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"Gratitude, Not Gagged" - Prose

We are grateful for you, men β€” for the ones who listen without rushing to fix, for the ones who hold space, who lift us without strings. We see the hands that help, the shoulders that share the weight, the eyes that meet ours without shrinking or swallowing us whole.

But gratitude is not a gag. We are allowed to say that we are tired, too. Tired of walking with keys clutched like knives, tired ...

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feminism   socialjustice   women   equality   poetry   prose

Halo

Halo

Sweaty in the night she gasps for an open breath, another bad dream, another stream gone awry. How can this be she thought as the leaves slowly turn gold. The branch softly scratches at the window. Below unseen unheard in the land of colors and mist, a one-eyed pikeman delivers the news to his liege. She awakens sir, do we stop the transmission? Nay, he cried, let’s take her for another ri...

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space   dream   halo   morning   prose

Lobo’s Got a New Ride

Lobo’s Got a New Ride

Sirens howl in the December morning frosty air the pale haze of cold morning dew. The coffee pot drips the house back into life out of the deep winter slumber. What a good time to sleep she heard him say, but she wasn’t sure if it was she who said it first. The burst came later upon the reflections of a future not yet arrived, a direction she can’t see. She thinks it will ...

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prose   truck   dirt road   lobo   sirens   winter   meditation   future

Unveilings 18: 7-12

Unveilings 18: 7-12

Daytime, nighttime, all the time is a time to be, to be seen, to care to be. To leave oneself inside oneself and never deny yourself that being. Seeing is believing, they say, but I can’t see a good reason to believe the good is good anymore. Moments before the fall, they say, a deliverance unto man, they say. But hey who are we to know what’s best for ourselves, our welfare...

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prophecy   prose   Damocles   meditation   rhyming

Keepin it Real

The twinkle in the eye, a sly remark in the dim light, a healing notion in the otherwise sleepy evening. He lists down his likes for those to appreciate for those to  understand for those who come by and see him take his stand. His stand for reality, his stand for imagination, his stand to take a stand, his stand for the good of man. The plan is simple. Be good be decent try not to fuck up too muc...

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real   prose   consciousness   contemplation   love   dreams

I am at a loss to write

There are times I sit with pen in hand,
staring into the blank heart of the unmarked page,
as if it were a pond and Iβ€”a boy with no fish to show.

Words won’t come, as stubborn as a mule,
having wandered off to some far corner of the farm.
I am left with the rustle of the wind,
the idle chatter of the keyboard ticking time away.

Yes, in an old-world style I toy with rhymes,
abab or some...

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self critical   communication   prose   writing

girl like me

a girl like me will meet a boy she loves and instead of loving them,

she will think only of the words she will use to describe them, 

when she writes a poem that night.

i am not ashamed of my soul that i bear whenever i open it.

a girl like me will write about every person she encounters,

and hope that for some reason they stumble upon it,

and spend the rest of their life wonderi...

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poem   girlhood   girl   poet   poetry   writing   prose   short   story   feminism   self love   writer

he doesn't text me anymore

i think to be unloved is to be damned. 

for a while i thought myself damned.

can you really be damned at 16?

i gave him two cigarettes this time, 

and offered another two. 

he smoked them till the tips of his fingers burned, 

i wanted to place them on my lips.

suck them, kiss them, cool them.

i sat across from him, nursing one drink, careful with my teeth and my brow.

he...

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poem   poetry   girlhood   first kiss   poet   amateur   girl and boy   first love   date   love poem   short story   prose

there's a couple sitting two seats in front

sitting on a train with my head bowed in a quiet mourning for the couple sitting two seats in front.

or really for me.

i mourn for me, me and my love and its cramps.

im in love, im in love and once more im in love. 

not with anyone but with everyone, or anyone who'd see it through.

then each time i remember that the only thing i want to be is noticed,

someone can notice that, eve...

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post   poetry   poem   poet   amateur poet   short story   prose   writing   love   girlhood

hear it now!

if you show yourself to me 

i will disappear under the vastness of linen filled lines.

i will run through clouded streets until my legs give way. 

if you loan yourself to me 

the farthest hills out yonder 

arent far enough for me. 

the distance to be put 'tween us 

by me, 

must be longer than the wizened vines that grow from your mothers childhood home. 

must be wider th...

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poem   poet   poetry   short story   fiction   prose   non fiction   story

sure

i miss the child i was at 17. 

i miss 17, i miss missing, i miss loving nothing. 

i miss wanting to feel and not being old enough to get it yet.

i miss thinking i was emotionally literate. 

im 19. 

nineteen. 

i am still a baby, a kid, a viriginal chalice not yet ready to be drunk from.

there is no slow down, you crazy child when it comes to me. 

my onlookers wince as i choo...

