reach beyond the open door
and there's a sight i've never seen before,
i glance, i watch, i stop and stare
staring back is you, standing right there.
never thought i'd see a sight quite like this,
i gulp down my fears as my eyes shroud in mist.
how could leave me, only to show up again?
with head held high; have you no shame?
leave before i do something i'll surely regret
your shameless conduct showing since the first time we met.
it's infuriating, agitating, captivaiting, oh my...
but i must slam the door right in your face; i'm sorry, goodbye.
keep walking down the lane,
yes, keep on walking,
past my house,
not every turning your head,
even if you know
i live here.
just keep on walking
with no hesitance in your stride,
or a twitch in your gaze.
just staring forward,
right on going,
past my house,
past your forgotten friend.
I know you better than you think.
I know the aches in your neck
And the moments when you blink.
I know you give a sly little wink
When your cheeks turn pink,
Concealing your shyness
With an alcoholic drink.
Don't hide yourself, darling;
There's nothing else to learn.
Your ambition bubbles inside you,
And sparks of confidence burn.
When you act aloof and stern
I know that your heart does yearn,
For someone, anyone,
To return the affections you earn.
does it hurt
when you smile,
because you know
no pain will you show,
but your soul starts
a pain so vile.
yourself, just to please
don't appease to
and eyes of
Sitting on my bed,
All pretty in a dress
That my body was never
Made to wear.
Rumaging through wardrobe;
What fits me and what doesn't?
Clothes I've outgrown,
Tight jeans become tighter still.
Will I escape this body,
Becoming what I want to be?
What people desire me to be?
Or will I stay this way forever?
have i ever been so wrong
and have you ever been so right
for someone else?
i watch as you hold her
in you arms.
i wish they were around me,
supporting and holding my body
as it becomes limp onto yours,
like your my life support.
but you are not,
and it was never meant to be.
i see that now.
as i stand here,
i can't help but look
at the smile on your face,
refreshing your features,
giving you life.
you blessed my eyes
with that gorgeous smile.
i wonder why it hurts to see it so much now.
but really i know perfectly well;
it hurts, aches, tears me apart,
because i am not the one to make you
smile, so wide, so bright.
i'm not the one your smiling at.
she giggles, you laugh,
nothing has sounded,
and deeply irritating at the same time.
ringing in my ears, you don't even...
screen's glare reflecting
the rays from the window,
onto my tired face.
eyes staring, dull and lifeless,
finger scrolling on mouse,
flickering through the endless tasks.
schoolwork now homework,
motivation running low,
the computer screen
continues to taunt me.
neatly scribbled words
turning slowly to a blur.
i shake my head and close my eyes.
one day more.
my love for you is
enough to fill the ocean;
don't wash it away.
how could you single me out and fall for me?
out of all the girls in the world, why me?
and when was it that I reciprocated these feeling;
was it when we met, when we talked, when we smiled?
and why, oh why, is it so complicated between us when our feelings for each other are simple,
so simple and so true?
when you hold a lamp to my heart
what do you see?
do you see the emptiness and longing?
the cobwebs crawling with
old lovers and nostalgic wonderings?
in each chamber of my heart,
there are traces of you.
you've claimed it wholly without even knowing.
my heartbeat murmurs your name;
you are all i hear, all i feel.
you ran your fingertips on each vein
and became my bloodline.
my life support.
so don't take it all away.
all i can say is
i miss you.
every day, in every waking moment,
my thoughts are only of you.
it has been about three months
since we last saw each other.
i didn't even get a chance to say
i wonder what you look like.
has your hair grown longer? fluffier?
i remember you liked it like that,
and so did i.
i try to remember what you looked like:
your face, red and shy, but you always pretended
deep, mystical beauty.
i couldn't help but stare in them,
and you couldn't help but
on days when i'm really lonely,
i look at my phone, at your number.
i want to text you.
to tell you i miss you.
to just talk to you.
but i don't.
fingertips hesitating, i put my phone down.
you wouldn't want to be bothered by me,
so, for now
i'll just sit here, in...
through creaks and caverns, i search for you,
will our eyes ever meet?
you are like a bubble,
kaleidoscope of colours swirling.
but if I touch you
will you surely disappear?
you are the sun's rays
as they crack through the forest leaves
down to the hopeful ground.
you bless the world
with that radiant smile,
why do you hide it so often?
like a pearl in an oyster.
help me understand you,
and find you from your hiding place.
like a nymph lurking underwater,
seductive twinkle in your eyes,
for me to never lay eyes on,
and never touch.
come out to me.
