put them back

and what if i like being empty?

me, already the last of the group, fell back,

stopped and swayed on my feet

and they didn’t feel like my own.

fingers fumbling, i reached under my shirt to undo my bra,

terrified out of mind that my torso might

snap

in

two.

Red Roses~

A girl sat in her bed,

Staring at the dark,

Uncertain if the shadows were the trees or

Something else.

Her heart raced,

She clutched the covers tighter.

“What are you so afraid of, dear?”

A shadow moved, the girl froze.

“Who are you?”

The shadow flickered, “why does it matter?”

“I must know if I should fear.”

“There is nothing to be afraid of, dear.”

The girl shook her head. “Then go away.”

“Why should I?”

“You’re alone.”

“You’re hurting.”

“You’re broken.”

The shadow laughed.

“You’re not good enough.”

“You’re nothing.”

The girl stared out at the dark,

Her heart had ceased to race,

She felt nothing.

Then, to her surprise,

The shadow offered a rose.

It glistened bright,

Even though it was dark.

“Take the rose, dear.”

“Why?”

“Because you need it.”

“If I take it, will you leave me alone?”

“Yes, but you must keep it in your pocket.”

The girl took the rose.

The thorns pricked her fingers,

And she felt better.

She closed her eyes, though the shadow still lingered.

The next night, the girl couldn’t sleep again.

She gripped the covers,

Although she was no longer afraid of the dark

Or the shadows that seemed to

Mock her mark.

“Hello again, dear.”

The shadow laughed.

“I see you’ve kept the rose.”

“Yes”

The girl whispered.

“Leave me alone.”

“Have another rose.”

It was brighter and bigger than the first,

And craving its beauty,

It's pain,

The girl took it.

Though the prick on her fingers

Was barely felt at all,

And the shadow did not leave her alone.

“Take another!”

It prodded.

“And another!”

Soon it was morning,

And the girl did not come down for school.

She lay in her bed,

Surrounded in bright

Red roses,

That glistened in the light.

I did end up writing a love poem about cinnamon rolls, and then one about emotional (not taste) love. Both of these poems are kind of messes.

(I liked the idea of using a French title...and I recently learned direct and indirect objects, woohoo!)

je l'adore (version 1)

it is the beloved object of everyone's hunger pangs

sticky-sweet, tasting of honey,

and spices,

cinnamon

it adheres to your hands while you eat

and leaves crumbs on your lips, hauntingly

delicious and enticing

(you lick your lips)

(stirring up wishful thinking)

senses pouring into your mind

of hot and messy, dripping,

cinnamon rolls

---

je l'adore (version 2)

darling, i want to 

taste your sweet lips

i've spilled over the

edges, all i can think

now is i want to

pour myself into your

arms for a hug

i am infatuated by the

drippy combination of our

hands, burning hot,

melting into something

like honey, as sticky

as if you stirred wet

flour in a bowl, scraping

the messy edges with a

spoon as it overcooked

--

I also wrote a poem for Soren's prompt, I just don't have time to post it now!

This poem is from Abi's prompt, write a poem that is exactly 100 words.