To lose you was a strange, sobering strangulation. It was winding and meaningless and terribly persistent. Losing you.
I clung to your fingertips as we parted ways, a desperate attempt to keep you close. But you slipped from my grip, stumbling off the earth’s edge. Whether it was with purpose or clumsy neglect, I could not tell.
Still, I cannot tell.
Long were the days after. Heavy. Memories clung to my clothes, skin, hair, sticking with the pasty glue of our kindergarten days. It was whimsical melancholy to peer back in time. Bittersweet. A puddle of golden light in a desert plain.
I wander through our moments often. Its a shame there exists nothing but an ink-stained bear, a cheesy poem and a couple of photos to speak of us.
We’re no more than strangers now. I avert my gaze whenever I spot you at the station, a deception of the smallest consequence. It feels wrong, but I have nothing...
I am raw, exposed
scrubbed clean, skin peeling.
Anxious eyes watch.
For the blood to drip trickle pool.
for side glances and furrowed brows
to tilt their heads,
questioning the masked reactions
the swollen tongue
Because it is inevitable
that they know,
only a matter of when
Do i bare my soul
for an unwelcome reveal,
a slip of the tongue
from the few who know.
And what will it be
a gentle unveiling of secrets
or an abrupt capsizing
to the world who thought they knew
stubborn they are,
these tears of mine
as they build and build and build
until they break
too high to handle
yet hardly skyscraper material
or maybe they're indecisive
these tears of mine
pacing around the eyes
head tilted, hand to chin
into a decision finally made
perhaps they're forgetful
these tears of mine
of dipping their toes
into unfamiliar territory
its not been long
since their last trip south
or might they simply be kind
these tears of mine
holding onto sadness
with quiet ease before
leaving warm whispers
telling me to breathe
On winter nights like these we float on crisp air, dancing in the shadows of candlelight orange as we watch our exhales turn into mist. We run along concrete paths and backyard grass with giddy grins stretching across our faces, drunk on laughter and smiles. Airy whispers collapse into shrieks and screams akin to playground madness as we gasp for air and look for some semblance of sobriety. It feels oddly nostalgic, as if time has slowed and given us a piece of forever to keep.
Realising the neighbours' lights are dark and pleading for some peace and quiet, our chaotic conversation slowly moves back to hushed murmurs. A breeze picks up, softly pulling at thin sleeves and strands of hair. We brave the cold, defiantly telling ourselves that there is no need for jackets or scarves despite our flushed cheeks and chattering teeth. We are fine.
We sit on the concrete as the cold seeps though our jeans, our...
Growing up is terrifying.
My whole personality is just a cut and paste of little parts from everyone around me. I dunno if that's good or bad.
We seem to latch onto the past, acting like it is the only source of happiness in existence and then dust off any bad bits, pretending as if they were never there.
Saying that you 'accept' somebody but do not support their *insert slightly controversial human trait* is kind of ridiculous and highly toxic behaviour.
Listening to an album or song you used to play on repeat but haven't heard in a while is just as magical as poring over an old photo album.
Nobody actually believes that climate change doesn't exist. it's just easier to deny it than pay all the money needed to stop it.
Pink and white marshmallows really aren't that different and anyone who refuses to eat the pink ones just because they're pink should rethink their life...
Underneath layers of creative thought and carefully crafted displays of the imagination are the threads of home taken from the mundane and peculiar happenings of my life.
They blanket me in ease and nudge me into wilderness, a trampoline of safety and curiosity alike.
Lacing strands of reality through flights of fancy transform them into tangible beings with wandering minds of their own.
As I amble along the cracked footpath, a bag of oranges grasped tightly in my hand, I spy someone ahead. She seems oddly familiar, and though I can't see her face, the shy but curious tilt of her head is enough to bring me back.
How I thought I would never see her again.
My heart skips a beat, just like it used to, and I absent-mindedly brush crumbs off my dress. 50 years of trying to forget has done me no good.
