Prose Poetry - Blog Posts

Fractal | Shouto & Touya Todoroki | poetry/prose | 580 words

Shouto’s world changed when he woke up in the hospital. 

Touya’s world changed when he woke up in the hospital.

His face had been burned, the doctor told him. 

He had burned his body, a stranger told him.

Shouto remembered the shouting. 

Touya remembered the desperation.

The kind of argument that felt like it shook the walls around him. 

The disappointment in his father’s eyes, twisting up his insides as Endeavor shouted and raged and forced Touya to stop. 

(He was being burnt up)

(He was being replaced)

Long after the echoes of his father’s voice had faded, Shouto remembered walking into the kitchen. 

He remembered watching his mother’s unmoving form while she refused to say anything- anything- and then Touya blazed out the door without looking back to see if her expression had crumpled with regret.

He remembered watching his mother’s face flit from terror to anguish in the span of a breath as he entered, looking like she had been shattered by his soft-footed, pattering approach. 

By then, Touya knew better than to search for regret in his father’s eyes. 

And then the woman before him became unrecognizable.

Endeavor didn’t think Touya was strong enough but he was. He could be. 

Shouto burned with the memory of a pain more intense than any he’d ever felt before. 

Touya remembered the screaming in his veins, remembered the burn- harsher than anything he’d ever felt before. Remembered a startling break in the anguish and thinking, with his last shred of clarity, that this had to be good enough for his father. 

It left Shouto numb and shivering beneath the thin, white hospital sheets. 

It had to be. 

“Mom..?” Shouto croaked and the doctor shook his head no.  

It had to be. 

Shouto didn’t cry when he saw the scar marring his face, but something inside of him felt sick.

Touya didn’t cry when he saw his mottled, purple reflection held together by crude stitches. Or when they told him he had died. 

Shouto let the shock pool over him like ice and held the freezing shards close to his chest, hoping that they might be enough to douse the monstrous pain in his chest. 

The disappointment was his own when he realized that he hadn’t been enough, after all. That he never was and never would be. 

Shouto thought of the heat that always seemed to lick at his father’s eyes and fists when he shouted- warm enough to be felt even when Shouto couldn’t see the flames through his closed eyes or hear the words through his ragged, warbling breaths. 

The bitterness was his own, too, but the expression in the mirror was startlingly familiar. 

Heat thrummed uneasily beneath Shouto’s veins and the second he realized that the fire within himself was nothing more than his father’s furious legacy, pawned off onto Shouto like a lead shackle, was the second that Shouto Todoroki decided to freeze. 

The second that Touya realized he was wearing the face his father had always greeted him with was the second time Touya Todoroki died and left a rotten shell of himself to walk the earth. 

Shouto cast his eyes downward and didn’t respond to the doctor. 

He didn’t notice that his father couldn’t look him in the eye. 

Shouto grew older and decided that he and his mother were both victims of Endeavor. 

Touya grew smarter and decided that the world would soon know who had driven him to an early death.

I want to write about the pain of it all, I want to write about the people I qued with outside of food banks; there was an old man who looked like a wise wizard with his long white hair, he waited for a small portion of pasta most days and offered me advice on the best times to turn up, there was a group of polish men with cans of alcohol shared between them, who at first assumed I was polish aswell and tried to talk to me, but all I could say was Przepraszam, nie wiem Polski the old man told me to stand next to him after that, there was also a brother and sister who where both addicted to heroine, most days they seemed to be going through intense withdrawals. We would all wait in a old medieval churchyard, some sat on toppled headstones while others leaned against stone angels with their faces covered. I want to write about what complete isolation and poverty does to you, how eyes don't meet yours and voices talk over you. But when I do, the room goes quiet and people look away, suddenly i feel the need to awkwardly laugh and say so yeah anyway.

The art of letting go

Do you ever sit and reflect on everything that you've been feeling lately ?

It's both

relieving and painful

To give another thought

To the feelings inside of you.

