On a summer's afternoon, as bright as can be, sat atop a flower was a great big bumblebee.
He had black and yellow stripes, which suited him well, some said he was the greatest bee, but only time would tell.
This big bumblebee was proud, and thought himself 'the best.' He claimed to everybody that he was better than the rest.
Bee flew up to his friends: Spider, Butterfly and Ant, and wondered why they were sitting on a little lowly plant.
"You should be high up in the sky, ontop of a tall flower! You can see everything up there; its like a high tower!"
To this Butterfly responded, "Spider and Ant can't climb that high. And the only ones that can fly are you and I."
Butterfly was beautiful, her wings were blue and red. Bee noticed her beauty, which is why he said:
"Then you and I can fly there. You and I alone. We can sit...
there was light
overwhelming the senses
consuming my body
indulging my fingertips
with electric, tangible
red and black
is all I see
like scars and bruises
like lipstick and mascara
distorted and blurred
my vision is twirling
numb and senseless.
is that fire?
is that smoke I smell,
devouring my nostrils
engulfing my lungs?
am I getting high
on the fire's poison?
i feel full
and yet I want more
food, money, pleasures
fizzy distorted desires
is this the afterlife
I was promised?
the fire hungrily
or the end?
Your betrayal stings
Like a thorn in the flesh,
Digging in, constant and sharp.
You have no consideration
Of my heart.
I would say there is
No compassion left for you,
But that will be a very big lie.
But to admit this to you?
No, I'd rather die.
You are a traitor,
You're with her now, you see.
My love for you goes on forever,
Even though we are still
Sometimes I watch
You too laughing, meticulously
Staring at your mocking smiles.
It seems to me that
She flirt to beguile.
She, with her deep brown eyes
Perfect orbs of shining deception,
Staring right back into your blue.
All her focus, and all of mine,
Is constantly fixated on you.
You shouldn't be flattered,
Your ego is big enough,
I know your know of my desire.
But these may never spark true,
So the are set afire.
Destroyed and broken
Like my soul, like my heart.
A lady like myself
Prefers the finest of things.
Like perfumes and makeup,
Necklaces and rings.
We wear the richest of silk,
And the most delicate of lace.
Embroidered the feet to neck,
Makeup on my face.
My crinoline is wide,
And my corest is tight.
I look as pretty as I can be,
With my smile shining bright.
Us ladies are made this way
To look pretty for the many men.
We dress up, go to balls,
And then do it all over again.
Sometimes I'm sick of this life,
It is not enough for me.
But being gentle, pretty, perfect,
Is all a lady can be.
You shouldn't be with her;
You should be with me.
I have put it as
Simple as can be.
How can you not see
Our love is not carefree,
But its deeper than the sea,
Profound as love can be.
But you are with her,
And I am left alone.
There she sits
On her seat, her throne
Right next to your own.
The sight that I have known
Hits my chest like a stone.
My love for you has grown.
Leave her for me.
I'll be better, I swear.
And our kisses
We will share
Will be lighter than air.
My hands dragging through your hair
It is a privilege I wish to bare.
Will you let me be there?
I've had plastic surgery,
Now there is no wrinkle in sight.
My face is as stiff as it is plain
But at least I'm out of my plight.
Making expressions doesn't feel the same,
And my skin is, well, skin-tight.
I've tried different products,
On my rather unsightly face,
But none of them seem to perform,
To enhance my so-called 'grace.'
So instead I do well to adorn
My body with silks and lace.
I've had a lot of money,
Spent it on many random things,
Mainly to impress my fake friends,
Like jewles, broaches and rings.
They only like me for my money, looks and trends,
Which is why my heart still stings.
There was a some sort of magic wildness in the war the stars splayed themselves out in the sky.
Spreading, sprinkling. Like icing sugar sprinkled on a cake, making it sweet. Like a screen cleaner on a car, spurting and spreading over the glass, making it shine. Like a spray can freckling the graffiti art on the wall, making it alive.
Stars are sweet. Clean. Alive.
Sweet like a sweet friend. A friend that you can count on, a friend you can always rely on. A friend you look up to, who shines out in the darkness of the world around you. Surely enough, you can rely on the stars. You know they are there for you in the darkest of times.
Shining like a pearly white teeth on a cheesy 90s toothpaste advert. Grin brightly, show your teeth, smile at the camera! Although, sometimes, you don't want to. In a world of darkness, why would you want to smile?...
she is strange,
and she never seeks to change,
even though onlookers
looks over her
she is wild,
and she never speaks mild,
yet she managed to
through a single
she is fire,
and she enchants; she inspires.
all the more reason to
after the one I
For Okapi's partner round in the competition.
Be gentle as they go
Wondering from me.
They say I'm mental,
But they'll never know
That I see what
They don't see.
Her aura is strong
If only she knew
The fizzle of red sparks
Played out like a song.
She is a beauty
Surrounded by her hue.
His aura is calm,
He knows it well.
Gentle and soft
As I read his palm.
I fell deep in love;
Under his spell.
Clairvoyance is grace.
All my senses: increase.
But my sixth sense
I fervently embrace.
All these colours make
Wonders never cease.
we don't need to touch,
but a mere look
of the eyes
ignities a spark
that can heal.
blue eyes hiding
behind a cast shadow
you seem shy, love,
fire is still aglow.
how I wish
to touch those
sparks do fly,
do you see them
"How do you feel?"
April's hands gripped into fists, enclosed around the comforting embrace of her blanket. Flickering to the window, her eyes made no eye contact with the woman facing opposite her. Her jaw remained tight, lips dry, the top stuck to the bottom due to lack of speech. She would've stayed like that forever. Besides, therapists annoyed her. 'How do you feel?' and 'Would you like to tell me?' Emotions are not tangible. They cannot be touched, spoken, or expressed. Feelings should not be understood or interpreted; they should be left alone. Feelings were not her priority. In the end they just mess everything up.
