Prose Writing - Blog Posts

so, i came back to tumblr, after all! weird to be here, i've disappeared almost everywhere, the queen of ghosting. it was for a good reason. i've been dealing with a long period of crisis, gave up 2 semesters at uni, been stuck in my bed 23h/day (not a hyperbole). finally, i feel like coming back here.

in this whole period, i haven't done too much. couldn't read, watched not so many movies/tv shows, but i did listen to a bunch of music. that kept me a bit less depressed.

i feel like i have something inside of me that is trying too hard to get out, but i don't know how to do it; it's a feeling of creation. only a few people actually feel this, like they need to create something, to put it out, but haven't found a way yet. it's stuck, and it's a whole interwork.

AND altho i know that not many people follow me, neither know who i am or whatever, but to anybody reading this and going through something bad, i hope you get better. focus on your health. it'll pass, doesn't matter when, just be strong and keep fighting. this isn't a coaching shit or self-help bad book, but for experience of someone who's dealing with way too much. everyday is a new day to begin again, until you get it.

have a really muthafuckin great day, guys. much love to you. (that's for the 2 people maybe reading this lmfao thank you for being here) 🌧🤍

and so we stand, 2 lovers on opposite side of a great river without a clue on how to cross but unable to walk away maybe eventually we will find a way

Love comes back around

Sitting at the airport at 2am

Thinking about love and relationships and how they encompass so much of our lives

How someone you think you’d never love again becomes a life long partner

How a long time friendship turns into a steamy love story

How some people could never really move on from a love that was lost

How two ex lovers, one day, can’t be in the same room because feelings

How we miss our pets when we travel for a bit

How mum’s sometimes live for their kids

We go about our little lives but there is a big part of us and simply wants to love and be loved

There is no love here

Some places are simply selfish, they take and take and take for as long as it’s possible, some places are confusing, there is no back, there is no front, just a low buzzing level of chaos, some places are factual, they lack passion, authenticity, vibes, but the places that hurt are places where you realize that there is no love, knowing there is no love here, gives a different level of pain, it’s like a waking up but instead of coming to reality you are actually waking up on the opposite side, it’s cold and empty and a fucking nightmare

What does it feel like?

Anxiety feels like a weight on my chest

The weight is dependent on the day

Sometimes it’s heavy and sometimes it’s light

Anxiety feels like my lungs can’t suck in enough air

It’s feels like they can’t hold the air in for long

Short breaths

Anxiety feels like an uneasiness

Relentless undercurrent of unsettled energy

Constantly in alert mode

Constantly analyzing, thinking, ruminating

Anxiety feels unsafe

In those moments I just want to feel safe

On my own or helped by someone who cares and adores me

How do you decide what’s best for you?

I’m not sure if I can answer that question, I think it starts with asking yourself the hard questions.

Are you happy?

Will you be happy?

Does this make you happy?

Is this what you really want or is it what I think I should want?

Q: what do you want this year to feel like?

A: like sitting on your front porch with a midnight blue ceramic mug. it is filled to the brim with hot black coffee, the coconut milk still swirling. you are cupping it with both hands and holding it close to your chest, its golden rim glimmering in the early morning glow.

an herbal and floral steam rises from a pregnant earth that drips and dews, fills the air. a fine blanket of warmth falls over your face, your home, as sunlight begins to travel across and down and up and through. the snow is melting. it’s all melting. time is but a faint whisper these days, though you still wear it as a necklace. you take a sip. a bird lets out a sharp cry. then stillness. a car zooms by. then stillness. then stillness.

HI I WROTE A BOOK AND IT IS OUT THIS MAY 2024 CHECK OUT MY POST

guys check it out !!

Yes! It's not that easy.

Sometimes, it's really hard for me to express myself into words. Maybe, that's because I need to know myself more and more. But it is becoming easier with you now. You might be thinking there are so many things inside my head and I bring out only a bit of it. I don't know if I have the strength to hold onto myself but, I know one thing, I am able to hold onto you as tightly as possible because I don't want to let you go. You can call me selfish and yes I am, because it's you. When I do anything wrong to you, I really feel that guilt, that ache of not being able to apologize whereas my heart actually wants to, very badly. It isn’t right ! But I always believe in showing my flaws to you because I know it's only you who will value them wholeheartedly. I do several bad things out of anger, take wrong decisions but I realize it too with utter grievances towards myself. I start hating myself for not being able to apologize to you for every mistake. I am afraid I will lose you. At times, I don't want you to be anybody else's company except mine knowing that is selfish enough. I am sorry. You have that freedom. When I feel dull and sad not talking to you, I want you to feel the same too. I hope you understand. I don't force you to do anything because it will become a habit. I will constantly force you to do things and in the process I may lose the grip. But I want to have all the rights on you.

