thatromanticweirdo

United Kingdom

She / Her | Poet/Writer | Musician | Sarcastic | 16 | Intellectually Challenging

I’m doing A-Levels in Literature, Drama, History and Maths

I make no guarantees that anything I write will make any sense.

Message from Writer

“who should defend the moon, if not poets?”

I offer no other wisdom than this quote by some random guy and a book recommendation of ‘A Little Life’ by Hanya Yanagihara

Published Work

untitled

There is something that strikes me, about humanity. The force that binds us more than anything, the reason we seek for existence, our purpose. Oh sure, you can get by in life by wanting something badly enough; money, fame, power. But when everything is stripped away; clothes or possessions or brains and we are left bare of everything but ourselves, we aren’t left with want.

Love.

There is a reason we feel safest in our mother’s arms, wrapped in our father’s warmth, enveloped in a blanket of the family we choose. It is biologically programmed into us. A feeling stronger than joy or anger or sadness. Wars have been fought, ballads composed, an entire calendar day for that one emotion.

In a modern world we are blinded by the need to fulfil our destiny or reach our potential and we forget. There is a reason we have been put on this Earth. Some call it god, others call it science...

Science Fiction Competition 2021

In the wake of the storm

The world is a desert; a harsh, arenose, barren landscape. The sun is a laser that seeks to kill. The year is 2220, there is no such thing as a skyscraper, there is no such thing as new or shiny, only the distant memory of what once was. We have wrecked the world. There is no repair. 

Our houses rise out of the ground like stunted, misshapen lumps with no purpose other than to provide shade from the roasting sun that burns through broken window panes and ruined roofs. The humidity a curse that leaves our clothes undried despite the relentless heat of the day. I am lucky, my house is bigger than many, but sharing a room with my four brother makes life difficult. Yet there is still beauty in this nightmare.

As dawn breaks, hell opens and waterfalls of rain come pouring down from the sky. The storm comes as the opera of the skies, the instruments...

don’t worry, i know you’re busy

how have we returned
to a point in society
where pain is a weakness
and suffering in silence
is preferable
to a cry for help?

why do you mock me,
for telling you it hurts?
for grimacing,
for crying,
or wincing,
when I’m reining in a scream.

have you not noticed,
that the knuckles on my left hand
are red, raw and bruised
from where I’ve been
digging in the nails of my right?
or do you simply not care?

the gulf between society and i

I don’t have the heart,
don’t know how to reply
to “why don’t you go out with your friends?”
with anything other than a lie

because I have a long list of acquaintances.
but somewhere along the way,
everyone picked up the social skills
that I never got.
“I don’t know what to say”
that’s the truth.

No man is an island
and yet its been years 
since anyone washed up on my shores.

I’m drifting farther and farther
from the mainland
and no matter 
how hard I paddle
or how far I swim,
I am one of life’s drifters.

So no.
I couldn’t say that I have 
a million and one acquaintances
and no-one I can really call friend,
that I have a crush on a boy
and no idea where to even start.
I stay at home,
listening to Taylor Swift on my island
and wondering where I went wrong.

Single Greatest Challenge

It Is Us

The single greatest challenge,
that we as humans facing
is not disease
   is not famine
      is not the planet

it is us.
it is humanity.

We are unable to get along
in harmony
or in unity
we are dissonance,
and it is causing disease, it is causing famine, it is breaking our planet.

And yet here we are,
standing and watching
and running against each other
and arguing on national and international television

This is our fault.
It is not the fault of our ancestors
and it is not the responsibility of our children
This is us.

And I need you to listen
Because it is you, just as much as it is me, as it is them,
it is us.

the unsupported ballerina

pirouette
jête
arabesque

it is a dance we’re performing

assemblé
glissé
ton levé

a pas de deux of teenage crushes

sissonne
pas de bourrée
changement

only, you don’t know we’re dancing

a tribute to your annoyingly beautiful eyes that your girlfriend loves

ocean waves
that sparkle in the sun
and i drown in them

sapphires
set in rings that glisten in the sun
and i gaze at them

the sky
at the perfect shade between day and night
and i search for them

gas flames
at the highest temperature
and they penetrate my soul

but i stare back
unflinchingly
because we are the same

the ramblings of a hormonal teenager

when I seem like I'm angry
please know that it's not with you.