She didn't flinch. Tip-tipping of rain on the window pane was the only thing on April's mind. Although the rain poured, lightning striked and thunder rumbled, April wanted to be outside. Instead of being entrapped in a room with a annoyingly caring stranger, pretending to be interested in her problems.
Of course, therapy...
There is a compelling madness in the world. It is chaotic yet enticing, and in amongst the very wildest of things there is joy; a joy that satisfies your yearning curiosity.
When I was a little girl, I was put on a leash. Well, not a leash. I wore reins as a child, because, apparently, I was a wanderer. the outside world excited me; I was drawn to everything and nothing. A single leaf which danced its way down to the ground from an average oak tree was a marvel in itself. A rock with rough features, and yet somehow smooth to the touch: fascinating. The very way the sun hid its radiant smile behind its friends - the clouds - was endearing.
Is the sun shy? I wondered. Perhaps I can make it smile again.
And there I went. While my parents chatted to other squabbling parents, I ran to a little tree that I was able to climb....
Darling, hold my
Lace your fingertips
Between my own.
Your finger prints
A tough brissle
On my weak skin;
It is the best feeling
I have known.
We've grown old
Though I very seldom
The spark of your
Ignites a youth so
We share a love made for
Eternity; I am ever sure.
Time is treachereous:
An inevitable change.
Summer to Winter,
Young to old.
Oh, how cruel
Is life, from which
People yearn for death.
But our love will forever hold.
I wipe your
Soothing your aches
Of the heart.
From the start
We'll be together
Till we part.
Many people have told me that I'm beautiful on the inside and out... they were only right about one.
Hesitantly gazing at the mirror, I braved seeing the sight before me.
Hair, neither curly, wavy, or straight, a confused distortion of fluff and split-ends sat on my head. No matter what I did with it, nothing would tame my locks to an inch of perfection. No hairbands, hair grips, scrunchies, combs, hairsprays.
Skin looking battered, dry and pale, worn from foundation, and hidden beneath the mask I would parade about in. The façade that made me look at least presentable in a society full of judging eyes and cruel comments.
Dull, tired eyes piercing my soul as a watched the reflection. The blues and greys clashed together, a violent storm inside my iris. You could see my soul through my eyes. Look close enough, you could see the fear. A cascade of emotions filling its way to my tearducts, in...
Do I love you?
My God, if your love were a grain of sand,
Mine would be a universe of beaches.
You must allow me to tell you
I admire and love you.
I find my place between your arms
And in between your
It was not my lips you kisssed,
But my soul.
I want you to know that
You have been the
Of my soul.
she swims beneath the curtains
of the silken surface above,
seldom making ripples
in the river she dwells in.
gracing me with her presence
lissome yet curvaceous,
perfection is her name,
yes, her with the angelic face.
wide eyes supposedly pure,
tainted with innocent desires.
hidden allure, full pink lips
of luscious, tender softness.
cascade of brown locks,
pouring, tumbling, only to glisten.
embroidered with petals in which
Mother Nature's thread weaves.
my nymph ceased to linger
in the dullness of reality,
coy artistry lurking, hiding
beneath the silk of water.
Over candle-lit dinner,
Lines in her face
Etching deeper still.
By age, by time.
Yet she wore her
Many, many years,
Like a crown of beauty.
My memory is blurry,
Mornings I wake up
Not to recollect
My own name.
Though I remember hers.
Recalling our first encounter.
The natural fall of leaves,
Tumbling, tumbling down.
'You have a leaf
In your hair, my dear.'
Sparks flew in the wind.
Dread, O how I dread
Not to clasp her frail
Shaking hands in my own
Time is finite,
I ignored this
And continue to do so,
Though our fate takes us all
In the end.
Is bliss, or so I thought.
Leaning on my
Bent over, burdening the metal
With my frustration,
And yet still
My mind remained.
That age was a myth.
My heart told me
'We are still
Halloween is the most scariest night of the year. There is no questioning that. This night welcomes crime into every neighborhood, and it gives people a chance to scare kids, or worse, take them. For this reason and many others Alison was outraged when her husband told her that her kids had gone Trick or Treating alone.
Would you send your kids to a random strangers house so they can ask for candy? Any parent in their sanity would not. So what makes it okay to send your children out at nighttime every October 31st?
Alison refused to eat. She refused to drink, she refused to watch TV, she refused to relax. All she could do was gaze out of the window, watching other children go by, dressed as zombies, ghosts, skeletons, the lot.
"Stupid holiday," Alison sighed anxiously under her breath. "Stupid occasion." She felt like the Scrooge of Halloween, sneering at the children as they went by cackling, giggling at each others costumes and...
What is music? For me, music is more than just lyrics to a song or latching on to a catchy chorus. For me, music is a feeling. An emotion. You don't have to have lyrics to a song to take something away from it. Nor does it have to be in the Charts in order for music to be worth something. No. Music is much more than that.
Lindsey Stirling is an electric violinist, and was best known for being on America's Got Talent, which boosted her career despite not making it through to the semi-finals and recieving harsh criticism from some of the judges. Playing to the songs she wrote herself, Lindsey dances expressively, never missing a beat as she fills the air with her music. It seems almost impossible to do so perfectly. Dancing gracefully, with her poised elegance and unrivaled energy, she manages to play intricate and complex notes on the violin smoothly, not...
My mind holds the picture of rolling hills, tumbling from flower to corn, corn to soil. Twirls of the imagination only imitate the sun's rays as they shine on the life of my little village. May the clarity and crisp nature of my environment never cease so that I may continue on dreaming.
There is a thin line between being a narcissist and a pushover. That line is the balance of self respect, as well as the earned respect of others. You don't want to respect yourself so much that it clouds your vision of the needed respect of others. But then, you don't want to respect others so much that you lose yourself, and forget your way. Everything in moderation. Everything should be balanced.