You carry it ,

Forgetting it's weight

And when you sort your

Feelings out at the end of the day,

You're left with a handful of laughs

And a whole lot of pain.

Because you know

Deep in your heart

That a moment like this won't ever come again.

And the people in your memories

Wont stop for you

They'll live on

And so will you.

And those few who don't,

They keep you rooted in their love

You cannot find a way out of them

Because they've stopped,

Not necessarily for you

But for good.

And just know

That you can't always let them go.

Because what they made you feel

will live on

Even when they aren't here

To rekindle that emotion inside of you.

This is the last time

That I'm truly here

In every possible way.

Because I've let this place go.

With every visit,

I lose one core memory

Only for it to be replaced with another one elsewhere.

So if you ever ask me,

Why I am done

I'll tell you why.

Because there isn't any of me left here

To come back to.

-simra.t

You're sticking me with pieces

Of someone else's journey.

Weaving in some strangers theories.

But just know that

I'll never be enough,

I'll always be empty.

Starving,

For a truth of my own.

Waiting for my own soul,

To be mixed with the newness in me.

Because I'll always be a reject,

Of someone's memory

Unless I write my own.

Only then

I'll be enough.

-simra . T

C R O S S R O A D

We stood at the crossroads,

Thinking for too long,

Watching the way back.

Longing for the solitude.

But there's chaos ahead,

With determination in its eyes,

Hungry for another soul

To be lost in its world.

I know I'm scared,

But who isn't.

As I set foot into this strange world.

Your presence made sense.

C L O S E R .

You pulled me closer,

And closer.

I let your love sink in like venom.

With every drip i found my life hanging between sweet solace of death and the nightmare of the present.

To you I've gifted my life ,

My love.

To you I find my home ;

Yet you seem like the canon that shoots down my fragile home.

Out of love.

Why say goodbye when you dont mean it ?

Why did I do what I have done ?

Why did I cry Infront of you, begging you to come back and you let me go once again.

And I was left on my own, for the hundredth time.

With love left in my heart for you.

And as I waited for us ,

I ran out of love for you.

feathered flames.

@writersnet​ event 1 · april 2021 | mythology

One boy plummets, bleeding wax, raining feathers. Bleeding feathers, raining wax. Another boy crashes, bursting with stolen divinity, caught in reins he no longer controls.

They burn, each on his own, across skies, across worlds, across space and time. You know how these stories end. Hubris inscribes their fates—punishments, for curiosity, for aspirations—onto their skin in flaming ink, preserved by whispers and ink.

Perhaps the boys are less daring in some worlds, and heed their fathers’ advice. They are not lost to oceans—they drown in history’s forgotten abysses instead. Perhaps they laugh in some skies and scream in others. Maybe some gods are cruel, and have them languish for eternity and beyond.

But maybe some are kinder, and Icarus and Phaethon find their way to each other as they fall. 

Have you kissed the Sun, too?  I have been the Sun.  That is why we fall from grace. We fall to glory, brother, and nothing less. Do not regret it. A charred smile. The world was not meant for such as us.

(Perhaps some other world will be.)

—aish. 03/05/2021.

tag list: ask to be added/removed!

@aeternve @jepser @durgaa @ortolon @scarlett-dragna @patruchilles @ariadnaes @vaelinor @prelapsariian @laythe @isohelle

Q: what do you want this year to feel like?

A: like sitting on your front porch with a midnight blue ceramic mug. it is filled to the brim with hot black coffee, the coconut milk still swirling. you are cupping it with both hands and holding it close to your chest, its golden rim glimmering in the early morning glow.

an herbal and floral steam rises from a pregnant earth that drips and dews, fills the air. a fine blanket of warmth falls over your face, your home, as sunlight begins to travel across and down and up and through. the snow is melting. it’s all melting. time is but a faint whisper these days, though you still wear it as a necklace. you take a sip. a bird lets out a sharp cry. then stillness. a car zooms by. then stillness. then stillness.

