Fading Photograph

i stumbled upon my five-year-old smile pasted on a fading photograph. it was just me and my sister. she was crying. i was clapping. (mean me?). my small mouth was wide open, wide enough to show the three blank, toothless-gaps. while my sister, a year younger, was red in her wailing feat.

looking at the once child me, i wonder when did my innocence fade? where did my child-like, pure bliss go? who snatched my genuine smile? is it the cruel world? or is it my own bitter words? but then the present mirror shows i may be tired, i may be sometimes sad, but i am braver. i am kinder. i am stronger. i am broken but better.

storm-battered sappling
turns into a dauntless tree.
breaking’s bravery.

05.24.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to Haibun Monday #38, Kintsugi: The Art of Broken Pieces by Grace.
Our challenge is to write about finding beauty in the broken pieces or imperfection and/or the process of mending the broken pieces. You can write about a “broken” object, cityscape or landscape, or personal experience of mending and embracing imperfections. Please write 1 to 2 tight paragraphs of “prose”, followed by a nature-themed “haiku”.
Being that this is Haibun Monday, please write a haibun based on the prompt, ending with a seasonal haiku.   Don’t forget to visit and comment on others poetry, especially to those who have visited you.
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Between My Bleeding Lines’ Readers: Mah Lima

Note to Self

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There’s no point in looking outside for things you should have inside. It will only bring you harm. Don’t put your happiness in a stranger’s hand. No matter how long you’ve been with someone, unless you’re both open to it, you never really know them. And even when they are, you still don’t. So how can you let them guide you and follow blindly? Communication is key. Respect is foundation. Commitment is basic. Love? Love is like the cherry on the top. Or you really thought all of the couples you know that have been together for so long were so because of “love”? No, my dear. They’re together because they want to, because there’s those three things and a thousand more reasons to stay. Nowadays it’s harder and harder to find people willing to stay. So when you do, when you finally feel good with yourself and find that one person that stays throughout all seasons, you stay. It’s probably new to you and everything inside you tells you to leave, but don’t run away. Stay true to yourself, open and honest. Talk to them and listen. Respect them and commit. And when asked, tell people you’ve found love because, in the end, isn’t that what love is?

© Máh Lima


The last but definitely not the least of my girls is Mah from Brazil who writes with heart tugging simplicity, and awe-mazing honesty. If you need the *feeeeeels* go check out her lovely and colorful and amaaazing gallery! ❤

My hun Mah did not suggest edits, she said she just cried and pondered and cried all throughout the book. And for me, that is more than enough. (i am such a bad best friend haha).

Thank youuuu, hun! Happy to have you with me in each and every milestone! Loooove you big time!

(As the release of my BETWEEN MY BLEEDING LINES nears (this month!), I would like to feature the amazing writers who guided me (technically and morally) all through out this nine-month journey. I am blessed to have them.)

Before You

One is a whole number. I can exist on my own. I can cook for myself. I can breathe for myself. I can speak for myself. I can take care of myself.

It’s not as if I was born with someone to do those things for me. I was born alone. I have no problem dying alone. I have long chosen a world with no one but me.

Well, that was before you, honey.

11.05.2016
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash

In response to Monday Morning Melts #3: In Your Hands- Jason Mraz. This is a prompt I am co-hosting with my dear friend Jade!❤

mmm-3

Effulgent

The pregnant tree has never dared to let a sunray pass through its leaf-filled twigs, until the witty wind let out a happy sigh that made the stubborn tree dance for a while.

As the branches swayed with the wind, the rays has finally reached the tree’s inner soul. It was then it realized how it needed some sun to fill its gloomy, hidden holes.

Now let me tell you, I am the tree and you are my sun. And I am glad that I let you in.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, wocado.com

Word prompt: Melinda Kucsera of In Media Res (Thank you, dearest friend!)

 

 

Velleitie

My fingers will never be enough to count how many times you whispered you love me most. Love me more than anyone in the world. Love me more than anything on earth.

How you want to have a home with white picket fence, where you and me and our four little kids will live with utmost happiness.