That night when you said I must show my right on you, I was so happy, indeed happy to see you are holding me with your all. I want to take care of you. I am a messy person but I would still keep you organized, learn and cook your favorite dish with all my love. I want to stay awake lying beside you when you are sick and caressing you to sleep would be my utmost priority. I take bad decisions to keep us aloof, to keep us safe and not to hurt us. Forgive me for that. I want to dress up according to your choices of attire, to read your kind of books and embrace the new changes in me, to sing your favorite songs, to travel to your favorite places. I want to talk to you about the silly white lies being told to make things work good. These things would make me happier. I guess this is an in-built part of me which I could never express.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

I want to be on my own travel the world flirt with every guy who gives me an irresistible smile

I want to be with you talking all night long fill my empty nights with your love

I want to be on my own work on myself do whatever the fuck I want when I want

I want to be with you writing endless love letters dancing in the snow until you throw me on the bed

I want to be free I want to be the woman you love

I want to love myself I want to love you

I want all of my thoughts to disappear.

_____________________________

There is something beautiful about being me

There is something beautiful about being me. I do not know if it is the endless amount of comfort I apply to myself like a muscle relaxer or maybe if it is the solace I find in my own company, my own mind, and conscience. Or maybe if it is the glowing brown skin adorned with artwork. Or the tireless hands who have life riddled between the palms. Sometimes, however, my mind is not a nice place to be. It whispers lies into reality and convinces me that what I see before me is more than it is. And it is not something I can run from, but rather something that has backed me into a corner and berated me. There is no running from the labyrinth of possibilities my mind lays in front of me. I wish I could count endless sheep or drown out the sound of the whispers with a repeated mantra over and over and over again, but my thoughts reign supreme. My thoughts control my day, my face, and my hands. But this mind that runs rampant throughout the day is mine to own. It is mine to claim and let it be known, there is a beauty to this madness. The beauty of seeing all sides of the same coin. Endless realities mean I do not have to be forced into one. There is beauty to owning something so wild, so dangerously quick, livid, and winding. There will always be another turn, another roundabout, or sharp right. And at the end of the day, at the end of my days, when my bones ache and my body begs for rest, there will still be my wild mind wreaking a beautiful havoc in my head.

Mantra article fiction paragraph piece

Liberation

You were the song I used to listen to on repeat, knew every beat by heart. I felt every high and low, every key and note, every word and tune and I could tell when you'd end and begin.

Soon, I started getting happy during certain parts, excited even. It was all so good that you'd make me smile just humming you to myself, you'd make me happy playing on repeat in my head.

You were the song I knew I loved, the moment I heard you, and you were the song I knew was close to heart, that I played it for that one special person I spoke to all day and night.

Then one day, he left, and I couldn't hear you the same anymore. I knew it was going to be bad so I stopped listening to you, because I didn't want to associate those feelings with you but that's exactly what happened...

You were always on my playlist and I didn't mind listening to you when you came on the radio every now and then by accident. The sweet memories would last for three and a half minutes before vanishing the same way they'd appeared.

And that's the thing, I wouldn't deliberately play you on my own, that would be too painful and knowing the feelings attached to you, I couldn't possibly punish myself in such a cruel way.

Soon, words that were once meant for happiness, turned sour and I didn't want to dissect the meaning of you other than what I'd already interpreted in my head before.

Now, I hear you once in awhile and maybe it doesn't hurt anymore but it still doesn't feel the same as it did before...

You're the song I once loved, was intoxicated with, knew by heart and you will be the song I'll never listen to again by choice...

I'll never choose you again...

© Raina Rose.

When you've gone through all sorts of alcohol you could possibly consume, when you've danced to every song on repeat a million times, when the walls start to close in on you, when you've kissed twenty different girls and still feel like shit, call me. Call me so I can bring you back home. My love, every journey has an end and even if you've set course for the wrong ones, come back home. Here, we love, we forgive, we fight and maybe drive each other crazy, but here, there'll always be love. I'll always love you despite everything you've done, despite every reason you've given me to fall out of love with you, to hate you. Come back home, it's been far too long. Come back home because my heart breaks a little everytime I see you with someone new. It breaks because you're looking for a remedy you already have. Just come back home, and we'll make this right again...