I've been chasing my daydreams,
Finding my way
Through crowded streets
With a blindfold,
Obscuring my vision as I run
Just hesitant blackness,
The oblivion of truth.
Nothing is certain,
Nothing is sure,
Nothing is secure anymore.
Not without your safe embrace,
Arms tight around
My fragile frame.
The only thing I am certain of
Are the tears brimming,
Streaming, an endless cascade
From the edges of my eyes
To my cheeks.
Will you save me?
Cold, suffocating pathways
I've walked down
A thousand time
Will this be the end of me?
Prolonged path of agony?
Memory lane turned to dust
Mud and grass.
Is this really where we once shared
Everything with each other?
Exposing our feelings,
Vulnerable and free,
Our words whisking away in the wind,
For all to hear.
It seems colder still,
Even under the warm white glow
How milky, how icy
Are its rays.
The moon pities me.
there is something about you.
when a smile blooms on your features,
it reminds me of the sun,
breaking forth from the shrouding of clouds.
there is a constant wild glint
reflecting in your eyes.
your deep brown pools swimming in
chance and adventure.
don't look at me like that;
i already know what your thinking.
the stepping stones of life
lead me to you.
but i know what you're like;
you go from woman to woman
as fast as i go falling
for man to man.
yet, i do not run away,
because this time, it's different.
my affections have not lept on
to someone new.
you consume my thoughts,
how dare you?
i gave you no permission to do so.
and now you look at me again,
a fleeting glance, a casual smile.
am i just a pretty face
for you to gaze at
once in a while?
or do i devour your mind
just as you...
you know the corners of your lips?
well, when turned upwards,
they create something beautiful.
although you are already handsome,
your smile is a treasure,
as attractive as gold,
and as smooth as silk.
sometimes when you are alone,
sitting in the fortress of your mind,
deeply enwrought in your thoughts,
you smile a natural smile.
a bubble in your chest,
fizzy and tickling your heart:
i wonder what you're thinking.
perhaps, you are thinking of me?
once you catch yourself smiling,
you like around, nervous,
before that beauty feature falters.
why is that?
why are you scared to show happiness.
do you think it is immature,
to express such emotion on your face,
don't take yourself too seriously.
the strictness of mind over body,
you don't give in to the 'weakness'
that is emotion.
feelings scare you;
you don't understand them
and hide from them,
like a whisper in the wind.
i don't expect you,
i do not like
your smug little smirk,
you should get on
with your work,
no wonder you friends
say you're a jerk.
leave. me. alone.
i'm not falling
for your game,
you don't even know
you should be
put to shame.
just. get. lost.
and even though
it brings you joy
i won't act
all shy and coy,
you must know
i'm not your toy.
so. go. away.
i wake up at the sound of your calls.
feeble one, aren't you?
delicate and precious,
wrapped up in a small, woollen blanket
i knitted just for you.
i stay beside your crib and rock you,
until you fall into peace,
sleep slipping in
and silence positively soaring.
you could wake me up a thousand times,
in the middle of the night,
and i wouldn't care.
no, i wouldn't mind at all.
walking is a struggle.
you've mastered crawling, but you're eager for more.
eager for an adventure,
and your endeavour to walk is just that.
gripping onto my arm as if i were your
you scramble to your feet.
steady, still, balanced,
first step forward and thump,
on the floor again.
you could keep trying for a thousand years,
legs shaking and wobbling,
and i would be by your side still,
and i wouldn't mind at all.
days at school were tiresome,
sin in her eyes,
a glint of evil, don't look to close,
falling into your dark iris pools
of shameless mystery
and forgotten desires.
petticoats are made for pretty girls;
she's got a gun under hers.
just in case, she says,
but you know she'll shoot you instead,
much like fine rays of
seduction, confusion, longing,
she shoot them all, swirling in the
intense mix of heat.
passionate soul, collectively formed
from the embers of her regretful lovers.
she feasts off revenge, but i can't stay made at her,
not for too long,
her looks beguile me, that innocent smile.
i know all of it is fake, but i don't care.
i've fallen for her, and can't climb back up.
she holds me down with her high-heeled foot,
to this day i wonder,
how the face of evil could look so
Everyday my heart's stills beating,
And every moment we share is fleeting.
