Literature Club (Writing Prompts mini game starting).

[npixelz]

This is not a poem, but a riddle I made. I wonder who can figure it out?

Q: I signal a call as a sound for you to hear,
I make you look pretty, when worn in your ear,
When you're down on one knee, I win a ladies heart,
I bind two together, til death do they part,
What am I?

[galled]

A ring!

[npixelz]

Ding ding ding! We have a winner! ^^

[galled]

Ring a ding ding!

[npixelz]

Ring a ding dong,
Sing a happy song,
That's not very long,
Ring a ding dong.

[npixelz]

True face.

Hello, you may or may not know me,
But either way, you don't know me,
You don't know my true face, you see,
You only see what I let you see.

Of everything that you know,
I'm aware of everything you know,
You only see what I've let show,
There are some things I'll never let show.

My true face, hidden behind my lies,
You won't see a trace, even if you try,
I will do my best, to keep it from view,
In the face of every test, I will keep it from you.

So I hope you don't try to find out,
I can never let you find out,
How sometimes I just want to shout,
But it is not right to begin to shout.

All this uncertainty that I feel,
Would make you turn away I feel,
So I will never show you what is real,
And I'll always pretend what you see is real.

My true face, hidden behind nice words,
Keeping pace, making me feel worse,
I feel so bad, and I know I should,
I feel sad, but I pretend I feel good.



This is a poem about me. About how I don't have it all together, even though I pretend I do. About how the me on this site is different than the me in real life. I don't have depression, or anxiety, but I have anger issues, and sometimes it feels like the fear of hurting people I care about, and the uncertainty about myself, is this great weight, this great darkness, pressing down on me, suffocating me, until I can't breathe. I don't have any thoughts about suicide, how could I? To escape from this world and cause others to suffer? To turn all the help I've gotten throughout my life into a waste of time? No. I couldn't do such a thing. So I try and hold my head high even though I don't deserve to, and to continue moving forward. But my anger issues, my uncertainty, my Autism, keeps holding me back. And that's something I don't show when I'm on here. I just act like a normal girl, with no problems whatsoever, apart from regular old problems that everybody deals with. So I decided to make a poem about that. I hope you liked it. ^^

[galled]

I like your poem and I like your honesty. I don't like that you're sad tho.

The rest isn't a about your poem, so I'll stick it in a spoiler.

[+] SPOILER

I think everyone has felt what you are feeling. Everyone has public and private "faces" (and there are others; professional, serious--for when you go to court or deal with law enforcement and that kind of thing, and silly/playful to name just a couple). I also know that everyone has anger. It's how one lets it out that's different/defines whether you're socially acceptable (some call it mature, some call it well-mannered, proper, etc.). Society (as in humans around us) has decided what is acceptable in situations e.g. violence or destruction is never acceptable unless your life is in jeopardy. So not showing an ugly side of yourself is proper in most situations, so that's not unusual either.

I don't think that not laying all of one's quirks in public makes one dishonest or disingenuous. Again, it is a situation thing. There's a time an place for everything. That said, personally, I am at heart a very angry person. In fact, I'd say I have anger about most things people are connected to and am reminded of it every time I go out in public. (I've concluded that it's due to a general lack of mindfulness/basic consideration, but that's another topic for another time.) So you're not unique in the anger aspect at all.

Well, one should have fear of hurting people. If you didn't, you'd be a sociopath and that wouldn't be good!

I've never wanted to feel special. I don't like attention. I don't like birthday parties for myself because it's about me, and I don't want it to be about me. I know people want me to feel special, but I dread it. I don't feel worthy I guess, but I think it's silly and it makes me uncomfortable. But I don't have a bad image of myself. I think that's because I realized a while back that other people do not define me. What does matter is if I like what I do. I mean for example, how I work--Do I do a good job? Do I do my best? Do I like what I did? Did I treat that person as well as I would like to be treated? Did I help at all? Did I make their day a little better? If I can say yes to most of these kinds of things then I think I had a good day. And having racked up more good days than bad, I feel I'm doing pretty well and I'm happy with that.

Pix, you're very good with words. In fact, I've seen some excellence in there from time to time--well, much more than occasionally). I think several people have mentioned that around here, and I don't think they're just jumping on the bandwagon just to seem like they're one of the crowd. So why would you think you're not good with words? Don't you like what you write? If you like it, it shouldn't matter what others think, but after the compliments you have received already, I would think it would just make thinking otherwise is just sillier.