Enough?

Can you miss something you never had

Or is it just the feeling, that makes you sad

Every time you think about

the great moments you’ve left out.

You’re saying you were too scared

And not prepared

You had Too much doubt

And Too much to care about

But that shit holds you back

And leaves u with a ship wrack

So she packed her backpack

And started trying new things

Hoping its the feeling of joy, it bings.

Step by step getting closer

But one step further and it shows her

Again the face of the clown

Making her drown

showing it all was a joke

And had nothing to do with hope

Its like the creepy box

Its not the friendly music that shocks

Its the red big smile jumping in her face

Showing her all the disgrace and the hate

Thinking its her fate

To be always late

And get the last piece from the plate

Just the feeling of not getting enough

that made her so tough.

-B.I

I had so much to say to you, but in the end, I just said goodbye.

It wasn’t good, but I meant every word

it’s a good song, trust me.

“the new version of yourself doesn’t have to wait till next year. you can begin where you are, right now. don’t let timelines be the catalyst for your growth, you are the spark you’ve always needed.”

— iambrillyant

Hey handsome ,

Stood over there,

Looking all bare ,

I want to excite you,

So please don’t stare

I’ll take you places

You never knew were there,

I’ll teach you about my land

Just allow my hand,

I’ll take the rest from there.

Ready to explore

To learn my law?

@trueemotions91

A man I hear them call

Is a danger to all?

Do you honestly believe that story

If I repeat them words quietly ,

If your going paint a ugly picture

Of my son, brother , father

Before there even have a chance to alter

Your perspective of all men

Then I would not bother ,

To waste your air on this planet earth

That’s ludicrous , to human nature

Can you really hear yourself loud and clear?

So your afraid of your father ?

Please tell me so,

How on earth can we scoop so low,

Men are humans , I swear to your

Have two eyes and usually bigger shoes ,

But all ain’t to fear,

I know the hands that raised me were full of care & order

Showed me love & courage ,

But to fear my son , is to loud and clear

When you all cheer , the words I hear ,

A woman I know who abused her own

but yet I don’t hear you call her mistakes

To the moon,

Would you to brush me with the same words ,

Because another mother put upon this earth,

It makes no sense , it’s all a laugh,

I stand with a woman , power and all,

But to call every man a danger is a different law,

Just think of the words before you make your own

father sore ,

Imagine his face when he sees you chore the words

That - all men must fall .

@trueemotions91

I dont want to...

You seldom start a journey with hopes of being somewhere, excitement of meeting someone and the thirst to be around your people.

So did I want to be in a place where no matter how crazy I become it would be fine.

Because I was going "home" where there were "my people"

Mistaken was I that it would not matter.

Because I just was an obligation they could not say no to.

The excitement was one sided and so were the hopes.

Even before reaching I want this journey to end

My destination never to come.

I want to go back and never return.

This was a bad idea but now I cant turn back.

I dont want this vaccation

I dont wanna go "home"

As a joke, once, I claimed I was a slut, an absolute whore, for poetry - well, maybe it's not entirely a joke - and you said, "If only I were poetry," - as per joking goes. But, oh, god you are poetry. The rawest kind of poetry. The kind that takes only special glasses to be able to read. You are art in its barest form - like the many interpretations of Lucifer's fall from Heaven. Your very being is the poetry I'd learn; if only to carve into my bones.

For your sake and mine, I hope this version of you - the one I hum soothing lullabies to at night - is merely just one that pays no fee to live on in my subconscious. I'm afraid I cannot repeat this. Im afraid I must. I'm afraid I might learn you were never real.

window watching

i sit in the window and stare out at the world. life goes on, the trams and birds and people go about their days, and in the window, i remain still. i watch the birds with particular interest, i envy them their wings. it's windy today, and i can see them playing with the currents, flying in intricate patterns that only they can see.

what i wouldn't give to fly again...

