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Non-Fiction Prose

Non-poetic writing including diary extracts, journal entries, letters, essays and art

Published on 1st May 2015 7:40pm
Written by EverythingsRuined


adult poems
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Published on 1st May 2015 8:46am
Written by Jessica Jennifer Ashton Kou_Indigo
- Androgyny: The Perfect State of Being -
A Gnostic Revelation and Discourse on the Nature of Androgyny and its’ Importance to the Human Race.
  It hath been said, that androgyny is the perfect state of being, and I heartily agree with that assessment. Many, but not all of course, of the difficulties that exist betwixt and also between genders, men and women, are because either there is too much of the one gender in the one, or too little in the other. A man who refuses to recognize the woman within is doomed to a state of imperfection, just as a woman who refuses to see...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Image
Published on 30th April 2015 2:26pm
Written by LokiOfLiterati
     The fact that a concept far greater than humanity's ability to conceive can be debated as being corporeal or fictional, especially when said concept is a human invention is an example of our collective ability to take our bullshit way too seriously. In my heart I can accept things as being greater than I. Gravity, time, reciprocity, all 3 of Newton's Laws, along with Ohm's and Keppler's and Murphy's and Lilith's. But to argue existence when I can't know if I exist? Is an exercise in futility. Attempting to apply the scope of logic towards this equation is a conundrum in itself. God made...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Published on 30th April 2015 2:18pm
Written by Arch-Angel ChoaticGoddess
For the past three years. I've kept everything inside. On this site it's where I've told my story and spilled out my emotions. This is the only place I've done this. Spilled out the thoughts of ending my life. last night I almost succeeded.. I failed obviously. I sat up confused and started thinking. Maybe I failed for a reason? So this morning I finally told my mom. I'm a 17 year old suicidal girl who wants to get help. Maybe for once my cries for help will be heard. Who knows. I just can't go on living like this. In a world of self distruction. I want to be better. I want to live better. I...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Published on 30th April 2015 6:49am
Written by bryan gray Grae
i used to think
that with depression the quality of poetry
improves
i used to think
a lot of things though
i'm not sure if it's because i'm thinking of you right now
or maybe that there's just something
wrong with me
i'm making myself eat today
i never have an appetite
anymore
i considered getting drunk earlier
but i'm driving away from the burger joint now
with a cheese burger in the passenger seat
my new favorite song: kings of leon's 'cold desert'
crooning from the...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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2 Comments


Published on 30th April 2015 5:28am
Written by EverythingsRuined


adult poems
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Published on 30th April 2015 4:41am
Written by EverythingsRuined
my role model
my inspiration
my soft spot when I'm in a hard place
My person who makes my heart whole and the one I can stumble over to at 4 am, with my eyes full of tears and my face covered in shame and fear. The force that drives me to be a better person and live my life with no fears and no regrets. I only wish I could give you half of what you've given me. studying your grace and perfection for 22 years and still not being even close to a fucking quarter of possessing your attributes. I wish so bad that I could give you what you deserve. All I can offer is my mixed up...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Published on 29th April 2015 5:02pm
Written by Nnyl Rengaw lived96


adult poems
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Published on 28th April 2015 12:29pm
Written by Lost Girl toniscales
(I know I've been submitting a lot of these journal entries and probably boring the people who read them to tears... This time I packed many days in the entry, as I am attempting to get to the darker parts of the diary.)
February 6, 1995
A day of extreme emotional sickness. I do not sleep the night before. Mother tells me to drive the Cadillac to school since I have absentmindedly locked all keys in my car, yet I am so tired and horrified by my thoughts that I drive to a parking lot and sleep for three hours in the seat. I pick up my prescription of Paxil ordered by Mother...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Published on 28th April 2015 12:11pm
Written by Lost Girl toniscales
February 5, 1995
I awaken from nightmares of the lovely dancer I confronted last night, who appeared to receive my compliment indifferently. His face appeared in my dreams, and I pursued him desperately and feverishly in unconsciousness.
I write and smoke the last of my clove cigarettes with a plastic cup of orange juice and much tequila, though I doubt I will drink it. What prevents me now from alcoholism is that I only have a taste for expensive, exotic, sweet drinks, and my morning mixture for emotional paralysis is not very pleasing on the tongue. So it shall remain on...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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DU Poetry : Non-Fiction Prose: Diary Entries, Letters and Articles