We are nothing alike,
And yet, somehow,
I can't stop my cheeks from heating.
Sometimes I catch myself sighing
About how you leave me flying
With a dreamy smile,
A careless gaze,
But all this time you were lying.
You leave me anxious and waiting,
All while we were dating,
Its too late now,
But I would've never thought
That you'd be the one I'd end up hating.
the rain caught me,
and down it came,
gushing its merciless droplets.
shivering and freezing,
nowhere to go,
i end up finding your doorstep.
towel left on shoulders
absorbing moisture from my hair,
with hot cocoa ready,
steamy and warm,
i sighed a great sigh
all you did was smile.
you didn't like at the situation,
i sat and thought and drank my drink,
you, boisterous in nature,
high in pride and teasing,
would jump at the chance to irritate me,
to hurt and humiliate.
but no, you were polite and smiled,
and my cheeks bloomed with heat.
you're generous, kind
and welcome nature,
is awfully new to me, i must say,
and i'm sort of glad i got caught
in the rain,
just to see this side of you.
I am made of darkness,
You are made of light.
You shine and shine
And shelter me
From my endless plight.
Perhaps you'll be the death of me,
Perhaps you'll be my hope,
Just don't leave me
Here on my own;
Without you, I can't cope.
I am made of darkness,
You are made of light,
Dull or hopeful,
Dim or shining,
So long as you snuff out the night.
I am empty without you,
Hollow as a old, damp tree,
Your shining rays
Of pure glory
Will soon forget about me.
Day 1: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/168963/version/333088
Day 2: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/169139/version/333558
Day 3: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/169478/version/334225
Day 4: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/169725/version/334771
Day 5: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/169949/version/335303
Yeah, I broke up with her, and for good reason: she thinks the earth is round!
Their words collided - a passing look, a fleeting glimpse, a simple smile - perfect strangers.
His heart was full of glee, and for a moment he knew what true happiness was, until she took all her words and promises away all at once, leaving his heart shattered on the floor.
The beatings of his heart etched in her head, echoing like a song, haunting her in her sleep; the rhythm of his heartbeat a reminder of what she did, and the pulsating sounds never sounded so bitter.
Perhaps it was the way she swayed from side-to-side to the rhythm of the music, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, or maybe it was the way she hummed contently to the melody, a small smile decorated her face with beauty; either way, he knew at that moment, he loved her, and would love her forever.
Pads of your finger tips
Trace down my palm.
My pinky finger,
To the centre of my hand,
My fingers twisting, curling
In a small embrace;
A lissom caress.
About your fingerprints
Grazing against the
Of my hands softness.
Tracing playful circles
Around my palms core.
That tickles, you know?
Sometimes I hold
My own hands.
To remind me
Of the shape
Yours once was.
You hands were always cold,
Chapped, with deadened skin,
And lovely to feel against my own.
I miss them. I miss you.
We are all flowers: when we die, we are picked, by the hand of the gardener called Death.
The world is a shrivelled leaf; we are the ants who make use of it.
perhaps the sky will see again,
our basking in the sun,
or laughter in the summer rain,
and the fields we used to run.
sometimes i wish you came running,
right back into my arms,
to see your face, so stunning,
your handsome airs and charms.
i've kept that precious locket
you placed around my neck.
now i keep it in my pocket;
wearing it makes me a wreck.
sometimes i like to remember,
how things used to be,
like that kiss in december,
or our embrace beside the sea.
you're hidden now, away from view.
there's nothing left to say.
except how much i'm missing you
in each and every way.
you have made your own way in life,
and I am left alone.
wishing that I was your wife,
and calling you my own.
Beauty is nothing; it is the mere surface of profound truth, and nothing more.
Sun rays filter through the cracks in the curtains, glowing and heating my skin. Waking up, I lift my head from the pillow and stare into the sun. Leaving my warm bed, slipping my cold feet into my soft slippers, I take a closer look, peaking at the outside world. Orange hues erupt around the flurry of clouds whirling like fluffy whipped cream. The gelatinous lights of peach and yellow collide through the waves of the fluffy, as the wind whisks the cloud around the canvas of the sky. It was to be a sunny day. A cool, crisp day, with wind winding through the tree branches and whispering to the leaves. Sun-kissed grass basking, absorbing each ray of sun, soaking up a healthy green glow. Birds gossiping to one another from trees and fences, chirping loudly together, and cackling in unison, before whistling merrily to themselves before they started their daily routine. Dandelions budding, scattered in random places on the...
