If I never took a risk,

there'd be no jagged scars

furrowed on this mortal soul,

nor engraved upon my heart

If I never took a risk,

no scars would map the places

of battles lost...and won,

no trophies for those races

If I never took a risk,

there'd be no gaping place

chiseled from my heart...

making you a perfect space

But since I took that risk,

The wounds of risk have healed

sealing you inside of me,

...in those empty places, you have filled 

Hanggang kailan ko pa ba maitatago

Ang damdamin kong kadalasan naman ay bigo?

Sa bawat ngiti at bawat halakhak

Ang aking puso, lalong nawawasak

Hanggang kailan pa ba tatagal

Ang aking mga maskarang wala nang kapal?

Hindi mo man batid ang aking nararamdaman

Minsan ang lahat ng ito ay napagsasanayan

Sa bawat araw na ako ay nakatatawa

Sa pagbanggit ng mga salitang nakakasawa

Sa bawat gabing karamihan ay tulog na

Ang aking pusong pagod na pagod na, ang aking emosyon, maging ang aking mundo na tulad ng pagtatanghal sa teatro kapag natapos,

 ang mga kurtina mag isa nalang magsasara.

The oldest breathed water and wouldn't stay in the sea. Sprinting across the crags, he lived puddle to puddle. Why not just stay in the ocean? But I think he was broken.

The second found cadavers that walked and talked and kissed but were dead. Second would give them pieces of his soul so they could glow, but soul isn't sunlight.

Third lived in a cloud fishing for people. When he caught them he would reel them up and eat them. Little stink pieces of heart and blood dripped from the vapor. I would have liked Third, maybe. At least he knew there were worse things than being lonely.

Fourth lived by an ugly statue, a humpty dumpty god. At night he burned his hands in fireplaces, and in the morning he pieced the monument together with Third-World tools. Noon, he would write poetry on its corpse.

When the Fourth died, there were no children to complete his work. But dying isn’t disappearing.

These were my brothers. They speak to me and they make me want to do terrible things.

Hello everyone,  I am from the Philippines I am 25 years old.  

I chose to use a Filipino username here in the prose,  and I also intend to write in my native tongue which is Filipino.  

Pluma at Dugo, my username literally means QUILL AND BLOOD. 

I chose this username because I do believe that every writer writes not only with our electronic devices or paper and pen but with our hearts which function as a pump of blood.

I intend to use this site to write my heart's content in every possible way whether in the form of poetry,  prose,  haiku or any form of literature in my language and in English. 

I do not know if there are Filipinos here but I hope so.  

Thank you. 

Hi Prose!

I've looked into several similar writing community sites like this, but this is the first that has made me feel like I'm part of something. It was really easy to just dive in to this site. To honour the feeling of community I thought I'd introduce myself a little.

I'm not a native English speaker, and writing fiction in English felt like an impossible idea not long ago. I guess I'm here to win those fears. You can find a reference to my own language from one of the writings I've already posted here, so go read them if you're curious ;) (Or you can just ask me.)

I'm also a mother to three small children. I didn't really write fiction in any language before my first child was born. I have always had an endless stream of stories and scenes running in my mind. Staying at home with a baby created the need to write them down, to concentrate on something that was all mine while the rest of me existed only to fill the needs of another being.

Thank you all for sharing your texts and support. I believe I'll have a lot more fun times both reading and writing with you all.

~Estril

Oh, I’m a good luck woman,

fearlessly skipping on dancing feet,

holding high above my head,

the crystal ball of fate,

clutched tightly in my hands,

better than the written fate

dangled just out of reach.

Absconded from yesterday,

swinging from hot cat wires,

unable to draw deep breath,

cutting loose with my steps -

wanting to live for today

but finding that my today

was gone by tomorrow,

leaky roof over head

tired and confused.

I grabbed a swirling lifeline

and let myself sail free,

wrote my passion on paper -

I feed you no lies -

I made my luck and

held it close to my chest

I needed serendipity

and it came a-calling

making me a promise

that luck would cling

to me but only if

I never let it go!

It hurts so bad, it's like she took a knife and carved out a piece of my soul. 