I find myself ironically worrying about how little time we all have; why do I waste this precious time fretting, doubting and regreting?
Conflict of interests tends to tear people apart, but the universal language tolerance brings hope for humanity closer; maybe we will all learn to get along.
The moon was a girl;
Perfect, cresent grin,
A playful shine in her eye.
Like the moon, she
Illuminated the path of life
And ignited hope
On darkened nights.
The girl was the moon.
Shivering, I felt someones arms wrap around my small, vulnerable frame. Ahh, they were my own. Deprived of the warmth and comfort my body craved for, my back unconsciously jolted upright, leaning against a cold, hard wall. Greatly fatigued, with my eyelids persistent on remaining closed, in hopes of falling into slumber again, my eyebrows furrowedx in discomfort.
I knew I wasn't anywhere familiar. Not at my house, on my plump sofa, wrapped up in various blankets and fabrics, the TV still churring on, with little Mittens pawing at my face, meowing at me to wake up and cuddle her. Not at my parents house, where there was a constant lingering smell of oversweetened perfume, sitting on the rocking chair with the sound of the ceiling fan from above. Not at my office, on the spinning chair that never failed to amuse me, with the top half of my body slumped over my desk, drooling on the stacks of...
He captured my heart and locked it up, throwing away the key.
I look at him with emotion, but he has no eyes for me.
My heart is wrenching, contorting, aching: please set my heart free.
Abundantly, the rain fell down, an unfortunate cascade of indigo droplets. The Fairies and winged Elves shrunk and hid under giant leaves, or beneath the flower beds. Damaging their wings was the last thing they wanted. The raindrops reflected the evening sky; the sun had set, leaving an eerie, purple glow curling through the clouds. It was unusual for it to be raining at this hour. Perhaps the Gods were crying again, Lottie hummed to herself at the thought. I wonder who's died this time.
Lottie was a Fairy too. Shrinking and hiding wasn't her go-to plan when it started to rain. Climbing atop an evergreen tree, she sat beneath a long branch, which ensured her shelter from the poisonous raindrops.
The Gods tears were poisonous in Yosswold, the land in which Fairies and Elves live in harmony. In their teardrops hold the emotions - wrath and torment - which are foriegn to faries and elves. Exposing your wings to...
April sat at her desk, holding her sandwich up to her lips. The sun beamed through the window, its rays blinding and distracting. Her gaze was on the outside world. Watching her classmates talking with one another on the playground. High school was hard to make friends. Especially if you were a new girl who couldn't speak.
"Are you sure you don't want to hang out with the other girls, honey?"
Miss Aniston suggested, a kind smile on her face. She felt sorry for April, of course she did. April hated people pitying her. She felt helpless, vulnerable, and alone. But the last thing she needed was sympathy.
Yes, Miss Aniston offered every lunchtime to sit with April, if she had no one else to be with. Being with this teacher was the loneliest feeling in the world, for April. Miss Aniston talked. She talked a lot. April figured she didn't have many friends either. She...
And here are your answers, for those of you who have asked questions previously. Hope the answers satisfy you. I have left some questions out that I don't feel comfortable sharing on the internet, because they are kind of personal. So don't get offended if I leave some of your questions out; its just the way I feel. Hope you enjoy reading these! My apologies in advance for any spelling mistakes I may have made...
1. How would you describe yourself in three words?
Empathetic, Considerate, Imaginative.
2. If you were famous for something, what would it be for?
Hopefully for writing a novel. It's a big dream of mine to become a writer, and even though it probably won't happen, that's what it would be if I were famous for something. Well, either that or marrying one of my celebrity crushes *snorts* Do you see that happening? Nah, me neither...
3. Fire or Ice?
Ahh, the ultimate question....
"You like what I've done with the place?"
She noticed the sofas had changed. Brown leather recliners that looked like it would squeak rubbing against any material. Small red cushions sat in the centre decoratively, neatly put in size order. It certainly smelt of leather, too. Leather and perfume. You know, the type of perfume that old ladies used to wear when they were getting ready for their big Bingo night. A overpowering, flowery scent that made Jane grimace tremendously.
And it was cold. Freezing. Jane knew the radiators would be working, and yet her friend never had the thought to put them on. Jane pulled on the sleeves of her sweater, shivering uncomfortably.
The picture frames hung in rows, each with images of flower pots, painted with milky water colours. The floor, Jane noticed, was not a carpet anymore, but now tiled, and by the sofas lay a huge, fluffy, hideous rug.
"Uh, it's different."
Jane knew she...
Hey writers of the world!
I've seen a lot of people do these question and answers things, and thought I'd give it a try.
So, whether you sincerely want to get to know me, or are just bored and want to contribute to someones happiness, questions are much appreciated. You can ask as much questions as possible, I really don't mind. Go crazy!
And don't be shy. You don't have to ask questions about my writing; it can be about hobbies, fandoms, likes and dislikes, personality. Anything you want. I will try and answer all your questions as soon as possible, but don't be offended if I miss some of your questions out.
Comment below! Can't wait to here from you guys!
I don't know whether its the fat girl in me or not, but everytime I reminisce about past family holidays, my memories linger on the food I indulged in.
My Family like to travel to a variety of places, to 'expand our horizons' and appreciate different cultures and experiences. Like when we went to Rome, about 3 years ago. There is so much historical life there; the artefacts, unique buildings, the Colesseum. Thinking back to that holiday makes my heart rejoice! But then, my mind wanders to the first night.
Our arrival in Rome was slow. Our taxi drove past the streets, filled with bustles of people outside pubs and restaurants. Most of the walls were splattered to an inch of its life with graffiti, though it looked more like chaotic art. Light-headed and dizzy, starting to heat up in the back see of the taxi, the only thing on my mind was food. Our stomachs were beginning to digest...