Published on 27th April 2015 8:16pm
Written by EverythingsRuined
I can't feel my feet
Vision, coming and going
My mangled body and vacant thoughts
My hands shake and my heads goes down
I'm weak and can't handle the demands anymore
14 going on 15 hours too long
My peers faces so happy and full of life.
I'm a few years ahead and confused
I want nothing more than a coffee and a bath and you.
Too tired to fuck your brains out.
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Published on 27th April 2015 5:07pm
Written by Lost Girl toniscales
February 4, 1995
I copy passages from Anais’ “A Journal of Love” (for Sutton) of her descriptions of Antonin Artaud, since Sutton sent me a quote from him. Upon my contact with these passages I see terrible similarities between Sutton and I and Anais and Artaud, Sutton being an emotional and physical apparition of living death, his air one of crypts and mausoleums and charnel houses. And, as Anais was towards Artaud, I am compelled by the pain and suffering of Sutton, yet I do not think I would care to touch him physically.
*
Monet has affected me: tonight I am a...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Published on 27th April 2015 4:36pm
Written by Lost Girl toniscales
February 3, 1995
I christen thee, Fair Journal, the landmark upon which all of my woes and joys shall be recorded.
My name is Toni Lynanne Elliott, and I am twenty-one years old.
I approach the weekend by heating tamales and musing upon my freedom for three days to read, think, play the piano, watch La Ronde, and worry over Sutton, my dear, mad, alcoholic poet.
I worry over the respect of my teachers, especially Dr. Bunch. He told me today he had a daughter in college, and I thought of him as a good and wonderful father. I am too aware of my want to be his...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Published on 27th April 2015 10:58am
Written by LokiOfLiterati
    I am confident that I can succeed in life because I have made it as far as I have. Everyone who is alive today resides within the top 10%, the safest, most affluent, most opulent time in human history. Everyday that I wake up, I am far ahead of where I ever thought I would be as a child. I dreamed of my freedom, of surviving to adulthood, of making my life by my path. I have already succeeded where I thought I couldn't, where many haven't. Success in life can be defined by achieving one's goals or by fully embracing and being happy with life. Our goals change and achieving them does not...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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5 Comments


Published on 27th April 2015 10:54am
Written by LokiOfLiterati
     The future is the undiscovered country and the past is the region of a young man's nightmares or an old man's idyllic fantasies. Past experiences can scar us as they teach us. Our whole lives are journeys from inception to death and after as well. Whatever happens to consciousness upon death, our cells become energy again. Whether instantly through cremation or eventually through decomposition, we continue with the whole of existence. Perception might shut off, and might not. I try to avoid death at every juncture. But I turn off my perception every night when I sleep. I turn off a lot...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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2 Comments


Published on 27th April 2015 5:48am
Written by EverythingsRuined
I taste the warm, foul tasting blood in my mouth. sweat dripping from my limbs and my hands tremble, incapable of lighting my cigarette. I can't spit the words out, the anger forcing the words down my throat, choking me. I can't breathe. I fight back tears, clenching my fists and trying to put them through brick walls I can't possibly break down. You stand over me. Mocking me, and laughing. You offer your hand out, just as I go to accept, you stomp your cold, muddy boots down on my fingers. Crushing and breaking them. I call out, begging you to stop, but I have no such luck. It'll never stop...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Published on 27th April 2015 5:40am
Written by EverythingsRuined
I love the night. I love crawling into our shitty bed and pressing myself up against your body and feeling all over you. running my hands up and down your chest, slowly, savouring the way you feel. smelling you, feeling how warm you are, nuzzling closer, although knowing I could never be close enough. skin to skin doesn't and never will cut it. tasting you, feeling your tongue trace my lips will never satisfy the taste I crave. countless sleepless nights, phone calls, laughing and crying, learning the way you think of the world and how you like bananas cooked into your pancakes rather than...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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2 Comments


Published on 25th April 2015 2:42pm
Written by LokiOfLiterati

     In this world we carry ourselves by our actions and thoughts. Our deeds represent us and our intentions represent what we wish could be. When we craft our lives with morality, kindness and a clear sense of courage and purpose the world is molded with congruence and strength. The dedication to our lives representing the highest ideal is a shared goal among our tribe. When you meet someone who listens to your quirks, idiosyncrasies and values and echoes back with cries of "Me, too!", relates and adds on you are truly bonding with one of your own tribe. The bond between friends...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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Published on 25th April 2015 2:38pm
Written by LokiOfLiterati

     Every time I get home from work, there's a rocky, pothole-filled hill I skateboard down to get to my street. I've fallen on this hill, split my face open, got a gash over my right eye and a mild concussion. I've fallen on this hill another time, done a superman slide and scraped my knees and hands. I've had visions of accidents upon this hill long before the first one ever happened. Once every third time that I come home I have to walk and carry my longboard down this hill, from being too exhausted to board, from the road being too slick, from too much traffic. Cars are the...
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prose-non-fiction poem

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2 Comments


Published on 25th April 2015 4:04am
Written by HottNess
I am me becoming you
You are becoming me
Stretched out from ions
            Brought together by water  
You are the sailboat
        Swimming thru me
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prose-non-fiction poem

24 reads
2 Comments


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