Empathy

I have laid my hand over the pool of pain

Fingers spread, slow like I'll frighten it

Barely broken the thin skin at the top

Of the water you nearly drowned in

The cold sucked the breath from my chest

And I cried out and stumbled back

Clutching my burning icy hand

I stare at you. How did you survive this?

Does it ever go away? The furious ache?

I'm still gasping for breath.

You shrug. It hasn't so far but you should rest.

I should rest? What about you?

I'm trying. I'm so tired.

Tears gather in your eyes like crescent moons

There isn't enough time in the world.

I lay my new scarred hand on your chest.

Death Anxiety, or Memento Mori

Is this not all our lives? We spend this moment in the sunlight being afraid, and trying not to be, and trying to make up for the fear when it never leaves. I scramble, try to scratch my name in the Earth before She takes me back. Remember, remember. One day, my name will be spoken for the last time. If I am lucky, it will be by someone who never knew me. ‘Til then, I know what will happen when I die. The ones who loved me will miss me. They will speak my name. Tears will wet their eyes as they do, and some will blink them away like acid rain. I know. Silently they will scream, and rasp against the ache in their throat and the pit in their gut. No matter how ready the dead were to die. No platitudes will dull the scraping of our souls into raw piles of nerves. Nor should it. Remember, remember. Cry. Cry past the ache in your throat. Knees in the dirt; face in the sun and remember. Let your body shake. Let the hurt flow past the scars in your soul. Let it sting. Hold fast to the Earth, lest the grief swallow you whole. Anchored while you weather the storm. And when you emerge, sail on - and ever remember your death.

The woods are lovely,

dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

~ Robert Frost

Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening

you live in a house of god; praying on your knees; and wonder why he never saves you.

on being unloved by god

Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena // Alain de Botton, Essays in Love // Eden Robinson, "Writing Prompts for the Broken-Hearted" // Chloe Liese, Always Only You // Anne Carson and Euripides, An Oresteia // Two—Sleeping At Last // Studio Bones, SK8 the Infinity // Trista Mateer, "is it okay to say this?" // @moodylilac // D. H. Lawrence, "The Rainbow"

Choking

I could feel myself choking, on his internalized self loathing and the humidity.

This damn window is always such a bitch to open, but finally- I cracked it open and the rush of air was tickling the hairs on my body, and quenching my lungs.

The floor feels so cool on my skin, my always buzzing with warmth, skin. The shadows and colors on the ceiling look like so inviting and forgiving. They whisper to me, “you love you, that’s enough,” but I don’t believe them. As I gaze out the window I can see the sky, it’s perfectly clear. It looks painted actually.

Buzz, buzz.

What does he want now? To suffocate me further? Leave me alone! Go lie to the world somewhere else. Yo sé quién soy. Soy hermosa como soy. I hate him. I hate how this makes me feel.

I miss you.

Yea, I miss me too. I miss how free I was. How I had no fear, but now I fear losing your love. Losing. I fear losing, but I can’t and I won’t. I can’t lose out on love. Real, free, trusted love.

15 minutes.

That’s all the time I have to pull myself off this floor and feel like a whole person again. To feel my soul light up and be the roaring fire it truly is when it isn’t being snuffed out and stifled by bigotry and insecurity. Ahh! I’m tired of crying hot tears of desperation.

A kiss. A hand on my knee. A lie.

All this to make me feel special behind closed doors. Doors so heavy and thick that they can barely be opened. Doors that if we ran through them hand in hand we could be free.

It’s hot out. 9PM. 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Where is that damn breeze. I’m choking again, this time on the smoke from his day old blunt. Damn, anything else you want to suppress? It doesn’t really matter does it? Of course it does but he’ll never get it. Only one of us choking. You can’t know the feeling unless you’ve choked before.

(8.5.18)

My dear, I will read your book.

Best believe I will not criticise the flow of words for I know they are born out of the heart. I will read despite the timeskips and flawed main couples, I will memorize your difficult pages despite their jaggedy flow.