The only ache worth feeling is the aching in your cheeks when you've been smiling too much.
He taught me to:
The truth tastes bitter, but sweet lies are sickening to the tongue.
I have all this time to be writing poetry, learning a new instrument, practicing my singing, perfecting my sketching, reading books, painting my nails, styling my hair, playing video games, looking through my phone. But instead, I chose to think about you and how things used to be. I haven't seen you for weeks, months. Yet why are you the only thing that's on my mind?
Why, oh why, do you consume my thoughts. And why couldn't things be different?
You can hurt me. Break me. Twist my heart and carve words of pain into the veins. You can scratch my skin and etch into it your finest ounce of pain.
But there is nothing in this world that you could do, that would make me stop loving you.
I don't know if you know this,
But my heart is in your hand.
Still beating, of course,
But very much detached,
For one soul reason:
It belongs to you.
Don't squeeze it, don't grip it,
For it is easily hurt.
Don't manipulate the veins and strings,
The pain will still reside in my chest.
Carry it in your pocket,
Safe and tight beside you.
Handle it with care,
And try not to drop it.
Hearts are delicate;
Although they look squishy, they are brittle,
Easily broken into pieces.
So try not to break mine.
wistful caresses of silver wind,
slipping in and out of my fingers,
like your hands used to.
now they are empty, and I hold in my hands
nothing but whispy air,
but then why do they feel so heavy?
I kiss the moon and touch the stars,
they look so dismal without you
by my side.
remember, we used to look up together,
full of dreams and youth?
what happened to us?
the universe said no to us,
the wind pulled us apart,
the rain poured on romance,
and the sun blinded us from the truth.
we are soulmates, for sure,
and yet it cannot be.
Perspective 1: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/163834/version/320523
Perspective 2: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/164384/version/321790
Perspective 3: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/163601/version/321990
Perspective 4: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/164898/version/322951
Perspective 5: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/165005/version/323252
a long sigh of subtle relief,
completing all my exams,
working from home
doesn't suit everyone,
but I make it work.
staring at a computer screen,
trying to get through the day,
revision tasks, essays,
i want an escape.
today will be better, I'm sure,
reassurance never works,
to struggle, endlessly;
save me from my mind.
"Do you want the good news or the bad news?"
With my wrists entrapped, my hands wrestled for a release from these godforsaken handcuffs. Staring at the police officer in front of me, my eyes flared with a flame of defiance. His arms were crossed, and with an eyebrow raised, he paced up and down the room, slowly.
"Well, the good news is your not getting arrested today."
He uttered nonchalantly, with a playful sparkle in his eye. I felt myself roll my eyes at his comment.
"The bad news is you'll be spending the rest of day with me."
Oh, what I'd give to strangle this guy. To be rid of the metal grasping my wrists and punch him right in his stupid, pretty face.
The lamp to my right shined directly into my eyes. Interrogation. I'd been here before, heaven knows it. I'd been here recently, too. A couple of weeks ago, was it? Maybe...
kiss the bruises on my knuckles,
your lips will heal them up.
sing to me the softest songs,
and help me
not give up.
absorb my tears through your sweater,
and hold me while I cry.
promise you'll never leave me
and utter the word:
guide me through my pain and sorrow,
your enough to wash it away,
dry my eyes with your soft sleeves
and say your
going to stay.
awakened by worries and thoughts,
a pang of pain in my head,
coffee will soothe
the blinding achiness,
blunt my deadly mind.
drowsy morning in blissful light,
sun leaking through curtains,
mind drunk on dreams,
sleep slipping out of reach,
and so ends the night.
The curls of her hair tumbled down to her shoulders. With a hair brush, she pulled and yanked at the frizzy nightmare that lay atop her head. They say the hair was a crown of beauty, lining the scalp with interwoven wonders. Bonnie looked at herself in the mirror, with her reflection frowning right back, and she decided that maybe that wasn't the case with her.