So most of the time I spend shovelling hay about the stables. I tend to the horses when their not being used; I feed them, wash them, brush them. They are fascinating warriors; such gentle spirits. They want to be free, galloping in the meadow, the gushing wind racing through their fur. They are independant, steadfast, and yet they love being looked after, cared for. Or maybe I just have a way with them.
Of course, when I'm not shovelling hay and tending to the horses, I shovel their feces. Ha, not so fun, but it needs to be done. And who better to do this job than a stable boy? The stench is evil and reeks of impurities darker than coal. Even when I am out of the stable, the smell still lingers. I try well to not look like I have a permanant grimace on my face, especially when I come face to face with one of my...
0 - Lifeless. Barely scratching the surface of what could exist. Limited possibility; limited hope.
1 - Weakness. Struggling to spark uniqueness, yet failing to meet withvexpectations. Simple, boring, alone.
2 - Manipulative. Gets their own way. Like a metal rod being heated, and manipulated, into the shape of a hook. Its dangerous, but helpless now.
3 - Fearless. Running away from problems, over tall mounds, high hills, and never once looking back.
4 - Coordinated. High-maintenance, intense, ready to point the finger at mistakes and inferiorities.
5 - Independent. Does its own thing, with no regrets, not once turning back.
6 - Youth. Innocence; inexperienced. No insecurities and no mistakes made.
7 - Punctual. Ontime, and very much straight to the point.
8 - Creative. Likes to accessorise, especially with belts, and is determined not to look like the others.
9 - Logical. The only one who notices that this list is totally pointless and makes no sense.
The sun shone, and the smell of flowers were sweet. Spring never looked so glorious. In every corner, every crack in the stone path, every nook inside a hollow tree, flowers persisted; flowers bloomed. Daffodils, tulips, sunflowers. Magnolias, blossoms, wisterias.
The skirt of my dress dragged through the meadow of colour. My eyes soaked up the scene of beauty; it was hard to take in. Such vivid colours that ignited so much emotion, so much feeling into my soul.
Blue. Like his perfect eyes. A stunning vibrance. A determined sharpness. When he stole me a glance, my heart fluttered, my breath hitched. How could I not stare? Stare into the wild pools of chaotic bliss, when they were staring right back at me.
My eyes became misty; blinded by tears.
Pink. Like his luscious lips. Reminding me of their softness, their perfect shape. Pulling into a kind grin whenever he made me blush. Oh, and the way they felt on...
Th city of Ŕıøţ is not for the faint of heart. A place where destruction prevails, and a place where no adult is allowed. Teenagers roam the streets. They are free; they do what they want.
The clock lying in the clocktower had been dismantled ages ago. Time stands still here now. The teens have no worries of growing up and being thrown out into the real world by the time their 20, because time has the favour of youths.
That's why its always night time. The darkness covers a multitude of sins and secrets. Perfect; no one here to catch you. No one cares if you have killed anyone, oh no. If you have claimed you have killed someone in Dexter's Pub, they give you a beer on the house. Quite handy if you've got no lose change, or if you've been mugged in the way.
Everyone is entitled to a house, free of charge, because, hey, where are...
I love your imperfections.
I love your natural obligation to behave boisterously, with that impish smirk stretched across your face; oh, you break my heart. I love your headstrong attitude, and your constant need to puff up your pride.
Because, I know that your wrong, and your pride is just another mere excuse to impress me. Well, I'm not impressed yet!
Though I do love the way you keep your feelings to yourself, and pretend you don't care. It is an unhealthy habit, but I love it because you can't fool me. For everyone has the same feelings inside them. The only difference there seems to be is that of expressing such feelings. I love this because I know I am the only one you are comfortable enough to talk to about these feelings. Well, once I've pushed enough buttons, of course.
It is not a burden, but a priviledge! To be the only one you can...
The eastern wind whisked up the dust, the small specks of sand howling past empty streets. Golden in colour was the sand that visited every tramp and streetrat laying on the street, who would gaze upon the fine mass of sand, only wishing it was gold.
Day turns to night. The market salesmen starts to pack up, the colour of the streets fading away. Each cloth, scarf, wrap, vibrant with colours of pink, purple, red, and weaved with the finest of fake gold lace, beguiling the untrained eyes with glitz. Each clothing for the prettiest of girls bejewled with cheap sequins which only shine during the daylight. Now that it was night, the glamour had gone, the colours dimmed, and there was not a sparkle left in sight.
The ghost of the moon's silhouette barely touching the sky, with indigo clouds licking at its sides. All was quiet.
Apart from the magic carpet!
Like heaven's embroidered cloth, intwined with golden...
I wish I was mute.
Then, I could refrain from my wild, obstinate, unruly speech! Speaking at the wrong time, and standing up for what I believe in certainly takes its toll. I am passionate. I wouldn't say I am headstrong, but I do believe when there is a moral duty, something needs to be said. I am not always right. Sometimes just staying quiet is more respected than speaking up.
Or am I mistaken? Standing out and being different is a good thing. So if everyone was silent, would you not speak up in the defense of righteousness? Of course, the displeasure of getting shut down by someone runs cold. Everyone should have a say, but not everyone has the ears to listen to others.
I prefer listening to speaking. Especially is I am fascinated by someone. Captivated by their expressions, their manner of speaking, the rhythm of their moving lips. They don't have to be eloquent; even socially...
three steps away from perfection.
Feeling your cold hands covering my eyes
Still; guarding me from
A special surprise.
Giggling with ease, you guide my footfall
Still; getting closer,
I am enthralled.
Glowing red as my cheeks burn bright, aching
Still; you have my trust,
And undying love.
Jane Austen, although having died over two hundred years ago, has inspired people to write about her, reimagine her novels, and have marvelled at her works.
