I might be doing it, but probably only some days. And I found the website.

First day of NaPoWriMo everyone! :D

@Leafy what is NaPoWriMo?

I hadn't heard of that previously, but I think I'm going to try to participate! Here's the (optional) prompt for today, assuming I found the correct website:

"Forrest Gump famously said that “life is like a box of chocolates.” And there are any number of poems out there that compare or equate the speaker’s life with a specific object. Today, however, I’d like to challenge you to write a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life – one that typically isn’t done all that often, or only in specific circumstances. For example, bowling, or shopping for socks, or shoveling snow, or teaching a child to tie its shoes." 

I'll post my poem later today, assuming I actually get around to writing it. :) 

That's really good, Kitten! 

I forgot about this, but it's going to be great for my sanity during quarantine haha!! Here's yesterday's prompt, we'll see how I'm feeling about today's.

life is like trying to fall asleep--

sometimes it is easy, natural;

you're absolutely ready and closing your eyes is as uncomplicated as the muscle memory at its core.

but it's only memorable when it's difficult

when you can't stop your train of thoughts from taking you so fast it feels like you're flying miles above the ground

when memories play like alarms in startling loops that twist knots in your stomach

when you lie painfully concious for hours and still the time cannot pass slow enough.

a rare few can nearly always do it with ease

a starling many can pretend and sometimes this is a good idea,

other times it is not because everyone is fundamentally different from anyone else

and you can write the perfect playlist and sometimes if the volume is quiet enough you can listen so intensely you slip into the melodies like streams leading to an ocean of dreams

and sometimes the pictures in your mind are so loud there may never be room for a single lyric

sometimes it seems the only thing that works is counting the proof that you exist, grounding yourself in one-in one-out, two-in two-out, three-in three out, making holy the breath in your lungs until it, too, turns to dreams

and sometimes nothing, not even numbers can capture breath or body and you lose yourself again and again in tangled-up stories of your own creation

sometimes you fail.

and even failure by choice yields regret and too-bright lights and confusion dense as fog.

and I could make a dozen other analogies

but it would prove nothing to deceive with trails of breadcrumbs when the world has been so many things but never a fairy tale

do not mistake my words for the rising action, as there is no climax in unconciousness because 

I cannot tell you how to sleep or how to live.

I can only tell you that the night will not last forever

it will only return over and over as our world revolves infinitely out of darkness and back

so you can try again 

The (optional) prompt for today is "write a poem about a specific place —  a particular house or store or school or office. Try to incorporate concrete details, like street names, distances (“three and a half blocks from the post office”), the types of trees or flowers, the color of the shirts on the people you remember there. Little details like this can really help the reader imagine not only the place, but its mood – and can take your poem to weird and wild places."

I wanted to be caught up, but I was really tired from writing yesterday's prompt (it took me over an hour hehe) so I just wrote a haiku, only kind of following the prompt. I actually feel like I could have a lot of fun with a longer poem for that prompt, so I might try to write that tomorrow. Or maybe I'll just use tomorrow's prompt, who knows? Anyways, here's mine for today:

I'm an explorer

taking the bus for the first

time for stories' sake. 

I AM! Here's what I've got;

White Walls

These white walls keep me inside.

I want to open my arms wide,

A jacket pulls me back,

Some MENTALITY I lack.

They say I'm a psycho, they say I'm gone

Tell everyone something is very wrong

Still, I laugh it off, sitting in the white room,

It feels like I'm drowning in a tomb

Filled with water, I still laugh.

Someone once told me I'm only half

If I was a whole human, I'd be better,

But the white walls spell out the letters,

YOU CAN'T.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 2nd

Color

A crimson flash,

Green trees and cash.

Purple grapes, and blue waters;

Orange lights and silvers quarters.

Freshly painted white nails,

Rainbow paintings, lots of detail.

All the colors bring the world together.

Maybe they make all the suffering better.

Thanks to eyes we can see these colors.

Or else the world, would be so much duller.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 3rd 

Time

Time, a thing humans made to know

When to come and when to go,

The zodiac falling behind the sun,

Until the year is done.

When the Saturday cartoons are on,

Or when the sales are on Amazon.

Clocks, that fit in your pocket

Some also fit on the wall, one I saw, even fits in a locket!

Calendars, that also stay on the walls,

Always around 13 pages, how do we keep up with it all?

This is time, we know this is true

I enjoy it, how about you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They could be better... 

Red and green and blue coats skip along the clear trail, enjoying the sunshine

The mother looks back at the daughter, her heavy coat dragging her down

She shrugs, continues onward, as the girl falls farther and farther behind

(Stupid little innocents)

The little head looks down at her feet, trudging slowly down the path

She doesn’t notice that she’s made a wrong turn until she’s already lost

(If you don’t look up, it’s your own fault)

Dark clouds gather overhead, barren trees closing in tighter and tighter

(You’re in our grasp now)

She looks around, wide eyes darting nervously, and continues on

(Not very smart, now are we?)

The girl skirts the edge of a cliff, walking faster and faster, trying to find her family

(Of course you don’t see it’s the wrong direction)

She rounds a bend and stops suddenly

(They always do)

Is it… a theme park? She dashes forward eagerly, burying her fears

(Now why would you do a thing like that?)

She approaches the faded blue and red roller coaster, shaped almost like a dragon

(You smell so good…)

She stops suddenly. Something is wrong.

We burst out of our frozen poses and circle her, stalking.

She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out

We lunge and feint, attack and retreat. All playing with her, of course

She tries to run, but her feet won’t move

We close in, about to chomp…

She wakes up, drenched in cold sweat. What a horrible nightmare!!

--

Today's prompt is to write a poem about an image from a dream. This was the only one I could remember vividly, sorry!

I guess I skipped two days, which is only to be expected, given my history (or lack thereof) of sticking with challenges. 

Thank you so much to everyone who complimented my last poem! It made me so happy to read those compliments... ah! Thank you!! I don't think this poem is as good as the last one, but I'm trying to be proud that I wrote anything at all. :)

Here's mine for yesterday; I advise you say it aloud in your head because I don't know if you can tell but I had a great time writing it!

i was a small song stuck in a sea of similar sounds

i sailed over salt and silt and stories raised on stilts

to avoid the void of villified variation--

what is the word for fear of phobias?

oxymoronic, i know, but it was my oxygen;

i had bathed in the lethe so long i forgot how to breathe,

doubting i was even drowning--

how could i, when the confusion was so consoling?

i subsisted on my own stupefication,

chronic circular logic until i was bound to be blind to my blight because

it was so hard to see myself when my identity was innocent of individuality

and so i was consigned to be content with continuous ambiguousness.

but hard as it is to distinguish the intentionally indistinguishable,

it is harder still to be intentionally indifferent to instinct;

they say not to stray from your path

out of hell but they don't tell

what happens when you do.