More Than That

via Daily Prompt: Snack

Food is fuel for the body


But it feels like so much more than that


Food is comfort



A crutch


Bad decisions


A snack is so much more

Than fuel

It’s carbs




With all that running through their heads,

How could a snack ever be

Just that?


Iron Impersonation

via Daily Prompt: Magnet

I am black metal


Gray lines separating good and evil

Right and wrong

(I am made of in-betweens)


I am magnetite

Crafted of iron and strength

Dark hues that try to hide glittering eyes

I act worse than I am



I am raw hematite

Ugly, unpolished

Never sharp

Some days, I’m more talc than iron

Some days, I’m all talk


Who I want to be and who I am

Are two opposite poles

There is no way to meet in the middle


via Daily Prompt: Sunny

I jump out of the car, stretching my arms as high as I can. Turning to Winter, who’s lazily climbing out of the passenger side, I grin.

“It’s so sunny! I love summer!” He shakes his head.

“Ugh, it’s so hot… how can you like this?”

“Are you kidding me? The sun always puts me in a good mood! I get depressed when it’s cloudy…”

“Let’s just go inside, I’m sweating.” I sigh and agree to follow him.

A week go, I booked a room in the small hotel for a pretty cheap price. We’re now waiting in line to check in. It’s strangely crowded, and there must be some sort of marathon judging by the number of people dressed in Adidas and Nike. It’s then, crammed next to a bunch of runners in the midst of summer, that I hear punk rock music. Winter instantly grabs his phone from his pocket and hits “decline call”. I narrow my eyes at him, stepping closer as not to be heard by strangers.

“Winter,” I mutter. He stares at me, probably shocked that I’m starting this conversation now. “When are you gonna answer?”

“I thought you agreed to leave it.”

“I thought you agreed to fucking try.”

He glares at me. I just keep staring.

“It’s not your problem, so fuck off.” We’re not whispering.

“It became my problem when I adopted your sorry ass.”

He slaps me.

And I swear that rain starts falling.

Eyeliner Eyes

Ze grabs your hand, grins. Eyeliner eyes disappear under the weight of zir happiness.

Ze plays hopscotch with zir little sister, motioning for you to come over when you walk by their driveway.

Ze dashes into record stores to window shop and point out all your favorite albums.

Ze tags along when you go to the bookstore, childishly complaining, but laughing when you dash to the newest series.

Ze waits by your door as you throw on a pair of shoes, yelling to your roommate that you’re leaving. When they say, “I ship it.” You roll your eyes. But smile.

Ze slouches and you constantly nag zir about it, but it’s not like you’re much better.

Ze hates sandwiches, which you only found out after taking zir to Subway once work ended.

One day, you’ll find zir on the couch – staring at the TV with wide, eyeliner-less eyes. This time, you’ll grab zir hand, and you won’t know what to say. But you’ll try.

Ze will pass the record store and look at you with a question in zir eyes. This time, you’ll drag zir inside.



For more information on gender-neutral pronouns click here

I tried my best with this, but please let me know if any of the grammar is wrong!

Leather Steering Wheels

via Daily Prompt: Wheel

The first time she wore a leather jacket, her mother just sighed. She traded silk for spikes, tamed her wild curls for hours every morning. In class, stuck in the middle of the room, the phone rang.

Cars on the Thruway zoomed by, ignored her – pulled over on the side of the road. Bright silver glittered in the sunlight. Hands curled around the steering wheel, she absently wondered if this was the road her mother crashed on. No one saw her fix her eyeliner once again before the funeral. She wore leather.

The cobwebs in her bedroom window flutter, lonely. She wears black stilettos sharper than her tongue. Dark clouds may pass away, but she won’t.


via Daily Prompt: Local

I am a hotel built for emotions

A resting place whilst they transfer from person

to person

to person


I wonder what it’d be like to have my own

A crowd of locals abiding in the crevices of my brain

Could they ever reach my heart?