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poet   poem   poetry   prose   true story   fiction   non fiction   short story

big girls don't cry except when it is absolutely not the right time to do so.

am i hungry or has the pit returned.

that stupid fucking pit.

its an eternal loop, circling in and out of itself.

floating dead centre in my gut.

particles of another girl explode and expand out of it, 

overcome by this strange girl from the strange world.

i weep on my mothers lap, 

i retch over porcelin, patterned.

seeing my sister for the first time in weeks, 

she glow...

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poet   poetry   prose   poem   spoken word   anxiety   panic   panic attack   fiction   non fiction   short   short story   story   teenage   teenage poetry   amateur poetry

don't hmu.

youre a good little girl,

he types.

youre submissive arent you, 

he moans, over text.

he expects a beguiled, 

blushing emoji in response.

what he gets is three dots and an empty silence so loud he remembers what he is.

a greasy teen (21 years of age).

a lusty manchild looking for another child. 

he tells me im a cute and submissive girl, 

with luscious milk bags. 

...

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poet   poetry   poem   modern   new poet   new age   text   technology   teenager   girlhood   womanhood   boyhood   new   fiction   non fiction   short story   prose

lost my way

my soft soles patter over the cold slates that make up the maze of halls im scurrying through.

i am on an adventure, a treacherous journey,

to retrieve a single key for a locked door ive been trying to batter down my entire life.

there are others, winding their ways through the spiralling turrets.

sometimes we even fall in unison, 

our shoes hitting the same beats, on the same beate...

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🌷(5) 

poem   prose   short story   story   short   poet   poetry

girls and their nonsense.

floating in that acrid pool of nothingness, 

a feather kissed the tip of my nose and whispered softly over my face.

in that moment, decided. 

i watch the village of women who surround me each day, 

awash with a soft awe at their mossy eyes and woolen hands. 

i link arms with the girl i love most on a late night walk, 

running from the boy who asked me to give apart of myself.

...

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poetry   poet   prose   poem   teenage girl   girlhood   feminist   feminism   feminist writing   feminist poetry   womanhood   growing pains   self image   female outlook   female empowerment   writing   short   song   love   light

you know the bliss of evil

i've seen the smallest, tall creatures be eaten alive from the inside.

a quick glance to the left and under the bed will tell you all you need to know. 

the festering, rotten bed frame.

assembled by the very thing that chained me onto it for years.

but when i finally broke my own chords, vocal and the ones restraining,

another creature crawled from under the bed and took my place. 

...

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poetry   poem   poet   prose   story   short story   fiction   fantasy   teen   sad   sad story   based   horror   evil   bliss

an ode to Nancy

she died on the bathroom floor you know. 

a cut on her ribs. 

the rib borne from man, 

killed the girl on the bathroom floor. 

no one had kindness. no one had words of condolences. 

only four pictures and a note, 

only they proved someones love for her. 

the things that made her beautiful, 

an innocence lost, 

a bleach blonde tangle, 

and a vicious lover from a doomed...

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poem   ode   poet   prose   writing   Nancy   Sid vicious   music   true story   non fiction   letter

the day I decorated one side of my wall

on the day i decorated one side of my wall, 

there was a statue that fell with a crash, 

and cratered the ground. 

a statue whos golden plaque was read aloud to me as a child. 

and on the day i decorated one side of my wall, 

with the movie quotes, 

and the pretty people, 

on that day my eyes bruised themselves silly. 

my pockets full of hours, and grief. 

non violent pu...

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prose   poetry   poet   writing   poem   non fiction   truthful   story   short story   short   modern   girlhood

parties are the end of the world.

ive been invited to a party this saturday. 

i think i will go, 

i think i will get as drunk as i can. 

to feel the painful crushing weight of the sunday hangover. 

im going to act as if i am in a french film. 

i will tell each person a different lie, 

tell them something i've made up about myself. 

these people dont know me. 

dont know me at all. 

 

but whats more lik...

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poetry   poem   poet   writer   prose   non fiction   diary   self love   student   girlhood   womanhood

immature in elementary

i'm choosing to forget the stick and poke image, 

of myself in my head. 

my likeness is one i want to be liked. 

the stick and poke is immature and elementary. 

think your high school aquaintance,

who always wanted a tattoo. 

but 15 was still too young. 

so they mutilated the innocent skin of their thighs. 

the mutliated image of my body, my face, my ugly wretched soul

b...

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poetry   poem   poet   writing   prose   non fiction   fiction   growing pains   teenager   high school   body positivity   feminism   metaphor   kid   child   sunken   story

a bang trim

to feel as if one has emerged from a cloud of dust each time they wake, has to mean a great deal. 

it's what's on your mind, as you duet with the girl on the other side of your headphones. 

it must feel like the brightening of the day, the singing of the earliest bird, the sweat after the fight.

at least this is what you think to yourself. 

for you it means to be able to run two steps ...