Well, I hope you feel better and come to realize that you don't need to dwell on these bits. hugs

[npixelz]

Thank you.

[+] SPOILER

yeah, I had faces for school, work, youth groups, etc. I wasn't trying to say I'm dishonest, it was more of just saying that I'm hiding behind a false face, and urging the reader to not just take me at face value.

I didn't know you were an angry person. But I'm happy that someone who I converse with often feels the same things and understands what it's like.

Yeah, but the feeling of it is a terrible feeling that never goes away, no matter how much progress I make.

Yeah, I mean, some people want to be special, some people want to not be special, some people don't care, but I like being special. It's a little childish of me, but I can't help it.

Thank you. Although I don't think I'm THAT good, I appreciate you saying I am.

Thank you. I know I shouldn't dwell on these things, but I can't always help it.

[npixelz]

I'm going to start something to revive this place.
Writing prompts.
I'll provide a prompt, then someone provides a poem or story based on the prompt. Then they provide a prompt, and it continues.

Glass Houses.

[Lemon Cheesecake]

I've heard it said that when you live in a "glass house" it means your life is transparent so that you have nothing to hide. But to me a glass house is a green house, a place where plants can thrive in colder weather when glass windows let the sun in and shelters the growing plants from the cold wind or rains torrents.

The sun's beams,
as they penetrate through the glass,
warm and comforting
encourage the tender
plant to reach up ward
to the light.
Water drops softly
from the early mornings moisture laden glass
as the condensation kisses the leaves of the plant.
The Glass house protecting those in its care in a world of its own.

Prompt: mysterious

[npixelz]

A mysterious man walking down a strange street, with coat tails flapping in the wind of a winters night.
He walks at a brisk pace, but seems to be in no hurry to get to his destination.
His face is hidden in shadow, cast by the brim of his hat.
He walks with a cane, making a tapping sound every time he takes a step.
He is a man of importance, that much is clear. And a man who has money, that a skilled thief might obtain.
She watches him, while she hides in the shadows of an alleyway.
She has not eaten tonight, nor did she eat yesterday, or the day before.
She is used to going several days without food. When one lives on the streets, food is no longer a luxury, but a treat.
Still, she wouldn't mind having something to eat.
She follows the man, quietly stalking him.
He shows no sign of noticing her.
Finally, she sees her chance, he strays too close to the shadows she hides in.
She darts out, quick as a snake, and reaches out.
With lightning fast movement, she grabs the first thing she can from his pocket, as he walks on. Then she darts back into the shadows.
She looks at what she got, and her eyes widen in surprise.
I'm her hand is a piece of paper. On it are the words; I'd give this back, if I were you. It's not good to steal from a wizard.
Then the words change. They now say; you have to the count of ten. And then if I still do not have this, I will be forced to take matters into my own hands.
The paper then begins counting down the numbers.
Quick as she can, the girl runs to the man and holds out the paper to him.
The last thing she sees on the paper before his hand closes around it are the words; thank you.
Then he is gone, walking away, still at that brisk pace.
She watches him go in terror, awe, and fascination. Glad she is alive, but also somewhat sad to see him go.
I'm that moment, she makes a decision.
"Wait!" She calls out. "Can I come with you? I can be an assistant, or something p. Please."
He looks her up and down, then keeps walking.
She watches him, disappointed, until he turns slightly and says; "Well, are you coming?"
She smiles wide then, and runs to catch up with him. Knowing that somehow, this wouldn't be like other jobs she's had, this man was going to change her life forever.

Writing prompt; You're a newly hired servant to a duke, how do you impress him and move up the ranks?

[npixelz]

I have a poem!

Walk Home.
As I walk home I gaze at the sky
Such wonders befall my eyes
The sun paints the clouds with its orange and red glow
The clouds are like candied apples topped with snow
The trees send with autumn colours on their leaves
A beautiful sight I can hardly believe
The street lights slowly go dark
With squirrels climbing the tree's bark
As I walk home I look to the ground
With wonderment and beauty abound
A slight chill is in the air
All looks so grand I can't help but stare
People pass by, a smile on each face
For they, too, love this place