I am angry at life being unfailingly
fair and kind to me,
I am angry that I have everything
I could possibly want
and am still angry,
I am angry at myself
that I sit here in my 
comfortable clothes in my
comfortable bed
and am still angry.

and then I am angry at myself
because there are children starving
and men and women fighting for their lives
and yet I think I have the right to be angry?

and I am angry at myself
because my mother and father
fought their way out of
what was never really poverty
so that I can sit here in my
comfortable clothes
in my comfortable bed
and be angry.

a love letter to the family I choose

I remember clear as day,
almost a year ago now,
the moment of hesitation, of fear
when we met for the first time.

you'd all been best friends
for centuries
and I was an outsider
staring in enviously
through a glass window
as the picture perfect scene
you enacted so effortlessly.

but now I'm not.
now I am an insider
barely even glancing over
at the glass window
I used to cling to.

it doesn't matter to me - anymore -
that everyone else has opinions
about the choices I make,
that my parents don't
want to watch me, the way they want to watch her.

because you want to see me dance,
and I want to see you dance,
and you applaud even when I fall over
and I am in awe of your grace.

I never understood the cliche
of the family you choose,
until I met all seven of you.
but now?
I choose you,
and I...

for living

its rushing towards us
                                she said
what is?
                               her mother asked
time
                               she replied
how do I stop it?

remember the sandcastles
you used to build on the beach?
no matter how hard you tried
or how big you built them,
the sea always reached them in the end.
Time, my love, is inevitable,
like the waves on the sand.

but I'm scared
                             she whispered
so am I
                             her mother replied
but life has taught me
to embrace Time like a friend.
Because there's no point...

time, distance & the moon

it is a great comfort,
that I know - 

when time and distance separates us;
when I am angry
and you are sad
and I am laughing
and you are passed out drunk
and we both feel
that sudden wave of homesickness
(that is in no way, linked
to any place called home)

- I can look up into the night sky
and gaze at the very same moon
that you are gazing at

dearest society

dearest society,

I'm done. Finito. Finished.
I've had enough.
I try
      and I try
                  and I try
to be 'perfect',
or even close to 'perfect'.

But I am capped,
by the value
you place
           on my intelligence
               on the things I like to do
                   on my sense of humour
                       on the clothes I like to wear
because they aren't valued,
not by you.

Looks, Styles, Trends,
I don't understand those things,
I never have - 
I never will,
but isn't that the point?

Not to you,
obviously it's not the point to you
they aren't the stain on humanity to you, obviously,
and so for years
it hasn't been the point to me - why would...

like a fire, you’re burning

every atom of you
is alive
is fighting
like a fire that roars,
consistently,
but beautifully

you glow,
basking the world
in your warmth
and your elegance

we dance 
to your rhythms
your warning sounds,
you scream danger
and yet here I am

to the one who's leaving

one day - 
'when I'm older', that is - 
I'll look back on this
and laugh, wistfully.

because it's 
the darkness turned
technicolour
and the coal turned into
diamonds - 
at least that's how it feels
when I look at you.

you are
guitar strings tuned
in a perfect chord
and the ocean
at the perfect temperature.

but incidentally,
that's what she is to you;
why have gray,
when you can have the whole rainbow?
why capture the smoke,
when you can have a roaring fire?

Please don't go.

I don't want the technicolour,
to go back to dark
when I need beauty the most.

I don't want
the coal dust staining my fingers
or a diminished chord of despair
or a freezing cold ocean.

I make it sound simple, 
and life so rarely is;
but why should I laugh wistfully
in the pitch black,
when I can have you
leaning on the light switch
with your insufferably perfect smile.

the disappearing safety net

lurking around corners
like a shadow -
or a monster

you keep me safe,
you make me laugh,
you save my warmth.

it approaches though,
faster and faster
than I can keep track of;

the cold seeps in,
icing up the floorboards
clambering like tentacles up the walls.

so you teach me
how to sew jackets
made of warmth and laughter and your light

because those same shadows
lurked around your corners
and yet here you are.

Sometimes, the shadow
transforms into something
beautiful and exciting

but it is a siren.

so I try not to listen
I block out the noise
but still it calls me,
still it is there,

and you tell me
that it's safe,
and that you have sharpened
my wit and my weapons

but I am afraid.

and you tell me,
that that's okay too,
because you were afraid,
and you are still standing
and the future
is scary
but that's okay too.

because when...

a cry for help that i’ll never let you hear

don't you understand
that when I tell you it hurts
just because it doesn't
hurt as much as it could
or as much
as it hurts you
doesn't mean it doesn't hurt
that pain is not 
a competition?

you are my mother
and I'm telling you
that it hurts.

in fact, I'm contemplating 
screaming it at you
just to make you hear me.

abseilling through life

I start off
climbing down a gentle slope,
the handholds are easily in reach,
the ropes cradle me,
keep me safe.

so I keep climbing.