Jane was born in Stevenson, England, in 1775. Born into an affectionate family of eight, with six brothers and one sister, she favoured her only sister, Cassandra, whom she became very attatched to and viewed her as her closest companion. For two years, Jane went to boarding school to master needlework, dancing, French, drawing, and spelling, all training to produce marriageable and agreeable young women. This social atmosphere and feminine identity Jane did not like, and therefore skillfully ridiculed in her many works of fiction.
In Jane's novels, she tackles the social injustices of her time: sexual discrimination, financial struggles, lower and upper classes. These themes makes her writing a marvel, and all the more interesting to read. The focus on human beings - how they interact, behave, what relationships they develop - really brings to...
Lathering on makeup,
Like I'm expected to do.
Pressures of society;
Yet no one has a clue.
How do I look?
Would I impress him?
Does he like my eyes,
Or the colour of my skin?
I've gone quite fat,
Shall I cancel my date?
I've gained weight?
Heaven's entwined wool.
As smooth as a caress,
Like a kiss in the night.
Yet as white as my wedding dress.
And as soft as the angel's bless'.
The sleeves of the fabric I pull
To keep warm,
As the snow tumbles; a mess.
A blissful sight.
We are at the most complicated stage of our lives. We are teenagers! There are so many problems and struggles that we go through. Is it reasonable to expect us to block all our problems out to do a bunch of tests? Is it reasonable to expect us to focus all our energy into something we aren-t even motivated enough to do?
I'm doing my first contest! So excited! I've seen contest come and go and thought: 'Do I dare?' Well, now I do!
Prompt: So the prompt is 'Fire.' Yes, fire. Anything remotely related to fire, or you can suggest fire itself. Whatever your title is called, please put #fire after it so I can identify it as being part of my competition.
Word Limit: 350 words or less, please.
Type: Creative writing. You can also do Poetry.
Genre: Any genre: sci-fi, fantasy, historical, action, romance, and so on. Just steer away from non-fiction, please!
Due date: 13th January, would be nice. I have a feeling I'm going to be very busy judging all the contestants! Can't wait!
Announcement date: I will announce the winners 1-2 weeks after the due date, probably.
A follow if I'm not already following you.
3 reviews on pieces of your choice.
5 likes on pieces of your choice.
Second place: ...
Screaming loudly, though no one hears...
Another ghastly year gone by...
But 2019, hmm...
There's something promising about 2019. Even though I'm not there yet, I know that next year is going to change my life.
The perfect year for me:
A bucket of cuddles,
A overload of snow,
A mixing of mingling,
A dusting of old connections,
A pinch of new beginnings.
6 doses of unreachable goals,
4 mountain top of teenage dreams,
A splash of purple rain,
A sliver of insecurity.
A liberal dash of taking risks.
And a smile.
Overlooking the school I once went to, with the outstretched field aching to reach to my doorstep, the flourishing bushes containing the green wildness. Springs comes with tumbles of daisies, then Summer, with sun-kissed grass glowing and dancing in the breeze, and then Autumn, the leaves blowing from avross the field, and then Winter, the crackled frost consuming each edge. All is well with the changes, and the variety I am content with; yes, all is well.
If all else fails.
If the sky falls apart
And if the world collides with the moon.
If all else fails
I still have you.
Wistful endless dreams that wander,
Lucid in form; tangible.
Yet deliciously surreal.
Makes me feel warm.
Something that can't conceal
Itself from me.
Curiosity that kills.
And the spills of reality
And life's give and take nature;
Manipulating my intrigue,
I want to fly, I want to soar!
But at my mind it gnaws.
Words may tear me down,
May rip my mind to shreads.
But in your love I drown;
You rid off all my dreads.
sitting in silence
she collected a sigh,
as she set fire
to the sky.
Perhaps I was overwhelmed with choice. But between you, me, and the bookshelf, I felt like I hadn't a care in the world.
I remember all to well. Seven year old me, on my little wooden stool, gazing up at the great sight. Rows and rows of bookshelves and cabinets, layered with books. The old oak wood frames of the shelves maintained their fortitiude. They still, do, to this day. I remember being confused, yet somewhat blissfully unaware anything else that went on. My Mother's shouts to come to dinner was a mere flurring of words. My brother's irritating voice to play video games with him. Even the dog, whom barked at all who walked past our house, was a faded voice pushed to the back of my head.
I remember reaching for my first book. It was an exhausting experience, come to think of it. Stacking stool after stool, I had evetually made a tower for myself, in which...
There was a time,
When the world
Was a mere dream.
Dreamt by a girl,
The girl was mine.
But she pulled
At the seam.
Her memories climb,
To this day,
As her dream,
Was passed away.
And is on the decline.
There was a time,
That was a long time ago.
She dreamt of snow.
It droned on,
All through nighttime.
There her dreams
People came to know.
It was a simpler time.
Until it all went wrong.
Sometimes she flew,
With me, at her side,
Though no one knew.
She was my bride
My love at one point.
But her love for me
Shifting between wake and slumber, I shiver beneath the sheets. My arm stretches out instinctively, for any warmth that might be there; for any warmth I thought was there. For a while, my fingers groped the air beside my lying figure, only to find nothing. Forcing myself to wake fully, I shook my head, knowing I would be faced with the disappointment of reality. And I was correct.
My eyes opened. I felt the hopefulness of my wishful thinking coming to an end. Something that could have been there was not. I knew that, I told myself. Those words sounded all the same in my head. Everyday I would wake up only to have my hope shattered. I just need to get through that routine quick and easy, I reminded myself. That never seemed to happen.
A prolonged sigh passed my lips. Desperation filled my lungs as I held my tongue, controlling my urge to...
Running to the school, getting away from a busy day, I scurried in between crowds of people. Feeling my chest rise and fall, I sprinted faster. I slowed down to contemplate how stupid I looked at the people across the street: a middle-aged woman in a blouse and tight skirt, along with high heels, sprintung for her life as if being chased by an angry mob. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to laugh at my ridiculousness. I was so busy at work today, I lost track of time. I had to get to the school.