But my dear, first you must bring me the book.

Write, my darling. The hypothetical reader in your mind is as inaccurate as one can be— for the reader that I am, all I need is words.

But you must write first, my darling. Do it for me

I'm your reader

They say the abused become the abuser. And you have gone through hell.

But what is standing in front of me is this beautiful, fragile woman that holds broken things so gently as she has never been held, who melts her energy into making them intact. Until there is no power, no more love left to give.

I keep waiting.

I keep waiting for a dog so hideous to pass by on our evening walks that you will not pet. I keep waiting for a sunset too plain that you feel it too futile to paint. I look around for a child far too overbearing for you to comfort— But whenever I inquire you, all I hear is that you've been all of those things, and you won't let it happen to anyone else. Too hideous—too plain—Too overbearing—

You love fixing broken things. You attract evil because it latches on to sweetness, sucks it until evil becomes a lovable thing and the source becomes sour and stale.

I believe, sometimes, that is why I am your lover.

But I am no different from when you first met me. You may not have noticed this, but even though you hold me, pour yourself into me, you never attempt to glue me together. You never attempt to fix me. You just bleed into my vacant parts, unafraid of the surrounding filth.

Who did I murder that was so bad, what days did I feed my hungry cat so well that I am held dear to a person like you?

My sweet, sweet Caroline. How could I ever repay your love?

-exerpt from my upcoming villian×hero book🤭💋

The pain is like a sedative/ that kills me; makes me cry—and puts me to sleep/

-excerpt from my book💋💕

It's offensive how okay I am after everything I've been through💀

Stitched holes in my black boots with fishing line Laced in memories of the hotel room we danced in The night you told me this city wasn't yours anymore Yet I would forever be your favourite home Tattered clothing held together by rows of safety pins Keeping the places you touched in tact a little longer So afraid of the day there's one wash too many And the scent of your shampoo leaves for good Duct tape over every seam of my messenger bag Desperate to hold together our long and messy history Carrying the last stray hairs of yours that held on Rested by crumpled receipts from times we'd share Laminated covers over every message you send me Collectors items, reluctantly aware I now have them all Nothing left but to sort them into colour-coded folders You always kept your desk space so well organized Maybe if I add enough paperclips this love wont fly away Just one more day, week, month, year - eternity One last second spent in the moments between us Before you end up in another beginning, someone else's arms Stationary drawers and laundry hampers can't solve this Our chapter was far too short to end where it did We still have strings I need to haphazardly mend And staples for you to punch through my heart With this final paper plane, addressed from me to you Promise I understand not everything gets to last You've grown too much to remain nostalgic any longer Though, I wonder if the sky can ever contain what you're after If we got another chance to do it all over, start from fresh Tell me, how different could our picture book possibly be? Time after time, I swear to you I would be content As long as on each page, remained versions of you and me I would've stuck to you like glue, unwavering, you know? Taping stories together, convincing myself of grand delusion While I wanted to wait for you, it burned when you didn't stay The truth is, we both deserve better than "someday" ... "You and me, someday."

Date Written: 23rd of November, 2023

I feel so worthless without your gaze on me Stare, glare, bore your eyes straight through Leave nothing of me outside of view Attention to feed from, this insatiable desire to be seen Everyone's replaceably rested in disappointing scenes Wont you please give me pity dripped nice and slow I eat it up past full then shamelessly plead for more Consume me, devour my failed youth as your dinner Make sure to savour every short coming for desert Worry, resentment, anger, lust - dancing toe to toe As long as it keeps your sights set on me I thrive to keep my audience begging on bare knees Anything that holds their vision a little longer Without the only lenses that saw me kindly How could I ever see myself the same? Maybe it's why I search for affection in others despair Why I've chosen to dance, and bleed, and die Come, watch me violently wither by my own hands So long as it's witnessed, so long as it's real I don't care if you hate me, just say my name

Date Written: 28th of November, 2023