I don't want to see your brother.

I know he knows about everything that happened in our relationship.

I'm sure you told him everything,

all the details,

even ones that painted me in a bad light.

Hell,

I'm sure he knows things that even you never communicated to me.

I don't hate your brother,

honestly he was kind and even took my side on so many occasions.

But the idea of seeing him again,

after all these years

makes my skin crawl.

I just don't want all these years of progress

to come to a halt because of overthinking

about what I say or do being shared back to you,

like I'm a target that needs to be surveyed.

And I'm sure it's all up in my head,

that people don't actually care as much as I do,

but I just feel queasy at the idea

of seeing your brother again.

I can feel the pressure rising in my chest,

all my anger wants to come to the surface

and just release in a huge explosion.

Keep the peace,

keep the peace.

I've always had to keep it together

not let the anger come out

because to everyone

anger is bad and that makes me bad.

Keep the peace,

keep the peace.

The constant probing and prodding

is becoming all too much,

it's like you're asking me to burst

and crumble in the dust.

Keep the peace,

keep the

I dropped out

I split

I skipped town

I didn’t pay the bar tab

I left without tipping the waitress

I walked out

I quit

I stepped down

I didn’t know what to say

I left without giving my notice

I spaced out

I tripped

I hit ground

I didn’t leave the light on

I left without seeing the difference

Dear Mariah,

You stayed with me

The whole time

You sent me smiles

And hearts

And more smiles

You showed me kindness

And faith

And friendship

And tenderness

And love

Je te porter dans mon coeur

Je te porter dans mon âme

Mon chèr ami

Mon chèr Marie

clouds came, acknowledged

from the desert, a nod to the sea... shore

combing the hair of our beach... lit

in the wind, seeds like shells

of us, burning the soles...

at our feet, and none

shall ever follow... again

follow the footsteps

like we did... as pages

follow you, like I did

my phantom shadow

going west, holstered

into fatal sunset...

I was indicted

For promising joy

I, so indited

Why I would employ

Peace, so incited

By golden envoy

Yet, plight so invited

So dooms, hoi polloi

I hit my peak. I hit my peak of trauma and pain. My mind was overflowing with thought, while my sadness was eating away at my heart. I was fighting the feelings of grief, an overwhelming amount of grief. Between 2018 and 2020 I lost my father-in-law to suicide, my best friend since childhood to addiction, my grandmother to sickness and my mother to an accidental overdose. Death is hard enough to deal with, but when you consider the reason behind a person’s death, certain reasons will make grief even more complicated.

I was suffering to say the least. I had so much that I needed to put into words, but talking wasn’t enough. To me, talking was the equivalent to water dripping from a faucet. I was able to get some thoughts and words out little by little. However, it wasn’t enough! I needed those thoughts and words to come out the way water uncontrollably flows over a waterfall. I was drowning because I couldn’t express myself. I needed a little direction, in order to get those words from my mind, to my fingers. My thoughts were everywhere and I didn’t know where to start.

Accidentally I came across Prose on Google.com. I was struggling to sleep and I needed an outlet. I needed a prompt. I needed to write. Searching the internet for prompts at three o’ clock in the morning, I came across this website and eagerly I created an account. I read through such beautiful pieces, some filled with pain that I understood. Quickly I knew that I was in the right place.

After reading such honest works amongst fictional posts, I felt safe and I opened up the floodgates. I scanned the challenges and found one I loved. For the first time in a long time, these writers who have no idea who I am nor do I know who they are, made me feel like I belonged.

It’s almost one year since I found this community, my community. Within this time on Prose, my mind isn’t drowning and I began to reconstruct my heart. Writing truly heals and having the opportunity to be apart of prose, has saved me in more ways than one. A community of writers is a special group of people. To truly understand the depth of healing we provide for each other, is something I wish everyone could experience. Prose is a place where my sadness wanders and my anxiety disappears, allowing love and peace to take the forefront. It’s a place where my mind and my heart pulls my authentic self out, so proudly.