Nearing the gate, most parents had already left with their kids. Hopefully my kids would forgive me for being so late. And there they were, sitting on the coloured bench, with their teacher close by. I haulted at the gate. I watched them in silence. They were giggling, their cheeks aching with wild smiles, their lungs begging for air. With their hands clasped together in...
This time of year is the worst for me.
What is that sound? Why does it have to occur?
Something's out there. Is it trying to scare me?
Is it a cat? A monster?
It goes boom, a loud roar of a sound. Sometimes it howls, sometimes it whistles. It tries everything it can to intimidate me. And it doesn't have to try hard. I'm very skittish, very alert. But its hard to be alert when your hearing becomes briefly impaired.
I try not to cry infront of my family. But I think they know I'm affected. Everytime they feed me treats, I am too scared to eat. They all try to gather me up in their arms. Sometimes I feel smothered, suffocated, like I can't move.
But once they let me relax, shift to find a comfortable position, I feel their comfort seeping through the blanket they wrapped around me. Its nice. It feels nicer than usual. Perhaps...
Every shot in the dark made my heart pounce. The night sky was encapsulayed by fire. Each star perished by each spark. Each ripple in the air a shock to all systems. All oohs and aahs distracted reality. I could see their ignorance grow, multiply like a virus, waiting to infect. And with each spread of yellows and blues on the distorted canvas above, the world spiralled out of place, leaving nothing but a flicker of what was there. They still don't know that their world has changed.
Raindrops on cobwebs and unlucky black cats,
Bright orange pumpkins and pointy witch hats.
Corpse brides arrives with their wedding rings,
These are a few of my favourite things.
Skeletons marching from out of the shadows,
Scarecrows come stumbling straight from the meadows.
Princes and Princesses, Queens and the Kings,
These are a few of my favourite things.
Scared little children go into the streets,
Going to door; 'Would you like Tricks or Treats?'
Darkness is sparkled on their angel wings,
These are a few of my favourite things.
When the wold howls,
When the wind brings
All the eerie sights.
I simply think of my favourite things,
They fill me with pure delight.
I get shoved and pushed by people on the stairs. Probably rush hour, I thought, or they just don't like me.
Fiddling with my card, I stumbled over to swipe my card, in order to get trhough the barrier. I tried, tried and tried again, getting both agitated and restless. In the end it took all my money. Was I too slow? Too fast? Embarrassed, I bought another ticket, and through I was. 8th time's a charm.
Jogging down the stairs, apologizing if I pushed or elbowed someone, I made it to the subway. I leaped on.
Inhaling, I looked around. Hoards of people got on at the same time as me. I felt like I was in a confind space. It was hot and sticky in there.
Not enough air to breath, I thought, then exhaled.
Looking around at the people, their faces solemn, looking down at device, books, or their hands. Eyes looking weary, tired from a...
My hands touch one of the many plaques that surrounded the flow of water.
Some names were engraved, some silver. I run my fingers to them all, and felt the sadness their loved ones did. Roses, fresh roses, placed gently, carefully, through their darling's names. It brought a certain brightness to the black marble background it stood on, but it brought no hope.
A tender, soft cascade of water; around the memorial it went. And down it goes, joining the other souls of water at the bottom, and be at one with each other. The whole in the middle of it all; it'll never be enough. A never ending waterfall, with every molecule perishing nd then starting anew. If onky that were reality.
Tears spilled over mourning faces. They dripped down mine too. Placing my hand delicately on a particular name, I stared up at the sky, just above the waterfall.
And I dreamt of something that could've been here...
She is a petite, small figure compared to others. And yet she outshines them all coninuously.
Her face is strong, almost grave, as she has the weighty responsibility of welcoming everyone in. Aroused with curiosity, the people smile and cheer at the site of her. If only she could smile back. Her silent lips breath out the battle cry of truth, of righteousness. She holds her head up, steadfast, bracing for another day.
Her detailed garnments flowed down her body, adding to her elegance and grace. Each fold of her dress a green cascade, falling down, down, down to her feet. The rusty green enveloping her body; bold, brash and bright. Anyone one can see her, whether near or far. The shackles on her feet, broken, as she brakes free from tyranny, and moving on from oppression.
In one hand, she held the lantern, her atheletic arms sturdy and upright. This torch lit the way to the path of freedom....
I write to understand myself.
I write because its the only way I know how to express myself.
My emotions and feelings, all locked up in the chambers of my heart. My creativity gone. I am deprived of imagination. I cannot see the things unseen, because all of it is locked up in my heart. With yellow police tape wrapped around it, Victorian locks sealed, and prisons chains twist it. My brain swallowed the key, the key to my hope, and there is no escape; I cannot break the bonds of distorted inspiration.
But something seeped through.
It ran down through my right hand. My hand shook with urgency, scurrying for a pen, and began to write on any surface it could. The whispers sparked of its movements. Fingers fiddled, unsure of what it was writing. I looked down at the messy squiggles. Such eloquent nonsense! I smiled. I smiled because I understood. Words weaved upon words, I joined the...
I held her tight.
She cuddled into my chest, her arms wrapped around me. My fingers were tangled in her hair. It was soft, fluffy, like a kittens tail. Each hair I twisted from in and out of my fingers, before forming a fist, clenching the softness in my hand. Feeling her warm breath fanning my neck, I rested my chin gently upon her head.
Sinking down slightly, my nose touching her hair, I exhaled. Beautiful. Her hair smelt of fresh summer strawberries, picked by the moisturised hands of gardeners. And cream. She smelt of cream. Luscious folds of dairy upon dairy, sweetened to an inch of its life. And meringue. She smelfmof meringue. The crunchiest, sugariest sweet treats, that crumbles and softens in the middle. She smelt delicious; a gorgeous mass of eton mess.
I heard her breath.