© Raina Rose.

It is true; the day he fells completely in love with you is the day you won't feel a damn thing for him. Why does it have to be this way? I trace the length of your skin and I used to know my way around you, this was a familiar route, but now, I get lost even when I'm home. I try and listen for the sound of your voice, your laughter, but all I do is tune out and lose you eventually. I knew your fragrance by heart, but I swear, it's fading everytime I think I know exactly what it is. I tried and tried and drank and drowned in bottles of bourbon hoping to taste you again. Cigarette buds everywhere, ashes carried by the breeze, landing over spaces once we used to live. Just the way our melody got lost in this rhythm of wind and time, even if I tried again, you'll never be mine...

© Raina Rose.

the hardest thing i had to do this year was not to remember you as the person who loved me in ways no one else ever had before but to remember you as the person who left me broken in ways i didn’t think i could break.

it doesn’t matter how you loved me, it matters how you left me.

I am a good person who made a mistake.

It was a hell of a mistake.

But

I still take midnight drives

I still read to my sister and teach my nephew to hug trees

I still buy my sibling their birthday present four months early so I can see their smile

I still try to slowly reassemble the shattered pieces of my lover’s trust.

I still feel the crack in my heart from what I did.

But I am a good person.

And it will heal.

*Trigger Warning for Firearms*

I shot an AR-15.

When we first walked into the range, I flinched with every shot. It got worse once we started firing- the uncontrollable shudder of my body as my friend aimed at the paper target.

My partner sat at my shoulder, gently running soft fingers along my back. He squeezed when I flinched, and I closed my eyes. Inhaling over the gun smoke, I smelled the comfort of hugs and late night holding.

It was his turn.

I began to breathe- still flinching but far more mildly- as I watched my partner sit on the stool and carefully notch the gun into his shoulder. I watched his breath slow and then freeze as he pressed the trigger.

The booth erupted in sound and I laughed, surprised at my own enjoyment.

He pulled the target in and we all admired his shots before they turned to me.

“Your turn.”

I settled into the seat, carefully switched off the safety, and settled the gun into my shoulder. I focused the sight, aiming a bit low. I breathed and sang the alphabet in my head. At E I stopped breathing and at G I fired.

My micro flinch echoed as I took half a breath before pressing again. Counting down my shots.

Guns scare me less now.

I was afraid.

And I still am.

But feeling the respect for life in the same hands as a deadly weapon in so many people gave me hope.

Still an advocate for gun control. Just less afraid as one.

i am poet

I am poet.

That is what I was made to do.

String my soft words on the spool of fate

And weave comfort for the screams

Of a suffering world.

I know words might not put food in my mouth

Or clothes on my back

But I don’t care.

I spent so long not writing because it wasn’t practical that I never realized

I swim through words like a silver fish

And

I

Am

Poet.

Capitalism be dammed,

I want to write.

People need poems.

And I write them.

Metaphors stinging like an assassin as I throw my words like swords.

Sentences spinning in a well practiced dance as my pen flies across the page.

Stanzas pouring hope onto parched hearts as I whirl my feelings into pages and whisper a song of love in a storm of hate.

I am poet

Hear my beautiful words

July

I loved you in July

It’s your birthday month

And the big holiday

Was one of the only times

I’d see you over the summer

But that summer love was a lie

Because without my body

You wouldn’t have loved me

And now I’m stitching up my trauma

Fighting the urge to call you

Because I know if I asked

You’d take me back

But it’s not last July

And my life is now mine

And I refuse to give

It back to you.

two minute kiss

Leaning

into your lips

still and calm and quiet

eyelashes fluttering

breathing in unison

Soft

you have the softest kiss

that I have ever felt

and my veins seem to melt

as I lean into this

because you are comfort

and so

soft.

cluttery brain

Little snips of paper

bearing random words

assemble themselves into

scrambled pages

a spiteful little breeze

blows pages across

prone piles of guilt

and sassy little sparks

play across the ceiling

the anxiety spiders

skitter across the floor

sowing worry

while those she loves

dance in and out

patting the weary walls

to comfort her cluttery brain.

