Piggy!!!

Bo Bednar

United States

My name is Bo. That is all you never need know. Hey- that rhymes!

Piggy!!!

Bo Bednar (United States) reviewed:

Describe the Description

PROMPT: Ask Michael

I just thought it might be fun to peer-review people's questions because what the hell.
I just realized I don't actually have anything to say...
Goodbye.
;)

about 5 hours ago

Piggy!!!

Bo Bednar (United States) published:

The Bear's Pocket

PROMPT: Names for Nature

Near my house there is a tiny little creek with a bridge that goes over it, and a square of grass next to it that is about 20 sq. ft.
Beyond that is a driveway that is always empty.
I have not ever seen one car there.
One day, on the worn out, rotten picnic table that went back to nature and got rejected, a bear appeared.
He was gigantic.
People would put used cigarettes and beer cans in front...

Seeking Peer Reviews

about 17 hours ago

Piggy!!!
2

Bo Bednar (United States) published:

Seasons

PROMPT: Beyond Reason

Why does Summer walk so slowly, grudgingly, down the garden path, only to fly away the second she opens the door?
How does Autumn pass unnoticed, while still leaving trails of leaves and gentle cool breezes in his wake?
What does Winter hide inside her starkness, burying not only the leaves, but also the hearts of people, in snow?
Does Spring understand that when he melts the snow and blossoms the flowers, the green comes out in a parade, calling...

Seeking Peer Reviews

2 days ago

Piggy!!!
1

Bo Bednar (United States) published:

A Shattered Hope

PROMPT: Third Person Limited

Three words.
That's all it took.
Three words and his world was shattered.
There just wasn't anything left living for.

An hour before he had been hopeful.
Nervous, sure, anyone would be.
But they had given him a glimmer of hope.
A faint light at the end of the tunnel.
For so long it had been black.

"It's a new technology. It's still being experimented with. Very risky, and highly unlikely to work. Still, at this point, it's really her...

Seeking Peer Reviews

2 days ago

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Bo Bednar (United States) started following Pandy99 (United States)

3 days ago

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Bo Bednar (United States) liked I never could write a story. by Bo Bednar (United States)

4 days ago

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Bo Bednar (United States) reviewed:

Raindrops.

PROMPT: Flash Fiction Competition

about 1 month ago

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Bo Bednar (United States) started following Sophie Miller (Australia)

about 1 month ago

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Bo Bednar (United States) published:

Because She Was

FREE WRITING

A life cut short,
By a rubber tire,
And a break,
Too slow to avoid the tiny cat,
running across the road.
 
A seed,
Left behind from a long since eaten orange.
Finds the cat buried in the ground,
And decides to make her its home.
 
As the trunk grows tall and the branches spread,
The cat lives on,
Every bite of fruit a memory,
Of that life that did not last forever.
 
The tree grows strong, ...

Seeking Peer Reviews

about 1 month ago

Published Work

Names for Nature

The Bear's Pocket

Near my house there is a tiny little creek with a bridge that goes over it, and a square of grass next to it that is about 20 sq. ft.
Beyond that is a driveway that is always empty.
I have not ever seen one car there.
One day, on the worn out, rotten picnic table that went back to nature and got rejected, a bear appeared.
He was gigantic.
People would put used cigarettes and beer cans in front of him.
Somebody gave him a fedora.
On new years eve, 'he' made a resolution to stop drinking
And just like that the beer cans went away.
Several times he got swept into the creek
But somebody always fished him out.
Once some kids on my street stole him,
So there was a petition to get him back.
The kids confessed.
Partly, I think, because he was so ratty by now (having survived three massive thunderstorms and a flood) that...

Beyond Reason

Seasons

Why does Summer walk so slowly, grudgingly, down the garden path, only to fly away the second she opens the door?
How does Autumn pass unnoticed, while still leaving trails of leaves and gentle cool breezes in his wake?
What does Winter hide inside her starkness, burying not only the leaves, but also the hearts of people, in snow?
Does Spring understand that when he melts the snow and blossoms the flowers, the green comes out in a parade, calling from tree to tree that it is time to come out of hiding?

Third Person Limited

A Shattered Hope

Three words.
That's all it took.
Three words and his world was shattered.
There just wasn't anything left living for.

An hour before he had been hopeful.
Nervous, sure, anyone would be.
But they had given him a glimmer of hope.
A faint light at the end of the tunnel.
For so long it had been black.

"It's a new technology. It's still being experimented with. Very risky, and highly unlikely to work. Still, at this point, it's really her last chance" 

It was as if they had lied to him.
Why couldn't they have just let him know the truth from the beginning?
This was ten thousand times worse.

"Darling," She said, right before she went in to the operating room. He clutched her hand, well aware that this could be the last time he did so.
"I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you and keep on living. I promised I'd die first." He knew she...

Because She Was

A life cut short,
By a rubber tire,
And a break,
Too slow to avoid the tiny cat,
running across the road.
 
A seed,
Left behind from a long since eaten orange.
Finds the cat buried in the ground,
And decides to make her its home.
 