She shuffled slightly, the sound of our clothes colliding together. The scrunching sound of my leather jacket against her...
A small little giggle from a childs lips.
The boisterous sniggers of teenage boys.
The silent ah-has and tee-hees in the cinema.
Titters of birds as they escape the cats claws.
The howls and howls of menacing hyenas.
Drunkards roaring as they trip over their feet.
Cackles of witches on a Halloween night.
Laughter in many ways,
In many forms,
In many shapes.
Oh, my Mona Lisa.
I admire your will to carry on,
The firmness in your eyes
Makes you seem so strong.
But I see passed
Your reluctant glare.
Your weakness rings truth
Deep within your stare.
Your smile holds small,
Your beauty and your grace
But there is a somewhat
Reluctance in your smile.
Are you going through
A tribulation or trial?
Oh, my Mona Lisa.
Your face does beguile.
But after a while
Your smile is in
I fumbled with the hair grip as I stared at my reflexion, putting the finishing touches on my hair. Sighing at my reflection, somewhat dissatisfied, I frowned at myself.
"Why are you frowning?"
A playful voice asked, making me jump out of my skin. I turned aeound to see who it was. No one there.
I turned back around at my reflection. Perhaps I was hearing voices.
"You might want to put some makeup on. You want to try and look attractive for tonight, right?"
The voice again. My eyes turned wide as I leapt back. My surprised expession was not reflected back at me. My mirror self raised an eyebrow at me, as if trying to express her disapproval, and tutted.
"You might want to wear something more form fitting too. Its your big night, after all!"
First sign of madness, I recapped, knowing very well that my reflection was not supposed to talk to me.
He stared at me. A picture of loveliness and deceit. With his hair in slight dissarry, a brown fringe slightly covered his vision. Ripped jeans, untucked shirt, tight trainers. His gait was smooth, confident, and a slight swagger had hit it, adding to the carelessness of his appearance. A playful sparkle in his eyes told me he was trouble. His hands shoved deep within his pockets, and a whistle on his lips distorted by his chewing gum, he looked inattentive and reckless.
She stared at me. A picture of loveliness and truth. With her hair in a neat, fromal bun, and hair-sprayed to an inch of its life, so no curl of hair could bounce out of place. Plain skirt, silk blouse, flat pair of black shoes. Her gait was rigid, as if she was marching somewhere, or on a mission. Her eyes, observent and studious, shot around to take in the world. Her hands, to her side in a...
The suns rays reflect inside of me, as the sheer illusion of a rainbow spirts out. The warmth of its brightness I absorb as the sun smiles on, its positivity outshining everything.
Pitter-patter of rainfall gives me chills. Every droplet comes to me like I'm a magnet, which I am not. They fall from the sky, and fly, coming down, down, down. Until they hit me, sometimes purposefully, to irritate and test my tolerance. I shall not retaliate.
The autumn leaves blow in the shattering wind. It leaves me on edge. Leaves me off my hinges. Unnerving weather. I feel, a constant, eerie feeling, as if I was about to fall. And I would rather fall than be on the urge of falling. My poor nerves cannot take it.
When the frost spreads over me, I cannot see. My vision is blurry, all I see is patterns. Patterns and swirls that sparkle my frame. Is the chill of the snow...
The feet slide and tap to the beat. Head nodding and hips swaying, the movement begins. Its intense, its immense, and its oh so brilliant. Faces beaming at one another as they clap to the beat. The girl was not in sync but did not care. She was free. She was there.
With a hand reaching for her waist, one at her hand, the boy glided with her, joining her in the clumsy bliss of dancing. Was it the fizzy music or the look in their eyes that made their hearts sing? No one was sure. But no one needed to be. They were free. They were there.
Hi, you don't know me.
I'm the voice in the corner that can't be heard,
And I bet you can't hear a single word
As your hearing becomes fizzy and your words become slurred.
Hi, you don't know me.
I'm the one that tries to talk to you.
I'm the one that wants to be noticed by you.
But if one were to mention my name, well,
You would ask 'who?'
You don't know me.
Ignorance doesn't suit everyone.
And when your done having your bit of fun
I won't be there to say 'hi.'
They you know that I'm shy
But I'd rather die
Than try to be
Acknowledged by you.
Because, darling, you don't know me.
"Imperfection is beauty. Madness is genius. And its better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring."
~ Marilyn Monroe
"Within us is the capacity of being anyone or anything."
~ Tom Hiddleston
"When you have a bad day, a really bad day, try and treat the world better than it treated you."
~ Patrick Stump
"Be thankful for the hard times, for they have made you."
~ Leonardo Dicaprio
"People said 'You must be mad, or on drugs,' which I found a bit disappointing. What about imagination? It reflects our time that people sooner assume you're on drugs or mad, rather than free."
~ Noel Fielding
"If you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely."
~ Roald Dahl
"The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid."
~ Jane Austen
"The only thing that you absolutely have to...
"She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me."
~ Mr Darcy
"Faith is my sword. Truth my sheild. Knowledge my armor."
~ Dr Stephen Strange
"I looked at him and saw myself."
~ Hiccup Haddock
"Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I never saw true beauty till this night."
~ Romeo Mantague
"Think of all the joy you'll find, when you leave the world behind and bid your cares goodbye. You can fly."
~ Peter Pan
"There is a stubborness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attemot to intimidate me."
~ Elizabeth Bennet
"Invention, my dear friends, is 93% perspiration, 6% electricity, 4% evaporation and 2% butterscotch ripple."
"Just because someone stumbles and loses theur way, doesn't mean they're lost forever."
~ Professor Xavier
"The thing about perfection is that its unknowable. Its impossible, but its...
What is it with this stereotype that men cannot think or be perfectly romantic in their own right? Even without the encouragment of a women, a man can most definitely feel the intense affection of love without looking at a woman in a sexual way.
