he was pretty

when he

left,

with smoke

that rolled from

under red lips

and eyes

that wept flowers,

pretty.

the kind that

rots

at my

touch.

he was pretty

the kind

i liked to keep

in jewellery boxes

and never

wear.

he'd said, one day,

with pretty arms 'round

my waist,

was it hard

?

and when i said, what

he'd torn his hands

into this

chest,

brought out

this heart

that looked like

mine

said,

did you

think

of me?

i remembered then,

pink lips,

not his own

i'd leaned to touch.

pretty boy,

so pretty, i

almost wept

and realised

how ugly it

is

when pretty

speaks.

when they

learn

of the ugly,

that is me.

he was pretty,

when his eyes

wept flowers

not

tears

pretty,

when pretty

was simply

all he

was.

Studying the Scriptures diligently

to walk in the right path straightly

he is discerning, to say the least

he is a wise Preist

With tender care and never-ending affection

as unto weaker vessel, he gives her attention

he's a loyal and faithful lover

a dependable Partner

Patiently instilling the fear of the Lord

to keep in our hearts the same as God's Word

in our lives always present

he is a caring Parent

From morning to night

he labors with great might

he's a diligent and hard worker

a faithful Provider

Whenever danger stretches its arm

our flesh or soul to harm

he's a strong shield and shelter

a courageous Protector

Ups, downs, twists, and turns

the way to Heaven is hard to learn

he's a cautious and alert instructor

always a humble Leader

All of this is true of the one

that never lacks laughter and fun

to write of all his works I'd lack pages

cause I could keep going for ages

But who? You may easily wonder

Who is the one with such character

and I shall proudly answer

He is My Father.

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

In today's vid, we feature a triple threat, to say the very least. Writer, painter, musician, tattoo artist, and on and on. Click the link to the channel and check out this low-key and humble, high-art man of talents. He's right here on our site.

And before any of you decide to take a swipe at the old man, I'm aware that I mispronounced n'ere. But I rolled with it...

Here's the link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTGysKxtx1o&t=19s

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

I currently drive a 2015 Jeep Wrangler. That may seem kind of boring, but it is a meaningful vehicle to me. For many years, I drove a huge SUV out of necessity. I had to have the ability to tote around 5 kids along with all their stuff: sports gear, musical instruments, camping equipment, friends… you name it.

That vehicle, even for all the time I spent in it, was not “me”. It was an extension of my role as “busy mom”; the working mom that was constantly on the go and (somehow) getting it all done. Let me tell you a secret: It was exhausting.

The time came when only one kid remained at home. He was a senior and driving himself. On a whim, I decided to trade in my SUV for something I'd always wanted: a Jeep, in my favorite color (red). It was also the very first vehicle I had ever bought completely on my own, in my name only. I was surprised to find how much I liked that sense of accomplishment. It felt like a big deal.

After meeting other “Jeepers” (Jeep owners), I learned there are almost endless modifications that can be done to a Jeep. However, I’m quite content with how it is currently equipped. In fact, I now feel that what I drive is an extension of myself. Changing the appearance seems silly.

Yes, I realize it’s not fast or flashy. There are better looking cars out there for sure. It definitely is not the smoothest ride and the fuel efficiency is horrendous, but the trade-off? It is so capable. Of all the things I would not mind being identified as, I can appreciate that adjective: capable. I like the fact I can go places others cannot, if I so choose or have need.

I feel free and happy when I drive it. I love all it has come to represent in this stage of my life and I don’t plan to drive anything else in the foreseeable future.

A fedora wear’n adventure lov’n lady wand’rin free.

She rides about through cities and towns

Looking for you and me.

She rides up hills and right through dales,

Whenever she sees someone she hails.

The world is large and full of glee,

She is whatever she wants to be.

A fedora wear’n adventure lov’n lady wand’rin free.

Her cowboy hat in Mexico turns quickly to a sombrero,

It’s where she wants to be.

Turnin' round and round and round again,

A sheriff for you and me,

A singer on a darkened stage,

She loves to laugh and shout and play,

A Ballerina for a day,

When all see her they shout, “Hurray!

Let’s see it again. Don’t go away!”

Round and round and round again,

A spaceship full of light.

She leaps around a String of Pearls,

And sings to In the Heights

Whirlin’ swirlin’ twirlin’,

Again and with a grin.

She’s come to meet so many friends,

They’ll be with her until the end,

And on them all she will depend,

And you can bet she will extend

Her friendship down to thee,

That fedora wear’n adventure lov’n lady wandrin’ free.

She’ll tell you oh so many things,

Until your ears begin to ring;

She’s passionate for the little things,

All seasons to her are like the Spring,

That fedora wear’n adventure lov’n lady wandrin’ free.

Her desire is for you to come along

To bring you near,

Show what is dear,

To paint a picture,

And make it clear.