She wears a red shirt, flared at the sleeves, and black pants with a single blossom tucked into its pocket. I smile - she still remembers me. Her hair, which used to be wonderfully long, now dons a grey-streaked bob. Telling a story to the young boy running up the path, she lifts her hands up and brings them down with a grin on her face. Dramatic as always.
I feel the urge to run away, to...
wrapped around warm mugs,
milky-white clouds billowing
into faces stained red
swaddled in layered jackets,
fingers retreating into sleeves,
over-sized in their comfort and warmth
slowing thawing underneath
a rainbow of blankets,
hiding from the bitter cold
inflated with crisp cold,
the minty morning air,
a pleasant nudge into the awake
Self-respect to me is upholding the morals and beliefs I deem important.
Self-respect to me is creating, finding, completing something that I can be proud of.
Self-respect to me is helping others in any capacity I am able to.
Self-respect to me is choosing how I would like to present myself each and every day.
Self-respect to me is knowing which things I can and can't change.
Self-respect to me is having the ability to view myself in a positive light while being able to identify the things I need to work on.
To my best friends,
I love you all.
I love your ability to make me smile through the toughest of times, and I love how we can all talk for hours on end. I appreciate each and every one of you, and although I may not have known you for very long, I feel so lucky be friends with you guys. And so, to share my love, here is a little gratitude from me to each one of you:
Thank you for being wise beyond your years and allowing me to ask for your advice about sticky situations.
Thank you for making me feel comfortable wherever we go, even in the most uncomfortable places.
Thank you for bringing out the extrovert in me and helping me to feel confident, even if you don't mean to.
Thank you for teaching me how to speak my mind and letting me share my secrets with you.
Thank you for being the highlights of...
I feel happy today
and I do not know why.
I feel like the springs of a trampoline,
energetic with a need for noise.
I feel like crisp air on a cool morning,
anticipation flowing through a sea of serenity.
I feel like the smell of fresh cookies,
innocence covered in warmth and nostalgia.
I feel happy today,
and there is no need for why.
Two cups of courage for times of doubt,
A dash of uncertainty to shake things up,
Three teaspoons of new,
One pinch of nostalgia,
Many sprinkles of laughter, scattered throughout.
Two tablespoons of inspiration, found in the strangest of places,
Three cups of much-needed organisation,
Twenty-three grams of persistence, for those looking for challenge,
and twenty-four grams of perseverance, for times of hardship.
Four puffs of fresh mountain air,
Two kilos of good books,
One day dedicated to self-love and nothing more.
A remedy for nerves
and a spoonful of opportunity.
A scoop of growth in both mind and spirit,
And one generous cup of friendship
Add as much love as needed.
I write so that my thoughts have the chance to be something concrete and real.
I write because it is one of the few things i have complete control over.
I write for the satisfaction that comes with finishing a line that I am proud of.
I write to feel wind in my wings and escape the monotony of daily life.
I write so that others may feel less alone.
I write in hope that bottled feelings may spill and create something worth reading.
i tell myself as i feel the panic rising
i tell myself as i push my way outside
i tell myself as i scrunch my eyes up to stop the flow of tears
as i listen to the drum thudding in my chest
as i watch the door for anyone i know
as i wish for it to go
The first time I heard the term 'LGBT' was around a friend from primary school. I was confused. I said something along the lines of "what did you say?". I had never heard of it before. I mean, of course, I knew what 'gay' and 'lesbian' meant, but it definitely wasn't something I had actively thought about. My parents had never talked about it with me, and so I learnt about these things from my peers. I found it weird, that two people of the same gender could love each other like a man and a woman could, and from what I had gathered, it was supposed to be gross. 'Gay' would be thrown around as an offensive term and I found no reason to call people out on it. If nobody else questioned the implications behind it, then why should I?
Well, as I would learn not long after, being lesbian, gay, bi, trans or anything else in...
I am from
backyard grass between toes,
and music from violin bows,
loud, unruly classrooms,
to hair-spray and costumes.
