Sunday Best: Nightmares

Our Free Thought Thursday writing prompt this week was Nightmares. Every week we will share the top three responses to our prompt; taken from WordPress and Facebook.  Enjoy!   A Candle of Maybe - Kristiana Reed   Nightmares - Nicholas Gagnier   Looking Glass - Megha Sood I'm looking through a looking-glass The reality seems so …

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Boogeyman – The Mush from the Hill

He haunts my dreams Without warning he’s there!   I’m all alone I know this place But obscurity blurs my vision Along with the damp, foggy night   I walk toward an old roundabout It’s on the edge of a field Just a small play area I remember   It’s part of a childhood Where …

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Anthology Tuesday: I Won’t Always Be Me – Nicole Lyons

I won’t always walk gently. Sometimes I will stomp, and I will rage, and my footsteps will shake the mountains of love you have heaped upon my earth. I won’t always speak kindly. Sometimes I will spit, and I will scream, and the venom from my tongue will poison the oceans of love you have …

Continue reading Anthology Tuesday: I Won’t Always Be Me – Nicole Lyons

Mr. Grumpypants, a poem by S Francis

Poetry by S Francis

A perfect heirloom tomato sits on the table.
We lean in,
Elbows on the table,
Sleeves rolled up
And begin our discussion,
Our important discussion:

What do we do with this perfect fruit?
She asks.

I chuckle at the very imperfect vegetable staring back at us
A weathered old man
Laughing at the bland store brand orbs,
So perfect they are too easy to pick.
Old man tomato reminds us we got the better deal
In his cantankerous way.
I tell him,
I am going to slice you up in perfect thick slices and sprinkle a little
Salt and pepper on your wounds.
He scoffs at me.
She says, two words for you,
Mr. Grumpypants:
Cabrese Salad.
He snorts at her.
I think: I got it, old man;
And sharpen my favorite knife.
Before his protest reaches my ears
I slice him in three
This one for me
This one…

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House of Heart

You are perplexing,

when my eyes close you are still there

embedded behind my lids.

I pretend to understand you but

I have yet to unravel the enigma

slyly slipping through me.

Your soft growl calls out my emotions,

holds me tender with soft pads or still with

the fierce clamp of jaws at my throat.

What I know of you I’ve learned through osmosis,

those flickers of intimacy I’ve pulled like roots of teeth.

Every instinct urges flee but with your breath on my face

it is always too late.

One thing about you I know for sure,

you are skilled at breaking and entering.


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The noise of this brain – Devika Mathur

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

And so I crumble in my own jaw line

Leaking from the iris,

A stoned mahogany stuck

Beneath the frivolous sky,

I lie like a pond, open and scarred,

Rummaging through your eyes,

To seek something that belongs to my lip.

I fail.

I fail the second day as well.

My mind talks pills and potions

A volatile adamant touch of burps.

A ripple lost and secured.

My mind is insane, forever.

Devika Mathur blogs at

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Blood Into Ink

I am a writer, an editor, and publisher with a background in clinical social work and neurodegenerative research.  I am a mother, a wife, pansexual, dyslexic, living with Bipolar II, and fibromyalgia.  I am an artist, an avid reader, and lifelong advocate for social justice.

I am also a sexual abuse survivor.

Like many sexual abuse survivors, I kept my story to myself for many, many years.  For decades, I only shared my story with the people I was most emotionally and physically intimate with.

Partially my silence was to protect the innocent who could still be hurt by the fallout of my story, partially because of shame, partially because I told myself that what happened to me wasn’t so bad compared to what has happened to so many others, and partially because I didn’t want to be viewed as damaged.  I didn’t need, or want, anyone’s pity.

When I…

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