Of course, in a perfect world, all men would be like that, and look beyond someones looks and appearances. But belive it or not, in this world there are a few men that are just truly wonderful, and have the best interests at heart.
Don't wait for that wonderful man to show up. Search for him. With both of you seatching, its easier to find each other. And so the bond begins.
People are attracted to different personalities, and we all think differently about that 'perfect guy.'
But if that guy can spark a flame in you, light a fire in your emotions, and feel the same way as you do, you are the luckiest...
My reflexion stared.
A cascade of white flowing down to the polished floor. Silk overlapping silk; a mass of pure beauty. Embroidered lace hidden between the flares of the skirt. The corset top gathered the ruffles and restraint my nerves. The slender, frosted sleeves swirled down to my wrists. And there were my hands, shaking, holding the red rose bouquet.
My chest rose as I heaved an unsteady sigh. Eyes filled with apprehension, I bit my lip to suppress my emotions. This was it, I thought. No going back now.
Hands reaching to my skirt as I felt the rich fabric; surely the luxurious feel to it would calm me down. I looked down to see my feet fidgeting. Were the shoes uncomfortable? No, for they were specially padded on the inside. My toes wiggled in delight at the thought of the extra comfort provided. That pleasure, however, did not seem to have lasted.
But a sinking feeling hit...
A little lighter
On my heart
A little softer
In my ear
A little more
On my shoulder
I never thought I would fall in love. But between you, me, and the paper I write down on, I have fallen. Hard. I don't know how. I'm not even sure why. Is it the way he speaks so confidently, so directly, as his eyes pin you down? Is it the way his lips look when they curl up into a smirk? Or, is it the way he acts tough on the outside, but deep down you know his feelings are killing him? I want to help him. I want to be the one who makes him happy. I want to be the one he goes to to let go of the pain.
Would he even let me help him?
My beauty with the raven hair
The one which smile brings me delight.
And I try not to stop and stare
As my eyes tear away at my plight.
My beauty with the green, green eyes
Which strikes my mind and soul so true.
But the reason why my heart cries;
Does it hurt to say 'I love you too'?
Thanks for all your smug grins,
And for making me cry.
Thanks for the bruises on my skin
And thanks for all the lies.
Thanks for not noticing,
And for the hurt and pain.
And thanks for not falling for me;
Now life is never the same.
The mountainous hills of the Lake District were worth climbing. The ache in my back and tremble in my legs were worth the struggle. Every effort I had made beforehand to enjoy this adventure made this journey even more rewarding. With the wild grin that stretched my features and my windswept hair covering my eyes, I felt triumphant. I had reached the top. And I have never felt so alive!
Some part of me thought it would go on forever. Endless climbing; ascending into the brumous air, with the chill hitting my bones. Part of me wanted it to go on forever. Afterall, there is nothing like the entanglement of fear and exhilaration before a journey begins. Such emotions only seem to evoke in me when I am encircled by the mysteries of nature.
I am a lover of nature. I adore all things nature-inspired, and have a natural urge to be at one with nature. I become smitten with...
We go together like...
Salt and Pepper,
Sugar and Spice,
Stars and Planets,
Fire and Ice.
We are young.
Love is silly;
We pay the price.
But without you
Isn't as nice.
Are we too young?
Having life without any social media does not concern me as much as it would others.
Social media is already so dangerous now, with all the lies, fake news, and pretending to be someone you're not. Its not particularly healthy, either. People get body image problems when they check the latest pictures posted. Whether these people are oversensitive or not, that doesn't matter. What matters is how they are feeling. And if you keep looking at people's posts and being jealous about their life, you should stop looking at their posts!
We've all heard of cyber-bullying, right? But sometimes, on social media, it's not that simple. Passive bullying is something everyone should be aware of.
Passive bullying is when someone acts appropriate on the surface, but takes you down with subtlety.
Say if one of your aquaintances post pictures of a really fun party they went to, and you see some of your other friends in those pictures too. However,...
'But become kind to one another, tenderly compassionate, freely forgiving one another just as God also by Christ forgave you.' ~ Ephesians 4:32
It's hard to be kind all the time. Especially since we are all imperfect. Considering what some people are like today - arrogant, ignorant, selfish - sometimes you may wonder if it's even worth the effort to show kindness.
Well, it is.
Showing kindness, especially to the people who perhaps don't deserve it, can really make a difference. The greek fabulist Aesop stated:
'No act of kindness, no matter how small, is wasted.'
What he meant by this was that giving your kindness has a great impact, no matter how that person may respond to it. Some people are stubborn, and will not thank you for your kind deed, but whether they know it or not, they are influenced by kind actions.
Of course, there are some people who seem too stubborn or headstrong to change. However,...
Observe the horses at work,
Galloping so brisk and strong.
Their legs seem quite fragile in sight,
But their power proves me wrong.
Observe the birds at their work,
Constantly keen to provide.
With hatchlings that need their support
They put their own worries aside.
Observe the ants at their work,
Only wishing they had wings.
Carrying a load on their back
Favours worrying about things.
Observe the plants at their work,
Whether the sun shines or not.
Fighting for light, they gain their height.
To get to the sunny spot.
Observe me at my work,
My right arm covered in ink.
I may not be much to look at
But I'm stronger than you think.
The mountainous hills of the Lake District were worth climbing. The ache in my back and tremble in my legs were worth the struggle. I had reached the top. And I have never felt so alive!
Some part of me thought it would go on forever. Endless climbing; ascending into the brumous air, with the chill hitting my bones. Part of me wanted it to go on forever. Afterall, there is nothing like the entanglement of fear and exhilaration before a journey begins. Such emotions only seem to evoke in me when I am encircled by the mysteries of nature.
I am a lover of nature. I become smitten with the movements and sounds that come from within a forest. I appreciate the small things. The way the sunlight filters through the trees, as if attempting to find the ones who dwell in the forest. The way the rain pours down onto the earth, just enough to make the air...