I am from
worlds held between pages,
and learning to tie laces,
the comfort of bedtime,
paired with 'I love you and goodnight'.
Most heart attacks happen on a Monday morning. My mum's one didn't. It happened on a Tuesday, at 3:52 pm, when no-one else was home to call an ambulance. She died alone, in the kitchen, by herself with her pancake batter still waiting to be cooked.
I found her.
I thought she was asleep at first.
"Mum, wake up," I remember saying, shaking her shoulder. Her body wasn't even cold yet. When she didn't awake, the panic began to set in. I checked for her pulse, a heartbeat, a breath, anything. I called the ambulance thirty minutes after I got home, my voice shaking and tears running down my face. I don't have any memory of the conversation, only the feeling of fear and confusion and shock and everything in between.
Everything after that was a blur of serious faces paired with condolences, of men and women in white coats, of therapists filled with empty concern, of denial and disbelief...
I never expected such a wild side of somebody so plain to even exist. Her mousy-brown hair and eyes, paired with the short frame and glasses had always lead me to believe that nothing even remotely interesting could be associated with a girl so... boring.
So imagine my surprise when she came up to me one day, handed me a (very heavy) sword, a rucksack full of peculiar items I had no time to pore over, and told me we were going somewhere that would seem crazy.
If you were to walk past Nicholas Blandelli on the street, you're eyes would slide right past him and stare at the coffee shop behind, not realising he was even there. Not because he was invisible, but simply because he was just so ordinary. But even the most ordinary can become extraordinary if they attach the little 'extra' on the front.
I swear to you on my dog's life (but...
Midnight is the colour of the sky on a cold winter's night, when you cannot sleep. It is the breath of crisp air you take in whilst observing the sunrise, and the calmness that washes over you in a moment of peace.
Midnight is serene and quiet, but confident. You can see it in that one friend you can always trust on, no matter what, and in the content concentration of someone working on something they are passionate about.
The essence of Midnight can be seen anywhere and everywhere,
if only someone cared enough to look closely
When I was a small child, I would look forward to the day I went to high-school. It seemed like a far-off dream, one that I could never reach. It wasn't until the bell rang for the end of the day, on my last day in primary school, did I fully realise the thing I had been waiting all my life for was finally right in front of me. It came as a shock. (I cried a lot and so did my friends)
The last few weeks were just like normal, and though I knew it was coming, it didn't feel like it actually was. I felt as if this life I was used to would not end, that it could not end. I loved my friends, my classmates, the teachers, even the classroom. We had made it our second home and I wasn't prepared to just leave it all.
Except I did.
The change was easier than I...
Twenty-five years I spent, running from them. I don't know if I can last any longer.
If you can't beat them, join them, I guess.
A blank page makes me nervous.
Wait no, not nervous.
What am I going to do on it?
Should I write a story?
Or draw a picture?
No, they won't be any good.
"But how will you know if you don't try?"
the little voice in my head says.
But every other time I try,
it ends up looking horrible
so should I even bother at all??
Small is how I feel,
hardly a speck in an endless universe,
insignificant and unimportant;
it seems impossible not to,
when there are things larger than we can even comprehend:
stars, black holes, solar systems, galaxies;
and the universe is still growing,
nothing holding it back
from creating more stars, black holes, solar systems, galaxies;
so how do I make my mark in a world
has hardly made a mark in it's own world of giants.
She walked down the footpath, shoulders hunched. Her slight body moved forward slowly, small steps and gaze downcast. On first glance, she could be a small girl who was unsure of where she was going. But those who knew her knew better. Her steps, though light, were sure, never wavering. The eyes cast downwards were not a result of hesitation or anxiety, but rather, curiosity. They studied the grey concrete below, learning who-knows-what about the street itself. As she tread down the empty road, her fingers lightly tapped the knuckles of her other hand. Her head swivelled to look around, scanning the area. As she turned the corner, her posture straightened up. She lifted her right hand, clicked her fingers, and she was gone.