~

Roughly she grabbed my wrist and yanked me into her car. I didn't protest though I should've. 

She slammed on the gas and sped to the courthouse. As she drove I begged her to reconsider, but she wouldn't listen. 

"Are you sure you wish to sever this soul bond?" the official inquired and my soulmate gave a firm nod. The official looked to me and raised an eyebrow. She sharply elbowed me, pushing me to nod in agreement. 

"Unlock the soul knife we have a couple here who'd like to sever," the official ordered as he led us into a back room. 

I watched helplessly as the guard unlocked the safe and pulled out the blade. 

"I'll go first," my soulmate stated, snatching the soul knife. As she held it both our souls started glowing a bright blue. Looking down I saw her piece was a darker shade and in the center of my chest. 

In that moment I realized I never even got her name. 

"I reject you wholly and willingly. With this knife I take back the piece of my soul within you." 

 Before I could react she surged forward and dug the knife into my chest. 

The blade didn't pierce my flesh, it gouged my soul. 

The shock left me standing utterly still as she carved away a fragment of my soul, the piece of her that I was born with. Not a second later I started screeching as the pain hit me. She didn't flinch, just yanked the jagged piece of her soul from mine. I staggered, collapsing to the floor my glow completely dimmed. 

"To ease the pain you must take back your piece," the official instructed and reached for the soul knife. 

My soulmates plunged the soul knife into the officials chest and then slashed the guard. 

"Nothing personal dear soul," she taunted heartlessly and stalked out. 

~

Whimpering I press a hand over my chest, begging for it to stop hurting. 

"Make it stop," I plead, tears drenching my cheeks.

"Why?!" I wail and claw are my skin. "Why did I nod?!"

Sever, it's such a a perfect description for what happened. She didn't just reject me, she severed away a part of me. 

The pain is crushing on my lungs. My strength is waning. I cannot standing this much longer. 

This torture will never cease, there's no medicine for sicknesses of the soul. I must suffer this until I die, which can only be minutes more. 

"Her name," I manage to breathe out, just aboveboard a whisper. Even in the wake of her desolation I still desire to know her name. 

"What?" 

"Her name," I choke out. I know I won't be here any longer, I must know her name. 

"Daeva George." 

"Daeva." 

At least now I know the name of the person who so cruelly rejected me, who killed me. 

A media mirage

Convincing us to crave the quintessential

And aspire to the carbon copy ideals

Of painted perfection and aesthetic facades.

And this poisoning perfection sells.

Our desires are indoctrinated

And they look like flawless skin and size 2 jeans.

Brainwashed beauty.

A propaganda pandemic.

Find your perfect hair and your perfect size

With this new cream and diet pill!

Sold to our blinded eyes and closed minds

With exquisite designs and photo-shopped lies

As we pursue this superficial perfection.

Unparalleled.

And unattainable.

Because no one really looks like this.

But we have to try!

Embrace the incomparable and compare yourself!

Covet the exterior allure.

And when the results reflected

In our tunnel vision fixation

Are still lacking,

We will cut ourselves down as a failure

Before buying into the next fad.

Please disregard our intellect and understanding,

And, instead, fixate on our flowing hair and flat abs.

Because, in this story, indoctrination is fully installed.

In this story, corruption coats our skin with empty promises of perfection.

And, in this story, beauty is everything.

To believe,

for many,

is to believe

in the "God ideal"

But a few

standing

on Red Sea banks

have seen Him revealed

When drowning

was sure,

with that rising

and bloody tide

The Pillar of Fire

ascended

over frothing

waves to divide

So what can I say

on the other side?

If I have seen Him,

can He be denied?

I see reflections 

of myself

…distorted, 

shimmering in those 

drops of rain 

clinging 

to my pane

You see duplicates 

of yourself

…almost… 

swimming in these 

haunted eyes 

clinging 

to the pain

I see reflections 

of distant 

stormy skies 

etched upon these 

drops of rain 

shimmering 

newborn Suns 

Who will let go 

first? 

You or me? 

To fall upon 

a brand-new seed?