Loves

Hollow loved quietly.

Her first love had been a flame, softly sparking into a slow burn and then a confident blaze that consumed her. She had warmed her heart on her glowing feelings, ignoring the unrequited ashes drifting into her mouth, the smoke choking her lungs, the burns wrapping around her hands. Only when she was swallowed in pain did she awaken. The marks mottling her skin warned her never to love again. Love unreturned burns. 

And Hollow knew no one would ever burn themselves for her.

Hollow’s second love was an ocean. She stood on the shore, casually admiring the tide as it approached her feet. Slowly the water pooled against her legs and she slid forward, so slowly she never noticed her movement. Deeper and deeper she waded until a wave washed across her face. Intrigued by the coolness of the water, she stepped in. The salt cradled her and she started to swim, forcing her limbs to float. 

She loved the glare of the sun, the nausea of the waves, the grating of the sand, the sea salt in her skin, the scales spreading across her legs as she struggled to keep kicking. She started to gasp on change, inhaling water and coughing. She stayed afloat for an eternity, determined to love the thing changing her. And one day she looked into her reflection and saw a mermaid.

She broke, pulling herself from the water, shedding her skin and gasping for air. She sobbed at the loss of the water’s smothering hold. The tide climbed the shore, wrapping itself around her legs, pleading with her to stay. Slowly, she pulled away from the abrasive salt.

And then the air offered to let her breathe. To support her and to give her space. To kiss her softly and to let her move. To brush her hair softly with it's wind and to whisper comfort on her lonely days.

And the air was her last love, for it neither made her change nor destroyed her nor left her lonely.

Words Live

From the second I started

to really read

I breathed words

and stories

and I wanted to weave

my own

And I read about

a nun who’s pen

sang with truth

as she told the world

the brilliance of women

and they forced her

to leave her paper

and never write her

beautiful words

again.

But

her words live

still

and so

will mine.

And that’s why I write.

fight

Every second of my life has been a fight.

So determined to change things,

scraping my knees on injustice,

bruising my knuckles on things I can't change,

screaming myself raw into deaf ears,

hurting myself again and again and again

just because

I'm so desperate to be fierce.

I want to be that seasoned warrior who spits at death

and laughs when people tell me to give up

instead of shaking from everything inside

and crying because words hurt so damn much.

(Don't worry about me lol wrote this ages ago)

quiet

i love you quietly

through the way you blink

and your smile's edges

and the way you talk

and when we just breathe

in the same space

my heart is still

because my love for you

is quiet, and so am I.

sorry

i fill every second with an apology

so when i say that i'm sorry

i mean for my pain

sorry for my swearing

sorry for being gay

i'm sorry for tearing

the whole world apart

sorry for my awkward

sorry for my art

i'm sorry for my words

and my bland boring rhymes

sorry for my weight

sorry for taking your time

i'm sorry i manifest

a physical appearance

sorry for my stress

sorry for my incoherence

i'm sorry for my anxiety

and talking way too fast

sorry for degeneracy

sorry for my messy past

i'm sorry i can't stop apologizing

for every single little thing

sorry- i'm sorry

i didn't mean to be

annoying, or anything

anti hero

the world is just a pretty little lie

the sky is grey and so am I

grey in my morals and grey in my brain

a fast-talking rogue hiding the pain

adding comic relief and a smidgen of plot

don't try to pretend I'm something I'm not

I have inherent flaws and too tragic a backstory

I was never designed to reach glory

I'm chaotic neutral, not lawful good

so I'll hide my scars under this hood

and play the part of the disillusioned girl

with sarcasm and wit, I'll fool the whole world

into thinking this is what I always wanted to be

instead of realizing what only I can see

I'm trapped in a quiet prison

alone with my cynicism.

support character

being watched has always scared me

yet that nowadays I always seem to be

by eyes filled with the greatest expectations

they say that I'm the one who saved them

all I ever did was let the speak

help them see that they are not some freak

I don't think I'm this saving grace you think I am

I feel less like a Shepard, and more like a lamb

and sure I try to help others the best I can

but usually I'm shooting blind without a plan

you often say that I am the protagonist

there must be some misconception, I simply am a catalyst

always trying to spark the shrouded feelings of hope within

and using them to fight the empty void crawling beneath their skin

I am a support character, doing what I think is best

I am not this "hero type" as you suggest

I am the support character