One 

scratch. A letter

One 

scribble. Some words 

One

poem. 'Til the world

Becomes

humane. Once again

I'm feeling freaking frustrated, 

foes, friends, and family finding faults, 

flipping fervor for fear, 

fickle freedom, 

while flattering financial feats fondle fiction, 

foolish friction fraternize fair fantasies far from fantastic, 

fire flamed filled fences, 

forced father fatalities, 

fetal fraternity facilities feeding feminist fish foods, 

fingers forgetting fundamental functions, 

fuel fees, frantic freeway flux, and fleeing focus fade frontal foresight, 

false flight falling fifty-five feet fornenst a feeble fringe fathoming future fulfillment, 

fist of fury fighting ferocious phenomena fending folding figures funneling flaky facts, 

futile fashion, fruitless freelance, 

frivolous frequencies flooding favorable fellowship, 

fiending freakish foreign forsaken flavors framed in familiar fabric, 

flying phobia, failing phobia, 

forward footsteps filming the finale following frustration.

Hi Prosers! (Is that what we call ourselves? Perhaps 'fellow writers' would suffice...) Hello fellow writers! I felt I should write a quick post introducing myself to you all. My name is Chanelle, as you have probably gathered from my profile along with the fact that I am a HUGE Doctor Who fan. (Where are my fellow Whovians? I know there have to be some of you on here!)

So, I am currently 30 years old, have been for almost 2 months now and admittedly, it still scares me! I live in that crazy land down under called Australia where yes, pretty much every insect, bug, reptile, etc, can kill you. But I love it here; love the climate, the beaches, the wildlife, all of it. It is a country full of inspiration and beauty.

Writing is something I have been passionate about for as long as I can remember. Even back in the early grades of school, I would be one of the few who got excited when we were given a creative writing assignment. It is only recently however, that I have started sharing my work publicly. I figure, if I want to some day be a successful author (JK watch out!), I need to start getting my stuff out there. Mostly, I write poetry and fiction. I try to write pieces that get people to think about both their macro and micro worlds, get them to delve deeper into social issues, or their own, and maybe learn something or come to some type of realisation. I want to give people hope that they are not alone in the way they feel. Writing is pure and raw, so raw. Without the readers being aware, the author is opening up, revealing their wildest dreams, their deepest desires and fantasies, their hopes, their fears and their secret feelings. For me, writing is a form of therapy, something I am sure many of you will understand.

I truly hope you enjoy my posts. Please feel free to comment as all feedback, both positive and negative, is welcome and appreciated. I am also a pretty open person so feel free to ask me anything. If you feel like a chat, that's cool too. I love to chat about anything and everything really and love a good debate or intellectual conversation as well. I'm also a bit of a geek which means I am fully acquainted with the emotional trauma that is fandom life.

Anyway, that pretty much sums me up so sit back, get comfortable, crayons are to your left and don't mind the voices. Straight jackets are optional but advised and if you see Bob, just smile and wave.

Oh, and please do not steal my work or share it anywhere other than Prose without my specific permission. It will make the Unicorn angry and no body wants to make the Unicorn angry.

Lastly, I have a Facebook page if you would like to follow me on there. Here is the link: www.facebook.com/chanfiction

With that, buckle up, kids! We're in for a wild ride!

Chanelle

Emotionally discharged

Carved out heart

Dead inside

Numb to the core

Hored out

Of feeling

Running on empty

Words useless

Hope cracking

Fingers slipping

On the trigger

Homeless eyes

Rib cage

Cracked

And

Filled

With

Pain

Skeleton

Bone

Body

Puking insantiy

Hair wild

Lost

And

Trapped

In

Appearance

Running out of time

Voices

Submerging

Under

The

Ground

Of

My

Tears

3 strikes

Your

Out

Says

The

Devil

Go ahead pull the trigger

Fiddle with your imagination

Your going to get your degree

In crazyiness

You tiptoeing of  the cliff

the angels say they will catch you 

Dear Little Leader, 

You may be good for nothing

No wisdom found in you

You may be most unkind

And deplorably deficient

You cloak yourself in hypocrisy

Love of the neighbor is anathema

Claim the face of law and order

Grab the ladies by the unspeakables

Still we thank you:

                       for bigly 

                       for yuuge

Never mind your ineptitude

And vendetta against intellect

Gratitude for the demise of decency

And the erosion of rights

We the People

Shall withdraw into quiet repose

As you witlessly wittle away

At the last bastion of reason

No.