Too Late
I notice that the cliff
is becoming steeper,
the handholds scarcer,
the ropes that once kept me secure
now release me.

I want to stop climbing,
or climb back up
to the easier path,
to higher, safer ground.
but the cliff above me
disappears into a cloud
of fog and memories.

so here I am
stuck. halfway down a cliff.

I am everyone,
and we keep climbing

my scrapbook

I collect memories
like an old scrapbook;

pages and pages 
of cobwebs and dust - 
crystal clear,
but irrelevant.

a few gems, I suppose,
on crystal pages,
that peek out
every now and then.

sapphires the colour
of the ocean
with the sounds 
of laughter and waves.

emeralds the colour
of the fields next to the willows
with the feel
of grass beneath tiny bare feet.

rubies the colour
of flickering flames
with the smell
of pine needles carpeting the floor

obsidian the colour
of a cold october night
with the taste
of halloween chocolate melting on freezing tongues.

and I realise,
there's more happiness
than I thought there was.

Sometimes,
the page just needs turning.

Friendship Tweet

picking me up off the floor afterwards

When I ask you to come, you are already in your car and when I need you to come? You've been here for half an hour already.
When I cry? It's never been about wiping away the tears as they flow, but pulling me up off the floor afterwards.
Still you fight for me, when I don't ask you to, when I don't want you to, but when I need you to, you are there.
 

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

not today

the cancer crept up on her,
one day she was laughing
and the next there was a lump
like a golf ball on her neck.
there was a needle in her arm
there was a needle in her neck
and there were her friends,
hopelessly hoping that death
would say not today.

as her hair fell out
as her body got thinner and thinner
as the chemicals invaded her body
as she threw up at 3 am, 4 am, 5 am.
not today.

and then she came home.
and the battle scars reminded everyone 
that death had said
not today.

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

not today

the cancer crept up on her,
one day she was laughing
and the next there was a lump
like a golf ball on her neck.
there was a needle in her arm
there was a needle in her neck
and there were her friends,
hopelessly hoping that death
would say not today.

as her hair fell out
as her body got thinner and thinner
as the chemicals invaded her body
as she threw up at 3 am, 4 am, 5 am
not today.

and then she came home.
and the battle scars reminded everyone 
that death had said
not today.

My December Competition 2019

December's Dissonance

December to me is the day where I wake up in the early morning, when the light begins to gently filter through the blinds, I look outside and it appears to be raining paper. Standing at the window, every year without fail I am transfixed by the pure white flakes that appear as if from a picture book, settling on the urban pavement and juxtaposing the harsh London setting with their wintery hue. They dance through the air; spinning and leaping and twirling like ballet dancers performing a well-rehearsed routine. They settle in every corner of our humble monochromatic street, creating a blanket of beauty that cocoons the city in it’s chilly embrace.

December to me is waking up in a house that smells of freshly baked gingerbread cookies that throw out an aroma that makes you want to run downstairs and shove your face full of sugary goodness. It’s laughing with my cousins as we hopelessly make an attempt...

My December Competition 2019

December's Dissonance

It appears to be raining paper, standing at the edge of the London Christmas market, I look up and I am transfixed by the pure white flakes that appear as if from a picture book, settling on the urban pavement and juxtaposing the harsh London setting with their wintery hue. They dance through the air; spinning and leaping and twirling like ballet dancers performing a well-rehearsed routine. They settle in every corner of the monochromatic street, creating a blanket of beauty that cocoons the city in its chilly embrace.

I watch from the shadows as couples old and young drink the delicious delicacy that is the Christmassy hot chocolate from the busy market stall. They embrace the winter spirit and laugh with their loved ones at their moustaches of joy that are highlighted by the glowing colours of the Christmas Tree. It is an amalgamation of every colour imaginable that's wrapped around the tree that stands proudly in the centre...

YOU in threes

This is me in sets of 3

Three quirks or idiosyncrasies.
- When bored I will play my piano pieces on the desk.
- I practice my bow hold with my pen.
- I fiddle with my necklace.
Three communities to which you belong (these can be unusual).
- The (musical) theatre community
- The fanfiction community
- The violin community
Three adjectives your peers would use to describe you.
- Intelligent
- Creative
- Kind
Three adjectives your family would use.
- Organised
- Smart
- Calm
Three adjectives you would use.
- Stubborn
- Clumsy
- Quick-witted
Three things about you that very few people know.
- I write for various online sites (such as this)
- I am teaching myself to play the guitar
- I write songs
Three beliefs you hold.
- Everyone has a soulmate
- Everything happens for a reason
- Everyone knows who they are meant to be
Three questions you have.
- Does true love exist?
- Is their...