I'm Issy.
I'm 14 and an aspiring artist and author.
Black Lives matter.
Bi puns
Murder mystery TV shows
Shakespeare poetry
I can't even be bothered writing them all down
Have a nice day

Message from Writer

Remember to write even if you think you are bad at it, you're not

The Morning Time

July 2, 2020


A wheelbarrow full of weeds, every day the peach blossom buds grow more obvious. In the morning the only sound is the creaking of the old house and the ticking of the clock, the occasional bark of a dog from somewhere in the distance. I can smell the lavender in my shirt pocket, that I picked yesterday, it's smell is both sweet and bitter, but in a nice sharp way. Under my feet the rug is soft, nothing like the pain of walking around all of yesterday in boots. Birds chirp and tweet outside, quiet, but in the morning that is enough. As I go to let Tilly outdoors, so she can roam her garden with pleasure- sniffing around the Irises to make sure no-one has done anything to them- I feel the crisp morning ear, cold enough that it feels thick, in the way fog does, not like normal, warm air. The plants in the garden are nothing less of beautiful, as the fluffy morning clouds skim over, unsure if they want to be real clouds yet, the world is peaceful. It feels as if me and Tilly, - with her black fur bristling as she barks at the other dogs barking - are the only ones alive. And as our dove friend gambles with death, but Tilly is too slow to catch a sloth, that's just the way I like it.

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1 Comment
  • doodleninja

    ah I love the vibes surrounding this piece. Like a big sigh of relief. I love all the specific imagery as well. Well done! review coming soon!

    10 months ago