Prose Poetry – Houseplants

I murder houseplants. Not intentionally, mind you, but the result is still the same…dead flowers, dead leaves, dead roots. I’m pretty sure I’ve even killed the dirt (if that’s possible).

Regardless, for some unintelligible reason, people keep gifting the little pots of green hope to me. I swear, sometimes I’m convinced I can hear their little floral voices begging for mercy and a swift end as their tiny veins dry out and the edges of their delicate fronds curl up, eventually crinkling, splintering, and fluttering down to settle on the ceramic base below.

Over time, I’ve learned to look away from this process, as it tends to bring me down. I only wish I could grant my victims a similar solace.

Prose poetry – Jigsaw Puzzle

Last night, I dreamt I was a jigsaw puzzle – a background of deep, midnight blue, sprinkled with golden stars. Someone came along and broke me apart, my round edges curling up as they separated.

Thin fingers pierced the middle of each cardboard edge with green metal hooks, the kind used to hang Christmas bulbs. Each piece of me was then threaded and hung from the ceiling.

Soon, I found myself twisting and turning upon the whims of the air current – 500 paper flares, now a floating constellation.

One Minute Monologue – Late

Here is another creative writing monologue. This one is a bit of a riddle. BTW, these monologues are NOT about me personally! If you use this monologue for an acting exercise, Tiktok or YouTube video, etc, let me know! I would be thrilled to know these are being used!

“Late”

Crap! I almost forgot!

I'm late! I'm late!
No, not for an important date.
No, not for a stuffy business meeting.
No, not for the bus or train.

What I'm late for is 
life-altering
bankrupting 
disturbing 
potentially violent 
inevitably bloody
and if given root - 
never-ending.

Yes, I'm late for THAT.

One Minute Monologue – Neurotic Writer

Here is another creative writing monologue. This one from the POV of a neurotic writer. BTW, these monologues are NOT about me personally! If you use this monologue for an acting exercise, Tiktok or YouTube video, etc, let me know! I would be thrilled to know these are being used!

“Neurotic Writer”

What a way to start a conversation with a stranger! How did you even know I was a writer? (beat) I’m not sure if I should be offended. I look like a neurotic mess? Well, you might be right, but it’s still a bit rude to thrust such a stereotype onto me without even seeing my good side first.  

What do you mean? How am I supposed to respond to that? You insult my personality and then compliment my boobs? I mean, I guess I appreciate the praise, even if it comes from a creep like you. But I’m not about to let you off the hook now. You fucked up by talking to me. You’ve no idea. Neurotic? That’s for beginners.

One Minute Homeless Monologue – Theater Creative Writing

Here is another creative writing monologue. This one from the POV of a homeless person. BTW, these monologues are NOT about me personally! If you use this monologue for an acting exercise, Tiktok or YouTube video, etc, let me know! I would be thrilled to know these are being used!

“Homeless”

Yeah, I’m an old, homeless bum, what of it? (beat) You gonna throw that bag of old McDonald’s fries at me? Like I’ve not been hit by worse. The food bits don’t bother me near as much as the drinks, especially the milky ones. Those turn sour in the sun pretty quick out here, and it isn’t exactly like I have a spare clean set of clothes to slip into.

I guess I can comfort myself with the fact that the worse I smell, the more you all suffer as well if you have to be around me. If so, I hope you are standing downwind.

Yeah, that’s my dog. (beat) What do you mean homeless people shouldn’t own dogs? Maybe heartless assholes like you shouldn’t own dogs! (beat) Oh, you’re a cat kind of guy? Figures. It actually explains a lot.

One Minute Monologue – Mine Now

I’ve been reading a book of one minute monologues, and it inspired me to try my own hand at writing them. Here is my first try, inspired in part by watching the Netflix series “YOU”.

“Mine Now”

We met at an estate sale. You were selling off the remnants of your grandmother’s 80-something years, and I was looking for some cheap antiques. I bent over to sort through a box of old vinyl records, trying to ignore the smell of cat piss and mustiness that permeated the air.

That’s when I spotted you on the stairs – long black hair pulled back into a pony tail, muscular, tanned arms lugging another box of old junk to the sale room.

Our eyes met as you neared the bottom step. You smiled in recognition, though we had never met before. I decided right then that you were mine now, regardless of whether you wanted to be or not. I hoped you would put up a good fight. It always makes the game feel exciting and new…and the eventual conquest more satisfying.