Not. 

Never! 

Dear Diary,

I made a decision. A really, really big one. 

I won't go into the gory detail of what I have done... I'm not sure I could even if I wanted to... Besides it will be all over the news tomorrow. They will make some story up about me, about how I was a crazed maniac full of malice and wickedness. It's a shame really, that no one will ever know why I did it. They won't know that I saved them from a worse fate. They won't ever see the destruction they caused to the Earth, and the rest of the galaxy. We littered it with the stench of our existence and once we deemed it too toxic for life. What did we do? We moved on to the next galaxy, and the next, and the next. Until there were no more. Until we had broken time and space looking for one more place we could stain with our existence. Sure we did do some great things along the way, we cured cancer, and world hunger and created eternal peace among all living things. Small things compared to the havoc we wrecked to reach those ends. But no one here will see it that way... They will see me as the antagonist to life, I'll go down in history as worse than the devil himself, because at least he didn't start the apocalypse. 

I have to go now dear diary, they are banging down my doors as we speak. This will be the only page of you that survives... Maybe they'll frame you and hang you in their government building once everything has been restored... Maybe they'll bury you under the mountains of secrets they already keep. Who knows. But I know someone, somewhere, thousands of years from now will read you and be perplexed perhaps, astounded by the gibberish I speak. But I want someone to know, to know why I did it, to maybe understand that for the sake of humanity, I had to change the course of the game. Now at least, they have a chance my dear diary, they will see what the face of evil looks like and maybe, just maybe, it will scare the humanity back into them.

Write a poem about justice.

Is this really justice?

I really don’t know

Sitting in my cell

Looking out the window

No shops, no roads

No people I can see

Only other prisoners

In the same position as me

Having flashbacks from court

When the judge finally said

Be prepared for the next

4 ½ years ahead

My head hung down

I was leaving my freedom behind

Nothing but my family

Was running through my mind

The bloke was an arsehole

Why couldn’t this be seen?

I just wanted him away from me

The horrible little fiend

Shouting and pointing in my face

Who did he think he was?

I should’ve stopped and thought about this

And put the world on pause

Instead the fight was finished

Before I even knew it

I'm writing currently with my left hand. Thank God for autocorrect because this is just unacceptable. My right index finger feels broken, but the nurse just has ice on it. I believe that's because she wants to enhance the pain I already feel.

To the right of me in this pit of despair (ie the nurses' office) is a mouth breather. Not sure why he's here, but he needs to shut it. I sit with one leg folded underneath the other; I'm wearing these Aladdin type pants that prevent me from sitting well. And nurse beds are super wide. 

Plus, my hand hurts, so I can't adjust anything or move without dropping all my stuff. 

I hurt my hand, because I got into a fight today. Over a stupid bag of chips. I mean, Drake had a point when he said "all you niggas fightin' over crumbs where the bread at?". I took a chip from him. An invasion of privacy, I know. Never touch another man's food, I KNOW. You done fucked up Ethan, GOD DAMN IT I KNOW! But why you gotta punch someone in the face over it?

So, in my defense -although I did instigate- he hit me first. I punched him back, which was sort of instant bad Karma for me, because I think I hurt myself more than I hurt him. I'm not even sure if it hurt him, but then again the adrenaline was rushing, and I felt no pain until afterwards either. I felt the shakes first. My hand trembled like one of those dogs with canine distemper. Then a stabbing pain that made my eyes wince and I hobbled around holding myself, because I have never really punched anyone before.

I am glad, however, that I landed a punch, because it's a pride issue. I'm not gonna lose my first fight without getting any hits in. Plus, I wanted to see my strength. I realize now, maybe I need more calcium.

My dad picked me up from school. I think he was more mad that I made him late to a meeting than actually being in the fight. (One because it was my first, and Two I only got in trouble because I defended myself.) I think he was secretly proud that his first born finally manned up (although it was his immaturity that got him there).

So now I sit, writing this. The ice is burning my skin. My hand is so numb, and yet, I wear this spectacular grin. Yes, I wince from the pain. Yes, I am embarrassed that I made a fool of myself. So why am I smiling?

I honestly, have no idea.