Prompt

The exit was mislabeled. Instead you are here, to the left of well adjusted. Whatever. I stopped caring for bubble gum a little after twenty. Now look at me– spirit half smoked but I know when I feel something. I know the blue gradient in a May ocean, in a lullaby, in a racket. What was I getting at? The exit was mislabeled. Instead you are here, filing your black ideas, hoping to dye the blonde feeling back. Maybe with the next paycheck. Maybe when your body slips through the night in a full sprint, lungs praying to be gills, praying to be anything with the same function that hurts less than this. Every exit is a trap door. I fall deeper inside myself. Sometimes I think I am in my own basement, other times a roof deck. What a damned city (damn me to loveliness, to heart movement, to bees). I’m glad the exit was mislabeled. It brought me back to me, but you don’t have to trick me into staying anymore. I’m with you. I’m with you. That’s how I scold myself, and afterwards how I soothe.

Prompt

I don’t have pockets. The things I carry I hold in my hands, my left hand, because my right has to open doors and things. Reminder: You should never carry more than you can carry, not that this is advice I live by. If I flipped my left palm over and uncurled my fingers (which I wouldn’t do for just anybody) you’d see Cliff Hanger! Read More

Prompt

Underlying belief behind doing prompts: writers have to practice even harder than professional athletes, and for much less clout. If you want to join in, share your writing below. (Fuck the prompt is always a prompt). 

But first can I ask who I’m talking to? No? But I’ve always wanted to love an alien! Alright. It’s yellow. Do you know what that is? People say the sun is yellow but I think they’re wrong. I think they are trying to reduce mystery, which is why I trust science less than wizardry. It’s bright, I’ll tell you that much. No ears but still it hears an Easter wind, the three part call of the morning dove, other bird traffic sounds. I’ll read more cause I’m an alien

Prompt

Underlying belief behind doing prompts: writers have to practice even harder than professional athletes, and for much less clout. If you want to join in, share your writing below. (Fuck the prompt is always a prompt). 

I’m clutching it madly. My other hand is on the gate, though whether inside or outside, I can’t say. No one is manning the booths. We’re between seasons now. Occasionally, a man I loved walks by with someone new. Let’s do away with the roller coaster. Must be this high to ride this ride? Must be this high to stop. More of the metaphor please