Cressida
United States
she/her | mixed
aspiring scientist and writer | musician
status: constantly eating cheetos
joined: late april, 2020
Message from Writer
I hope y’all have a good day and stay healthy :)
In other news, I think I have a follow-for-follow policy? I think .amelia. said it best: support definitely goes both ways. If you follow me and I don't follow you back, you can always let me know! There's no shame in that, and I'll quickly go follow you!
Please check out this post made by poetri about plagiarism. Though I bet most people have read it already, it is something everyone should read and understand:
https://bit.ly/2MwMeDQ
Now, Dmoral13 has a wonderful post about WtW and some advice she has, y'all should check it out:
https://bit.ly/3cCCLFH
Also, please read this post about police brutality in India, written by anoushkaa
https://bit.ly/3dBxv5r
Cressida (United States) published:
flying in our descent
FREE WRITING
we trace the empty engravings of wings on our shoulder blades
& wonder why the air fails to catch us. when we were younger,
we had thought ourselves to be angels, haloed in that dewy
golden light. later, we would shed our cherubim glow
like a serpent peeling away from its worn skin, & our wings
charred under the scorching sun. who knew that light
could be so beguiling. who knew that to fall is to fly;
that to die is...
12 months ago
Cressida (United States) published:
ruined in our deprivation
FREE WRITING
imagine ruination so powerful it gnarls limbs and morphs water muddy,
gouges at our chests and shoves slivers of ourselves into the stars
to collapse upon ourselves and explode into dust.
(this is what it means to be beautiful, metallic and drenched in gold).
imagine a creation so blasphemous it perverts the pure oceans,
wings stretching from our caved backs, jutted and bony;
dark energy swirling like a hurricane of ashes in our stomachs.
(this is what it means to...
12 months ago
Cressida (United States) published:
and the bloody magpies fled
PROMPT: Flash Fiction Competition 2020
"Please, my son!" She thrashes against the soldiers. Blood cakes their rifles.
Her almond eyes meet yours, familiar. Foreign. "I know you have family over there. You understand, right?"
You do. You aim the rifle at the child. "Do what's best, Miss. For all of us."
She surrenders; you leave the child clutching his blanket, hoping he would die soon (the dead don't suffer).
You glare at the setting sun. Soon,...
about 1 year ago
Cressida (United States) liked one hundred followers poem bc i can't make a proper post by elliem (Canada)
about 1 year ago