The closest I can get is a fleeting taste as they pass through

Onto the next soul


I’ve tasted anger

It reminds me of burnt cinnamon

It scalds your tongue

so that it hurts to speak


Sadness aches

It’s an open wound next to a bottle of salt

People pour the salt

So that all you taste are tears


Happiness is the most fleeting

It tastes of citrus

Energized; healthy


I wish I felt it more


I am a hotel

And emotions can overstay their welcome

Loneliness lasts the longest

As if it’s clinging onto my company

Any company

I would be lying if I said

I don’t cling as well

Because at least it’s something


I crave citrus and warmth

But if that’s so impossible,

Then salt can stay for a little while longer


I am on the edge of the box called “normal”. One step and I’d fall into Wonderland, Neverland, fantasy worlds that are strange but loved. Would I be loved, if I fell? Is it bad to want the things I do, or to have no interest in what everyone else does? I am not normal, this is certain if black eyes and torn clothing have any say in it. I don’t want to be normal, but some days I wish I did. If I cared enough about their opinions to fit their standards, would it be easier for me? I wish there was a Wonderland I could stay in. A place extraordinary, where I could be nothing – blank as white snow.

I am honestly nothing special. I mean, none of my talents are anything special or unheard of. Tons of people share my race, sexuality, interests, tastes. It’s unlikely I’ll be able to contribute much to anything. Yes, I’m normal, nothing extraordinary. I don’t need a Wonderland in order to blend in. I don’t want a Neverland in order to stay young. I’m normal, I’ve come to terms with it, but sometimes I wish I hadn’t. I wish I didn’t accept myself so easily. I wish that I could ignore the pain long enough to push a little harder. I wish that I had tried to be something – to create myself. I am still blank. 


Picking Sides

via Daily Prompt: Cringe

“Ew.” I’m sitting in the car, passenger side, scrunching my nose up at my phone screen.

“What is it?” Em keeps his eyes on the road, probably just asking to be polite.

“This comment section… god, I want death.”

“Dude, then don’t read it.”

“The hell kinda person doesn’t read comments?”

“The kind who’d like to keep their faith in the human race.”

“Then you’re just lying to yourself. People are cringy as fuck.”

“Yeah, maybe… Did the song end?”

“Huh? Oh yeah. Pick a new one then.”

“You choose, I’m driving.” I sighed.

“Fine, but you’re gonna have to sit through a whole lotta indecisiveness.”

“I’m used to that.”

“Fuckin’ fight me.”


Acoustic guitars

Barren beaches

Empty coffee shops

New white sheets

Fireworks (the gold and silver ones)

Falling snowflakes

Lilac bushes

Crashing, smashing waterfalls

Winter skies

Shooting stars (I’m sure they’re striking, though I’ve never seen one.)

Oversized sweaters

Soft gray blankets

Blue butterflies

Old carvings

Fresh graffiti

A crescent moon


Shared smiles

Group pictures

Kept promises

Wishful thinking

Memories (so thick you could drown in them)


via Daily Prompt: Illusion

What if we were illusions?

Ghosts, slipping through worlds, stars, spiral galaxies.

What if we slurred, swirled, swept constellations together?

Like how we are tied.

What if I built us a universe?

Planets would spin in drunken hazes, for there’s beauty in chaos.

What if we were dreams?

Sliding across landscapes, swiping wands in the air to make magic.

What if we were magic?

What if we were made of stardust and silver?

What if we were immortal?

What if we flew with the delicacy of butterfly wings?

Moths only come out at night, but they’re always striving for the light.

We wouldn’t have to strive.

But that’s only an illusion, right?

Some days, I feel like we were built to suffer.

Is “toughen up” your only answer?

Are you not as weak as me?

Are you woven of crescendos, rather than decrescendos?

Are you built of Allegro, while I am merely Largo?

Are you incapable of a ritardando?

You revolve in circles around me.

I merely wish to join your orbit.

Rallentando, rallentando, rallentando…

I was not made like you.

I am an illusion.

We ghosts are not meant to interact with goddesses like you.