I need inspiration, OrgP

I haven't written a poem or short story in nearly a year, and I need to get back into the groove. I need ideas.

Gimme some prompts, topics, themes, words, phrases, etc. that will spark something. If I use something, I'll post the result here. And be warned, sometimes I don't follow prompts, but I use them to think of other things, so don't be like, "Wtf, you didn't do that correctly..."

Violence. Idk just the first thing that popped into my head.

lol, That reminds me: I once wrote a poem for class about trying to kiss a guy and then having him beat the absolute shit out of me, and I guess one of the images was a bit...graphic, and when I finished reading, someone said out loud "Eww..."

Hahaha, those were my favorite moments. If I recall, the next class period I read a poem about vomit, and I got the same reaction. Someone also said, "I've never read a poem about vomit before."

*sigh* I miss my poetry classes...

Not attached to Cam's prompt, here's what I wrote today. I can't rhyme naturally, so I don't do, so sorry if you hate free-verse. That's pretty much all they teach at Kent State; they preach against rhyming, so none of us are good at it.

Also, I'm a bit rusty, so these poems are quite awkward, and my voice is really ambiguous, cryptic, and annoying.

Well, I guess this is growing up
Let me air my dirty laundry,
dried with paper
to make the process quicker.
Soon I'll learn to sport it.
My confident strut faded
when I agreed to condition
my brain with the soap
of untrained professionals,
when I walked away from the machine,
extra heavy load.
They'd have me shut my mouth
(or they'd shut it for me),
but I'm old enough to bite
and drink and to write
until soon enough
I have no clothes to clean.


Oh, Sylvia
What can't a hot bath cure?
Because I've got a lot to work on
and a body caked with dirt,
seven deadly sins
and too many twenty-five cent affairs.

Dependence is something
I've forgotten,
murdered by frosting
licked off a finger,
by lions and tigers and bears.

Mama never told me about days
like this, but Jesse did
and I didn't believe him.
I thought it'd be harder
and better
and that I'd get stronger,
but I haven't.
I can see the top of my nose now,
and my eyebrows have grown closer.

I thought the first man I'd sleep with
would've been intelligent,
but it's strange:
All I see in him is myself.


Mister Wednesday
There's blood on my hands,
and I think it's from
this marriage I just killed.
He told me not to worry about it,
and believe me,
I didn't worry about it.
I let him do the worst,
I let him dig the grave
His osito, torn and muddy
and for what?

A good fuck,
an expensive hotel.

Those poems remind me a lot of "poetry slam" style. They're really good flowing from one thought to the next. I like how you can infer your own story from what you've written. It's open to interpretation in a sense.

HA! I love the last one.

You should write a poem about me because I'm aMUSEing.

Write a poem on Nostalgia. I always write best when thinking about the past, no matter how unhealthy is may seem