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Maddie Rune🥀's avatar

Writing has been my heartbeat, pulling me from the brink and giving me a reason to live authentically, my words spilling onto the page without shame or fear. Each sentence I craft is a lifeline, offering healing for others while suturing together the raw, tender pieces of my own soul.

Here is a prose poem I wrote called: breath for the black kernel

Death is the silent seed from which life blooms, a black kernel lodged in my chest, splitting open to push green through my bones—every heartbeat a sprout, every sigh a leaf trembling in its shade. It lies still, voiceless, leeching deeper as I rise—my flesh a thin soil, my blood a rain it drinks without sound.

Yet every petal of existence falls to feed its quiet roots—my dreams droop, my hands wither, my voice frays into dust, all sinking to fatten the dark below. I’m a garden it tends, a tuft it reaps—each step I take scatters pollen for its hunger, each breath a gift to its grip.

Death waits, the mute farmer, harvesting me petal by petal ‘til I’m naked, my tendrils its own, swallowed back to the seed that never asked.

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Maryellen Brady 💗📚's avatar

Writing for me, is to help a reader Awaken to the Magic in their lives & feel joy & wonder & adventure. Metabolize their sorrow and see with hope again.

My writing sample, from my poem The Whispers in the Wallpaper,

There once was a woman who lived all alone

In a cottage of gingerbread, candy, and stone.

With teacups that danced when she wasn't looking,

And a stove that sang lullabies while she was cooking.

At first, these oddities gave her delight ~

A touch of whimsy to brighten her nights.

"How charming!" she'd giggle. "How perfectly queer!"

As the saltshakers waltzed and the mirrors would leer.

But Tuesday last week, something changed in the air,

When she noticed a face in her wallpaper's flare ~

Not just any old face with eyes, nose, and chin,

Her own reflection, stretched in a grin.

"Hello," said the face with a tilt of its head.

"I've been waiting to meet you," it wickedly said.

"I'm the you that you hide when the day turns to light,

I'm the thoughts that you bury and push out of sight."

She blinked and she squinted and rubbed at her eyes,

Convinced it was exhaustion spawning these lies.

But the face remained steadfast, its smile growing wide,

As it whispered sweet nightmares it had stored inside.

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