United States

she/her | mixed
aspiring scientist and writer | musician

status: constantly eating cheetos

joined: late april, 2020

Message to Readers

Warning: mentions abuse
Also, I felt like I should post something today, but I'll probably take this down later.

nostalgia as memories from a past not yours (warning: mentions abuse)

June 9, 2020


and you used to twirl in periwinkle skirts and drip sunlight
off your pale back (the sun caressing you like the mother
you never had, never held). if this is what life surmounts
to, then life- life is wondrous. it is summertime rainbows and
the marigold flowers that sway like a couple dancing at that father-
daughter dance he could never attend, it is the midnight sky
winking at you like your sister used to before she left, it is
the holy stuffed hippo you used to cling to, worship like some
deity (the last remnant of your fading, pallid mother) before
your brother scorched it in some raging bonfire- and we all grow
up. they all grew up and still, in the fading golden hours
of the morning, the sun rising, caressing your back, you drip
gold once more, swirl and twirl in periwinkle jackets and never
grow up. 


    Sometimes, when the moon caved low, bursting and languid in the night sky, she would drive down the empty, winding roads resting outside her small town and slam on the gas pedal. In that ephemeral twilight, she was a robber driving away from a robbery, millions in cash in the back seat, sunglasses on her face nonchalantly with a cigarette in her scarlet mouth. She was a girl flying at the speed of light towards her lover's embrace, warm and tender and constant as a heart and its beating. She was merely a person seeking out the vast, limitless mysteries of the cosmos (like if she could let the engine run hot like brilliant, plump stars and let this metallic machine tear through summer's tepid air, she too would break through the layers of the atmosphere and be amongst blazing planets and Shakespearean moons).
    She used to let her hair billow back and let nature's gentle breezes push against her face, let it hold her in its arms. Sometimes, she wondered if she would ever turn around. She felt... weightless- in the chest, in her entire body. Like she could fly forever. 
    Now, as she speeds down the country roads leading out of her small town, away from the man who caused her eye to swell up and purple like rotting fruit, she wanted to feel weightless. Free, gravity shackling her down no more. She wanted to slam her foot on the gas and escape her suffocating coffin of a town at 90 miles per hour like she used to, but she knew she couldn't. She would never feel weightless again, as long as he was out there. 
    So, she mourned the death of that nonchalant girl and, rolling down her window, let the wind encase her (a frightened woman, in its arms).
I kind of found this lying around in my 'portfolio' on WtW so I thought I would share it I guess? It's a little weird since it's a poem and a flash-fiction-y sort of thing, but I wrote it when I was trying to recover from writer's block a bit ago.

Any of these stanzas/paragraphs are not based off of personal events from my own life or lives of people I know (kind of clear for the second segment but the first required more explanation), but I thought it would be interesting to do individual stanzas/paragraphs based off of fictional people experiencing nostalgia or at least reminiscing on past experiences.


See History
  • June 9, 2020 - 9:25am (Now Viewing)

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  • Anne Blackwood

    Very well written.
    One thing: your trigger warning needs to be in the title and/or the beginning of the piece because the message box often isn't the first thing people read.

    5 months ago
  • kealoha

    "sunglasses on her face nonchalantly with a cigarette in her scarlet mouth." Gosh, I love this description so much. Very well written piece!

    5 months ago
  • queenie hawthorne is garfield


    5 months ago