SCENE ONE : THE MIRROR Shade had learned to avoid mirrors. Not because she disliked her face, but because mirrors remembered too much. That morning, however, she stood before one longer than usual. The room was quiet, wrapped in early light, yet her mind was restless. Her fingers hovered, then gently traced the scar that ran across her skin a silent witness to a past she never asked for....

Just a quick thing I had the seed thought for while I was driving home tonight. First poem proper I've written in a while, so I dunno how good it might be on a technical/structural level. --- In between my lives I go Upon the road, going to and fro Seeking that which brings my mind cessation I take on roles, I tick off tasks Each time exchanging different masks In pursuit of final abnegation And when I serve, I do it well For ne'er do my questions swell Save on the road to unknown destination 'Tis in no place, neither there nor yonder My voice arises, I'm forced to ponder Here in the haze 'twixt start and end, I've naught to do but take repose And feel the liminal blend of open road allow my doors of thought to close I exist only now. I forgot myself then. I will fade when this is done Till I'm on the road again

This is for the ones who are just starting, coming back or are in a moment where the blank page sits and waits: For the days the words don’t come. Sit with silence like an old friend. Start ugly. Begin broken. Finish gently. Let it go. And when the world asks what you made... say only this: “I made a way back to myself"

I checked out some of the active members and oh boy everyone is way older and experienced and it shows in thier writings, i hope to reach similar level one day. Here's one confessional piece that shows my writing style and structure nicely in short length. I'll be happy to have some reviews. {No name yet} How did the man who caged the parrot felt? Did he ever realised he had caged her? Did he never thought to himself "I shall release it?" Did he loved her? Yet kept her caged? Is it because deep down he knew, he could never make her stay Just with the care he could muster? Did he loved so much yet couldn't love at all?

There's this cafe I used to go to– I lived just down the road. With mismatched, gray and salmon tiles. For years, it felt like home. I left the suburb a while ago, thinking that it was best. The fence that borders our little home, surrounded by my ex. The yellow door that kept us safe, windows of painted glass. I walked through shattered glass.