It took what seemed like hours on end tugging and scraping, taming the wildness that was her mane. I bet other girls don't have this problem she thought to herself, sighing and staring at the mirror that hung from the wall. Reaching for the makeup, she grabbed whatever she could get her hands on. On went the concealer, then foundation, highlighter, and... the others. She rarely put on makeup so she wasn't used to the terms. Masking her face with powder and creams, she scrunched her nose at the sight of herself; she already...
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...
Day 1: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/159946/version/312849
Day 2: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/160381/version/313709
Day 3: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/160846/version/314698
Day 4: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/161147/version/315285
Day 5: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/161338/version/315669
A tempest whirling my thoughts, stirring my unconscious mind. Sweating in my sleep, I yank myself up, out of my torrential dream. Escaping to the shower, my refuge, cool water running down my body, washing my fear and worries away.
A grateful clap, an outward cheer. Enthusiasm spread across a whole country to support the healthcare system.
Lemon and lime infused water, tangy and tingling my tastebuds, the zest nourishing and refreshing my mind from yet another dull day.
The softness of my dog, laying his light head on my denim lap, too tired to open his eyes and yet not so tired to cuddle with me.
The vast, clear blue sky, the sun glowing of the trees leaves, the climbing purple ivy on the fence.
Day 1: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/158136/version/308918
I'm fine if your fine, okay?
Perhaps it's just me,
Being a boy and all
Perhaps that's why I can't.
My tear ducts refuse,
My mind is abused,
No tear will my body grant.
All the other boys,
They are tougher than me.
And I bet they don't cry.
The nerds, the bullies,
The gamers, the goodies.
None of them whimper or sigh.
But I want to cry,
I feel it in my heart.
Does that mean I'm female?
Aching in my chest,
Making my mind stressed,
I am nothing, only frail.
Have I ever cried, ever?
Probably, in the past.
But that doesn't matter.
Cos girls come with tears,
And age comes with years,
And feelings start to shatter.
My mind, the media,
Its all a bit of a blur,
A scam, a myth, a lie.
So called 'masculinity,'
Be the reason I can't cry.
Taste the sunshine with your tongue.
But, I still think about you.
Wide world, do not shape me
When did the nights get so rough? I tossed and turned in bed. No matter how many blankets I wrapped around myself, or how many layers were on me, I would never be warm again. In my bedroom, a draft crept in. Not sure where or how, but it was surely there. As frozen as a December night, numb in power. It was warmer when he was here, by my side, to hold me. But there comes a point in life where the colder season takes over. I just never thought it would happen so soon.
Dreaming of what I can't have.
Clutching a pillow to my chest, my head rolled against the pillow. Outstretching my hand, my arm ached, and I didn't know why. Lazily, I hit the alarm that had been grating my ears for some time now. Sitting up, my head fell limp as I close my eyes. Head in hand, I inhaled slowly, shakily. Breathe. I exhaled.
Alive, but empty. Blood freezing in my veins, I shivered, feeling a cold, dull pain rush through me. My finger clutched the sheets weakly. Hollowness filled me. The only thing I could feel was a persistent glow, an ache, where my heart lay, apparently beating.
Inky blackness filled the room, hues of off-white from the streetlights poured from where the curtains peeked open. Raindrops tapped hesitantly on the window that hung ajar. Even the breeze of the supposed storm was faint, enough to freeze but not enough to smash the rain against every crevace. The wind was as obscure as the...
hues of cream
and strawberry pink,
like paint on a canvas,
or a page filled with ink.
pigments of softness,
from peach to white,
caressing all petals
with glowing delight.
if flowers were a poem,
it would be slow,
like soft warm kisses
on days in the snow.
they would be a song,
blasting trumpets galore,
melodies rich with colour,
for all to adore.
please, step gently,
and watch where you tread.
you might just find your foot
stuck in a flowerbed.
if this is the case,
the sun will glower down,
disappearing under clouds,
causing flowers to frown.
pick them from the ground,
leaving them gasping,
dead bodies in your palm
in which you are grasping.
don't pick what's not yours,
mother nature shakes her head
at the very thought of you
picking the flowers dead.
Spirits! I call you,
All foul and fair,
So that I
Through filthy air.
In the dark abyss
I screech and stare
Begging the light from above
Won't show me bare.
Nourish my body
With the blackness of night,
Grant me this power
And rid me
Of my plight.
If the clouds crack open
An' shine doth God's light,
Even then will my black heart
Be never ever bright.
Release my body
From feminine charm,
My womanly curves,
Muscles on my arm.