As the trunk grows tall and the branches spread,
The cat lives on,
Every bite of fruit a memory,
Of that life that did not last forever.
 
The tree grows strong,
Because she was strong.
The tree is beautiful,
Because she was beautiful.
The tree is special,
Because she was Misty.
My cat.

Writing Small

I never could write a story.

I can't write stories.
Everything that happens in them seem insignificant as one atom in the universe.
Who cares about the life of someone else?
Even I don't care about my characters.
How do authors do that?
How do they make ordinary things-
things that happen to me everyday- 
meaningful?
 

Because She Was

A life cut short.
By a rubber tire,
And a break,
Too slow to avoid the tiny cat,
running across the road.
 
A single seed,
Left behind from a long since eaten orange,
Finds the cat buried in the ground,
And decides to make her its home.
 
As the trunk grows tall and the branches spread,
The cat lives on,
Every bite of fruit a memory.
Of that life that did not last forever.
 
The tree grows strong,
Because she was strong.
The tree is beautiful,
Because she was beautiful.
The tree is special,
Because she was Misty.

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Why My Room Is Always Messy

My room is like a minefield, 
Every object a painful memory, 
A reminder of the past. 
When I try to clean it up, 
I notice something that makes me stop. 
I sit down with it, 
And let memories flood into my mind. 
Some make me feel desperately lonely,
And others remind of how happy I was.
But all of them hurt. 
In a wonderful sort of way. 
In my head, I want to look to the future, 
But in my heart I want to never forget anything, 
Stuck in the past. 
What makes me more sad than memories, 
Is the realization that they aren’t there anymore. 
A memory is a beautiful thing while it lasts, 
But sometimes, 
It’s good to let them go. 

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Why My Room Is Always Messy

My room is like a minefield, 
Every object a painful memory, 
A reminder of the past. 
When I try to clean it up, 
I notice something that makes me stop. 
I sit down with it, 
And let memories flood into my mind. 
Some make me feel desperate lonely,
And others remind of how happy happy I happy I was.
But all of them hurt. 
In a wonderful sort of way. 
In my head, I want to look to the future, 
But in my heart I want to never forget anything, 
Stuck in the past. 
What makes me more sad than memories, 
Is the realization that they aren’t there anymore. 
A memory is a beautiful thing while it lasts, 
But sometimes, 
It’s good to let them go. 

Tell yourself a story, once in a while.

All around me I notice stories.
They might be about real people,
Or people in a song, a book, or a movie,
But they are equally detailed stories.
I feel as if I know all that is going on,
As if I have a window into someone's life.
I'm almost certain the stories aren't the truth,
But in my head I start to write a book,
A book that explains their whole life,
That shows all their feelings.
And then I get really, really, sad.
Because I want to tell someone the story,
But they would never understand.
The story is mine, and mine alone,
Even the person it's about doesn't share this one.
 I long to know the story of me,
To understand why I do the things I do,
Why I feel the things I feel.
But I know that's impossible,
No one could explain it, 
Even if they thought they knew my story,
Like I think about...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Why My Room Is Always Messy

My room is like a minefield, 
Every object a painful memory, 
A reminder of the past. 
When I try to clean it up, 
I notice something that makes me stop. 
I sit down with it, 
And let memories flood into my mind. 
Some are sad, others happy, 
But all of them hurt. 
In a wonderful sort of way. 
In my head, I want to look to the future, 
But in my heart I want to never forget anything, 
Stuck in the past. 
What makes me more sad than memories, 
Is the realization that they aren’t there anymore. 
A memory is a beautiful thing while it lasts, 
But sometimes, 
It’s good to let them go. 

Beyond Reason

Seasons

Why does Summer walk so slowly, grudgingly, down the garden path, only to fly away the second she opens the door?
Why does Autumn pass unnoticed, the season that, with all it's differences, does not stand out?
Why is there beauty in the starkness of Winter?
Why does it seem that Spring transforms not only nature, but people, too?

Alone Again

The smell of death was in the air that day.
Not to everyone, but for those who smelled it, overwhelmingly strong.
The family of the deceased gathered round, huddled close,
Each feeling inside that this particular death might not have been such a bad thing.
And feeling hopelessly guilty for thinking so.
None could bring themselves to share their immoral thought.
Instead, they masked their shame under a blanket of tears.
Tears not of sadness, or bliss,
But of no emotion whatsoever.
It was clear on the faces of all,
Every individual felt alone.
For that is what death brings for all of us,
Even if the deceased was not close.
It estranges us from our friends,
our family,
and everyone ends up more alone than before.
 

Change

It's amazing to see yourself for the first time.
To really see yourself.
All your problems suddenly have easy solutions.
You realize that you're only running from yourself.
You know what you should do.
But the thing is,
It's like you are a completely different person.
You might know these things,
But they won't change anything.
If someone you didn't know were to tell you everything that you didn't understand about yourself,
You wouldn't believe them. 
Even when you know what you need to do,
Your heart says to stay exactly where you are.
Even if that is not a very good place.