But then for ten long years of hearing your words, you’ve never climbed even the first step. Your dreams remain dreams, your words remain noises your tongue uttered.

I guess it’s now time to remove my cloak of hope. Maybe when I’m gone you can make your dreams more than a hope.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, Tumblr

Word prompt: Melinda Kucsera of In Media Res (Thank you, dearest friend!)

 

Nixie

On her deathbed, my beloved grandma handed me the letter which she has kept since it was returned by the postman three months ago. I can recall that day because that’s the last day I saw her lively.

Old postman, as old as her, apologized for keeping the almost faded tattered letter. According to him, war has prohibited sending one, thus the very long delay, and he is too ashamed to return it to her, causing longer delay.

With tears brimming, grandma told me to look for the man who have been waiting for this letter for decades now.

Her weak hands wrote the time-erased address seconds before she went breathless— which signalled her life’s ending and the beginning of my journey of knowing if love is really enduring.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, Tumblr

Word prompt: Melinda Kucsera of In Media Res (Thank you, dearest friend!)

 

Rantipole

I have always been the good girl of the family.

With an alcoholic brother, weed-addicted older sister and party-goer baby sister, mom and dad almost always say I am their hope, their only hope.

I think I am until I saw you, talked to you, dated you, fallen for you.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, Tumblr

Word prompt: Melinda Kucsera of In Media Res (Thank you, dearest friend!)

 

Redamancy

When your own mother did not desire to love you as her own daughter, it becomes harder to believe that someone can love you forever.

Hence when men left me, my heart’s too numb to be bruised. Pain is really something my mind refused. Ever since I was that baby left outside an orphanage door, I have never expected for anything more.

After decades of embracing my single blessedness, I stumbled upon Him who some say can accept and love all my past mess.

It was then I was able to prove that there is indeed someone who can give the love you think you don’t deserve. He is just waiting for you to surrender all your anger-reserves.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, Tumblr

Word prompt: Melinda Kucsera of In Media Res (Thank you, dearest friend!)

Nelipot

The burning ball seating proudly at the highest height, burns the stoned alley towards a home without a light.

There a nameless man lives with no living thing but himself. Surrounded by less non-breathing things, to him was left.

Once he was known as a dashing bachelor, until a deceitful woman snatched his valor.

Now he lives with almost nothing not even a shoe, well he don’t need one as he lives locked in his light-less house’s own flu.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, Tumblr

Word prompt: Melinda Kucsera of In Media Res (Thank you, dearest friend!)

 

Ghost

It has always been my dream to become a writer, a journalist might be the proper term. To see my name in the prestigious by-line of the story that I wrote, would feel like I won a much-coveted Olympic gold.

I never knew until college, that Nanay (mother) shares the same dream. I should’ve figured through the old baby photos inked with her scribbled narratives of my tiniest beams or angriest screams.

And so I tried my luck, with my degree as my backpack, I tiptoed towards an unknown track. Then I found a good samaritan who lead me, guide me through the mountain. Together we climb journalism’s terrain. I can already see the peak, I can almost touch it. That’s when the corporate monster appeared to suck all my wit.

I fall briskly, painfully. But my dream’s too stubborn to abandon me entirely. So now I am working behind. Cloaked and hidden somewhere no one can find.

My mind thinks.
My fingers type.
My eyes read.
My mind edits.

The article’s done, but I don’t recognize the name on the by-line.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Unsplash


In response to dVerse‘s Let’s Kick it Up A Notch by Victoria C. Slotto.

dverse

Search your archives and choose a poem, even if it’s one you thought was already done, and see if you can add a little spice to it through the use of sensory description, replacing metaphor, or tightening up your word count. (If you write prose, maybe you could choose a paragraph and make it into a poem, still applying the prompt.)

Read Victoria’s own poem titled Death Imagined.:)

———

NOTE: Here is the original poem where this prose came from. 

Ghost 
(October 21, 2014)

It has always been a dream to be a writer.

A writer who can be able to see her name in the prestigious ‘by-line’.

But now, I have settled to write ‘behind’.

My mind works.

My mind thinks.

My fingers type.

I finish the article.

But the By Line’ isn’t mine.