A muted tone, a fade to a hum. Prose. Radio’s Number 56 and Mavia.
Mavia sent in number 56, which features two writers and her signature sound.
Stay awhile, have a drink...
Here's the link to the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rk0jDiU7WBw
And we'll link the authors below in the comments.
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Apart, together
We stand together
Holding hands
Trying to move ahead
But when I pull and when you tug
We both are filled with dread.
We stand together holding hands
But we aren’t going the same place.
Yes we’re holding hands and all
But I cannot see your face.
We stand back to back,
Both resolute,
That we must be in the right.
And though we are still holding hands
It’s turned into a fight.
Unload the burden.
Just let it go.
Our answers aren’t the same.
We can find our peace, together,
If we forget this stupid game.
Misunderstood
My parents tell me that they love me constantly.
Not a day went by as a child that they didn't tell me that.
The words were pretty, enchanting.
They put me under a spell,
I was too entranced to notice the invisible threads that they wove,
Trapping me in a web of complacency and guilt.
I didn't complain when they yelled at me,
When they trampled over my boundaries and feelings.
How could I?
"At least we don't abuse you."
"You're just being selfish."
"You don't understand that we do this because we care about you."
"Because we love you."
Words that pierced my young heart,
That taught me to bury my feelings deep,
To not let others in.
I listened to their poisonous words,
Believed that I was the bad one.
After all, maybe I was selfish
For not wanting my dad to hug me
When he was never hugged as a child.
For not appreciating my mom's advice
When she constantly lectured me about not being good enough.
My parents aren't perfect,
They're bound to make mistakes.
That's the lesson that I've had to teach myself over the years.
But it's difficult to forgive them
When they keep doing the same things.
I can't tell them what they're doing wrong
Without them excusing their behavior
Or accusing me of misunderstanding their intentions.
Their hypocrisy is too much sometimes.
I understand that they wanted to give us the lives that they never had.
That they didn't heal from their own trauma as children.
And they raised me well,
Always provided for me, gave me food and shelter.
Supported me in the way they thought was best.
But they don't understand me.
They don't understand that I don't like physical contact in general,
That I was doing the best I could to live up to their expectations.
They don't understand that they provided for me physically,
But disregarded giving me the emotional support that I needed.
I wish that love was enough,
For my sake and theirs.
But I would rather that they understood me than loved me.
The Box. Only way out, hidden, secret codes, moments and conversation, and Last.
In number 54, Mavia sends in another guest narration with her signature sound over more signature pieces you'll read on Prose., and nowhere else like it. From a Challenge from Last, titled, 'The Box,' five pieces are featured, and we're here to tell you, these five pieces are five fantastic features from our pages.
Here's the link to Prose. Radio to listen.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LeFLfe0NQ7g
And here are the pieces featured.
https://www.theprose.com/post/817327/the-box https://www.theprose.com/post/817596/my-hidden-box https://www.theprose.com/post/817543/on-the-top-shelf-of-my-closet
https://www.theprose.com/post/818141/the-box https://www.theprose.com/post/818635/children-like-them
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Chasing Horses
spinning with painted horses
i'd chase after you
every chance to climb aboard
to find you—side by side
i'd be giddy and breathless
like the beginning
this time
you say you can't jump on
burnt out from the world's
ticking time bombs
but it's not empty fuel tanks
begging for refuel at the ends of the roads
it's the love
you claim to feel
that leaves me circling
alone
on this broken ride
Episode 53: The Flesh of Pigs
Mariah closes out what area_man opens, while anchored in the middle beetween is something from ModernAntigone that can only be described with words like addictive, gorgeous, seasoned... Just like the piece before and the piece after. From the finest dining to feed the arts, to the light blocked and two litanies of sorrowful flavor so deliciously dark and told with iron breath, to the sweet song of what has died on the vine, number 53 on Prose. Radio features three writers with something beautiful to say, no matter how we slice it
Here's the link to Prose. Radio.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpGJ5qRys8Q
And here are the featured pieces.
https://www.theprose.com/post/822012/blocking-the-light https://www.theprose.com/post/819551/litany-i-ii https://www.theprose.com/post/811664/loves-death
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team