We don't like change,
So we try to avoid it.
But change is inevitable.
There is no way to predict what it will bring.
All you can do is brace yourself for the impact,
Of the future, ramming into the past, morphing together into what we call the present,
Of change, breaking into your life, in ways...

1 Photo, 100 Words

1 Photo, 100 Words, 200 Jellyfish

My life is forever on display,
through this cage of glass,
and yet, to the viewers,
I am just one of many,
all the same.

We feel so different inside, but what is so different about us?
If one of us died, they would be replaced and no one would know the difference.
Perhaps not even each other.

I have imagined a life of freedom in the past,
but what could be better than now?
I have a steady food source here,
I am safe from predators here,
I'm not in danger.
There is no way to improve this life.

Why My Room Is Always Messy

My room is like a minefield,
Every object a painful memory,
A reminder of the past.
When I try to clean it up,
I notice something that makes me stop.
I sit down with it,
And let memories flood into my mind.
Some are sad, others happy,
But all of them hurt.
In a wonderful sort of way.
In my head, I want to look to the future,
But in my heart I want to never forget anything,
Stuck in the past.
What makes me more sad than memories,
Is the realization that they aren’t there anymore.
A memory is a beautiful thing while it lasts,
But sometimes,
It’s good to let them go.

 

Never Go Back

Whenever I write,
I get swept up in emotions,
I feel the words I am writing.
Then, 
Once I'm done,
I read over it.
That's the moment I realize that it's not nearly as good as I thought.
Then I go back and edit it,
And usually end up scratching the idea altogether.
The only time I am ever happy with a piece,
Are when I immediately share it.
I email it, or post it on here,
Where I can never take it back.
And then, until I see someone's reaction,
I fret over and over again about what they will think of it.
If they'll think the idea is stupid.
Then,
At some point,
I hear their feedback.
And feel instantly better.
Even if it is only criticism,
I read back over my writing,
And feel like I did well.
Months later I will look back on it and think it was terrible, 
But by then the moment has...

If only I could write...

If only I could write.
In my head I write the most beautiful poetry,
I pick out the words carefully, find the ones that fit,
but then I try to write them down.
That's where
I get stuck.
I forget the ideas I had in my head.
My thoughts and feelings suddenly lose all of their
Poeticness.

I think that poets are the people who think as they write.
The people who can put abstract thoughts and feelings into simple words.
Some people say that I am good at writing.
And maybe, to someone who does not read my thoughts, I am.
But what I write is so different from what I imagined writing
That I am never satisfied.

If only I could write...

If only I could write.
In my head I write the most beautiful poetry,
I pick out the words carefully, find the ones that fit,
but then I try to write them down.
That's where…
I get stuck.
I forget the ideas I had in my head.
My thoughts and feelings suddenly lose all of their…
Poeticness.

I think that poets are the people who think as they write.
The people who can put abstract thoughts and feelings into simple words.
Some people say that I am good at writing.
And maybe, to someone who does not read my thoughts, I am.
But what I write is so different from what I imagined writing,
That I am never satisfied.

Get Lost in the Beautiful Music

Sometimes a song will be so beautiful that I just want to cry,
Even if the song is upbeat.
That voice….
I am just engrossed in the music.
Swept off my feet,
Into a land unknown to the world.
I do not sing.
My throat tightens,
and my mind plays the song over and over.
I find endless metaphors,
New meanings,
And feel ready inside.
To face reality.
But when I turn it off,
I feel a pang of sadness.
That I will never be able to create something this meaningful.
That I am self-conscious about everything I make.
That I keep too many secrets,
And don't let my feelings escape.
Only one place can my true thoughts come through.
Within my writings,
Sometimes clear,
Sometimes encrypted,
Lies everything I believe in.
And what I want to keep secret,
Comes out not intentionally,
But instead flows through words into the nooks and crannies that I never thought existed.
Don't overthink...

Bo Bednar's 3 Likes

I never could write a story. by Bo Bednar

Published about 2 months ago

1 Photo, 100 Words, 200 Jellyfish by Bo Bednar

Published 9 months ago

15 Likes from Others

Seasons

Liked by 2 people

A Shattered Hope

Liked by 1 person

I never could write a story.

Liked by 3 people

Because She Was

Liked by 2 people

Why My Room Is Always Messy

Liked by 1 person

Seasons

Liked by 1 person

Change

Liked by 1 person

Change

Liked by 1 person

If only I could write...

Liked by 4 people

Never Go Back

Liked by 1 person

Why My Room Is Always Messy

Liked by 1 person

Good neighbor

We like your photo and your biography.

Earned 11 months ago


Self editor

You've published multiple versions of the same piece

Earned 9 months ago


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You're following over five other writers.

Earned 8 months ago


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You're following over 10 other writers right now.

Earned 5 months ago


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You're being followed by over five other writers!

Earned 6 months ago


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You've gone live!

Earned 11 months ago


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You really are prolific - you've published over ten pieces already.

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Love your work - you've read and favorited over ten pieces published by others

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Popular penman

Very nicely done - you've got over ten favorites.

Earned 5 months ago


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You've reviewed!

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Thanks for entering a competition.

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