She wants you to know,

She wants you to see,

The whole wide world,

“just for you and we”.

That fedora wear’n adventure lov’n lady wandrin’ free.

Leap up little one!

Leap up old one!

To gallop on her horse.

Ride through sunset,

Go far beyond,

Till all you know is long far gone.

Come see her world beyond the sky,

As far as your imagination will fly.

That fedora wear’n adventure lov’n lady wand’rin free

Your cowboy hat in Mexico turns quickly to a sombrero,

If that’s where you want to be.

The Fedora Wearin' Adventure Lovin' Lady Wandrin' Free represents the limitless possibilities and beauty of imagination. She rides around through cities and towns looking to share her adventures with you and me, that Fedora Wearin' Adventure Lovin' Lady Wandrin' free. Thanks for reading!

This is my warning.

My cautionary tale.

Never go to the circus.

Never go there.

When we went to the circus,

We didn’t have fun.

All the clowns had sharp knives,

But we had none.

Please forgive me, my brother.

Please wait for me.

Please!

Please don’t leave me behind.

Please wait for me.

PLEASE!

I apologize, boys and girls.

I’m jumping ahead in the story.

Let me start at the beginning,

Before the circus got gory.

It was a dark summer night.

The circus was in town.

My family bought tickets.

My brother hates clowns.

First, we met the Ringmaster.

She hypnotized the crowd.

She wore a grand top hat,

And took a grand bow.

Then it was time for the three-ring circus.

The Lion Tamer whipped lions and tigers

On purpose.

We saw dancing bears,

Elephants and giraffes.

We all loved the Freak Show.

We pointed and laughed.

The Ringmaster revealed

The last act of the night.

There were so many clowns!

It was quite the delight.

But my brother doesn’t like clowns.

He didn’t want us to stay.

We all should have listened

To my brother that day.

The clowns juggled balls,

Told jokes, and did tricks.

The clowns juggled hammers.

They juggled fire, and bricks.

It was frightening.

It was exciting.

We thought it was fun.

Until the clowns juggled knives.

I wish I'd had one.

A sad clown yelled a joke

Out to the crowd.

His face was painted

With a horrifying frown.

WHAT DO YOU SAY TO A CLOWN WITH A KNIFE?

YOU DON'T SAY ANYTHING.

YOU RUN FOR YOUR LIFE.

All the clowns laughed.

The crowd went silent.

The clowns weren’t so funny

When they became violent.

My brother doesn’t like clowns,

And my brother was right.

No one survived the circus that night.

I am three and I am seven and I am nine and I am thirteen and seventeen and twenty and more, numbers climbing every year as they do for everyone, but don't let Mom hear that, she'll pout and then breathe heavily in the other direction as she digests your words like she is chewing rocks.

She looks at you like she is a planet in orbit that knows that one day, it will crash into you and ruin itself at the chance of taking you down with it. Your beauty is her biggest accomplishment, and your flaws are her personal failures, or maybe your dad's.

I'll beat the dough by hand like she does, because the blender is too expensive and noisy, and I'll cut my own hair with craft scissors at the same age as she did, and I'll give my pets human names like her own, and join sports teams like she did, except maybe I won't always like succeed in them like she did, and I am just a wanderer who only trekking across the field for a brief moment in time. And so I want to hide away where no one can find me like she does, maybe in a forest clearing like when I was a child, or maybe through sheer willpower I can fit myself into a cabinet that I haven't been able to fit in for hide-and-seek since I was eleven years old, because even now I am still trying to find traces of when I was small enough to be free.

I hope I never have a daughter because if she is born looking like me, I worry I will never be able to tell her she is beautiful.

The words flow out easily, the beeps from my clicks.

Telling the world something on insta.

halfway through I think, maybe I shouldn't.

Pulling away my words, pulling them back.

halfway through something that will never send.

A text from a friend, I smile and check it out.

I have a reply, an answer, so I start texting.

I pause and think, maybe not?

Halfway through before clicking backspace, letting my thought dots fade away.

I don't know why, but I only ever go this far.

Am I the only one? Should I stop rethinking my reply?

Halfway isn't done, I'm not finished halfway through.

I wish that I was finished with it because I know I won't send it

Sometimes I want to send what I've already written make sure it will go out.

Other times I know I wont send it I just go halfway through.

When I dream vivid I know how far it will go.

just like my text only halfway through. Always and forever, halfway through.

When I rethink a story I never finish, let the end dangle.

I paw through sentences wondering which one I should send,

Rethinking, leaving them all waiting for something that will never come.

Letting them believe I have an answer

I send them something an emoji, no words, never words.

Smile or cry love or puke. It's easy to choose when you know what you're looking for.

just One thing can represent So much more than a few words.

My head spins with words to spend,

My head filled with texts only halfway done, I wish I could get rid of them somehow.

Yet I'm stuck halfway through, questioning the rest, wondering.

Still stuck halfway through?