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poem   prose   story   writing   poetry   poet   19   girlhood   teenage girl   non fiction   short story   fiction   third person   music

TEENAGE GIRLS

who wants the teenage girl
sitting on her rustled bedsheets. 
stained tshirt, stained tear tracks. 
smiling, cooing and ooing at the people on the tv. 
blushing when he kisses the girl she wants to be. 
or when she sits alone in the cinema, grinning. 
toothy smiles, outrageous laughs
too loud even for the rest. 
seeing the best film in the world. 
then another best film in the world. 
co...

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poem   poetry   prose   non rhyming   teenage girls   girlhood   love   growing pains   growing up   writing   writer   non fiction

NEVER BEEN KISSED

love feels like cold jealousy. 
sitting across from one another. 
the table could be worlds and oceans. 
i sting with furious stomach churning envy. 
snakes and beetles scurrying between my legs. 
closed and rotten now i know what i do. 
she is so much younger than i,
the times my time was always first, 
no longer exists. 
she broke a cycle as old as i, and therefor 
as old as my time. 
...

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poetry   poems   writing   prose   non rhyming   sisters   girlhood   teenage girls   love   growing pains   growing up   non fiction   short story

I AM! I AM! I AM!

charcoal toothpaste. 
teeth whitening strips. 
water on a bathroom floor muddied with muttered songs. 
cans of who and why on a windowsill. 
forehead sweat. made to stick fringes.
quick to anger. founded in a parent not so unlike. 
jerking awake. jolting asleep. comfort nul. 
calm mornings when the sun alarms. 
evil feelings when green and yellow lie dormant. 
stuttered uttered eye contac...

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poem   prose   poetry   self   teenage   girlhood   womanhood   love   life   learning   acceptance   writing   non fiction

wading deep, bloody water

its hard to measure a single beating heart 
to measure its clawing judgement. 
to measure the mothers beating blood while she’s
wrenching, retching and writhing. 
its hard to measure disgust, 
difficult to seethe while corps-less hearts beat inside you. 
its easy to declare a hidden hate, 
easy to let it wage a war on a world you don’t understand. 
its hard to watch, fallen sisters. 
its ...

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poem   prose   abortion   political   love   motherhood   women   feminism   feminist   monstrous feminine   19   non fiction

A Letter To Mr Larkin

An April Sunday brings the snow,
delicately bouncing against the panes of high windows as I watch the dedicated stride towards the Brynmor Jones, strangers to me as I am to you but although we have not met, I feel I know you.

A jam stained solid oak table adorned with scraps of paper, jottings only I could understand reminding me of the perilous homework
often not completed from my school day...

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dedication   Phillip Larkin   poetry   prose

Bob War (Ode to Humane Farming)

I was an adult before I realized that barbed wire is not called Bob War, because that was how my grandfather pronounced it, and he happened to be the person who mentioned it to me most often, as he was the person who would always tell us kids that we needed to help repair the fence. Some concerned neighbour would call to tell him some of the cows were out, and he’d tell us to grab some Bob War and...

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prose   essay   animals   cows   vegetarian   vegan   castration   bulls

That Sunday Night

It’s been three days since we’ve met and talked again, four years since I grew fonder of you, five years since we first met. 

For six hours that night, we both poured our hearts out because we owed each other time that we never had. 

Two hours before, you could hardly imagine how many times I tried on different clothes because I badly wanted to look good for you but not wanting to look despe...

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prose   love   dating   unrequitted love   admiration

Entropy

She'll take them back

The stones cut carefully and stacked against her

Her winds find ways through the cracks

She'll take them back 

All content property of Chandra Mossine

*This original poem was published by the Columbia Art League in their 2014 Interpretations collection

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chandra mossine   entropy   nature   poem   poetry   prose   short form   short poem

The Way the World Ends

This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang, but with a whimper.
Do not fear the light of the dying star for it will yield no pain.
It is mortal, it is ended.
Fading out like the dimming of the candle, then extinguished, forever.
No light shall ever again grace these barren lands
As dust forever billows across its scarred surface
And drinks its voluptuous seas.
Like a standing ovation,
...

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Earth   Universe   End   Death   Poetry   Prose

Shakti

The world is mysterious but really so simple...the meaning of life is love...and to love is to create...when you begin to love something new takes form...billions of people and creatures and we are all here together with this connection...the axis mundi...the stem of the lotus...the cosmic connection of heaven and earth...we have that...in Hinduism every god/goddess has it's counter goddess/god......

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prose

My Book 'Whispers From Within'

 

 
Hi! just a quick blog about my book 'Whispers From Within' (self published) ISBN: 978-0955810343 and if you would like to find out more, please go to www.thepoetjohn.com/mybook.htm you can also see and hear poetry from there too.

Below are the three reviews on the back cover. But first my own words that are also on the back cover:
...

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B safe 1st always   child neglect   child abuse   poet   poem   prose   poetry   John Harrison   bsafe1stalways   thepoetjohn

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