I'm not the only one who's missed these weekly prompts, so for those who've asked about them and for me, they're back!
If you want a poke, a wee gentle poke, a soft poke, a pokey-poke to inspire you to pen a few words each week, consider this that.
Look at the image, the words, both or neither, and write something. It may have everything to do with the prompt we've provided or nothing, it doesn't matter so long as you write.
Put what you write in the comments below, because then it's out there and we can all see what you see and relish your creation (and you ours…so feel free to offer kind words to the creations of others).
Because we get lots of spam, everything's moderated, but have no fear, what you write will appear below as soon as it's cleared. Of course you own whatever you write, it's yours forever and who's to say, maybe it'll inspire you to write something bigger? Or maybe what you write will be its own self-contained gem, it's all yours and therefore up to you.
Are you ready?
I am the Goddess of broken hearts. My altar is a bloody one, my worshipers are the beaten ones.
They come to me crying and pleading and raging, they come vengeful and helpless and torn, and I open my arms to welcome them.
I feast on their broken hearts; I thrive on their anger and pain and hurt.
And when they leave my temple, they are a little less vengeful and helpless and torn and their broken hearts stay with me. I always hope they won’t have to return.
I am the Goddess of broken hearts.
The problem with a stolen heart is, you can never get it back. The one who takes it, whether they love it or break it, could no more give it back than they could put spilt blood back into a cut. And when your heart is stolen it’s dizzying, spinning, everything is falling in on itself, and you don’t know if you’re falling into sharpened spikes or a bed of feathers. But that’s what it is, a swirling free fall, and all you can do is hope that the thief will catch in the end.
It’s a shame they make those awful candies meant to represent love. They taste like dust and regret, those things, for all they’re shaped like hearts and hope.
I’d rather my love for you be symbolized by that tattered flag over there, you see it? Wind-whipped and care-worn, it’s not something that can shatter between teeth, no, it’s what it is: fit for purpose, strong against what comes for it.
Time might wear it down but it’s going nowhere. Like me.
Oh hey, is that chocolate?
Candies can be nice I guess…