Instead of giving
Reassurance and calm,
Allow me hurt,
To inflict generous harm.
Oh, how I wish for Macbeth
To incline thine ear,
Let me form
The darkness and spirits
'to words for him to hear.
Am I not your wife, husband?
Whom you hold so dear?
Or are you too consumed,
By the overflowing fear?
You, oh spirits,
May think women weak,
But there is much
More to us than
Heat consumed my cheeks, stinging my skin with a red flush of discomfort. Hands shaking, feet shuffling from side to side, my head was in a haze. My thoughts were blurry; the only thing I could focus on was the humiliation. The embarrassment. My heart was in my head, pulsating, attacking all logic and all sense of reality. Judging faces stared at me, glowering over me. Perhaps they could hear my heartbeat too. Was it really that loud? Eyes flashing downwards, I couldn't meet with theirs. The prison bars of shame blocked me from doing so, and the chains of discomfort prevented me from moving. From running away, breaking free from the circle of ridicule and judgement. I am trapped in my mind. The only thing that makes sense are the tears streaming down my face. How could I let this happen?
I will never send this letter to you. There's too much I want to say and when I lay my eyes on you some day in the future, all these words will come rushing back. But you know I can't say them, as much as I want to. You know i can't.
Perhaps we are not friends. Are we more or are we less? We've had a strong bond for as long as I can remember, haven't we? Sometimes it felt like you and me against the world. I wonder if you ever felt the same.
Oh, by the way, I'm utterly in love with you.
At first I thought it was a crush. But infatuations are a different feeling than to love. I knew I loved you when I had to let you go. You went off with someone else, and you knew me and you could never be together. So I let you go, but my feelings...
After weeks of dreaming of your touch, after looking deep in your eyes and hoping you felt the same, after hesitant lingering of fingertips on each others hands, after the hurt you never knew you caused me, and after the joy you infused inside of me, by a mere smile, I have finally arrived in your arms, never to leave the gentle warmth of your embrace, even if it meant losing everything else.
"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...
I am only protecting myself.
I will only hurt you
When I feel threatened.
Or when you attack me.
You humans call it self-defense.
That's your excuse.
Can I use it too?
You call me a bad dog,
But I am good!
I have done nothing
But mind my own business.
But now my tail is between my legs.
My mouth is clapped shut
With the muzzle you put on me,
because I was a bad dog.
Now children run away from me,
And hide behind their parents.
They use to want
And love me.
You've taken that all away.
Your wondering what has
Gotten into me?
Why am I misbehaving?
Because you clamp my mouth
And shut me up
And neglect me
From the love
Instead of throwing me a ball,
Or a stick to fetch.
You throw me to someone else,
With other dogs,
i can't love you,
if I haven't
to love me.
so its not
it really isn't.
i must learn to love
the shape that i am,
you know i am discontented
with what i see
in the mirror.
i can't love you
because i can't expect
you to love
i thought home
in your arms.
but home is
where the heart is.
and my heart is
still with me.
let me figure
find my place,
explore my thoughts.
let me learn
to love myself
just as you
then, i will
safe, back in
will you wait for me?
That day, my mamma and I went on a picnic. The sun felt warm as it shone on my skin. It was bright and illuminated the flowers that spread across the fields. Lots of colours: pinks, purples, yellows. I loved to play in the flowers, sometimes sit and watch them and their beauty. Feeling their petals with my fingers, my thumb grazing the softness, the petals felt like my mamma's soft hands. And the flower smelt like her hair. With my hands, I pulled a flower from the ground. It smiled at me in the sun. I rushed back to mamma and showed her the flower.
"It's pretty and gentle like you, mamma. I got it for you."
My mamma smiled a little smile, and seemed to be pleased with my gift, until she said:
"But did you pull that out of the ground, dear? Out of its home, where it was planted and rooted?"
Looking back to where I...
Down, down down,
Falling to the natural
State of slumber.
If only my unconscious could
Seep in, take over
The horrors of reality.
My eyes are closed
Shut and heavy.
I cannot sleep.
The horrors continue
Take me away
Where there is
Of the mind,
There is brightness
In my heart.
Grant me sleep,
A chance to
A chance to fly away
Begging my mind
To give in
My slumber wish.
The blackout of
But I am
Far too tired,
To fall asleep.
So I lay awake
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
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...
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...