rainydayz

United States

16
she/her
sagittarius
i just like writing :0
joined: 5/15/20

Message from Writer

we have the power today to make a brighter tomorrow!
https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/
https://yemencrisis.carrd.co/

Published Work

bittersweet breeze

i hate the weather/ the kind that sparks the most beautiful light/ it twinkles like stars in my mind, the memories of my youth/ early mornings with the chill in the air/ it turns the edges of my lips up with bliss/ but my eyelids and brows down with gloom/ i transform into myself but not me/ it’s an older, less innocent version/ the one washed out by too many restless nights/ the one who pushed away the imagination of her world/ suppressed the light, the self-love, the ambition/ i lock myself in my room now/ too afraid to tamper with and dirty the past i have left/ i try my best to keep it stored away/ in a place where they’re safe from the person i’ve become/ i hate the weather not because i hate my past/ but because i hate my present and i’m scared  of what’s to come

Life’s a Rollercoaster.

Life’s a rollercoaster. There’s climax where your stomach turns and your mind races, but there’s always the fall where all the tension releases and the calm comes rushing back in. Each ride has its own path and direction, yet they all eventually come to an end.

Song Writing Competition 2021

float away

Intro 
i've died about a million times
everyday it takes the life out of me
try as i may but it’s all in vain
wishing that the clocks dissipate 

Verse 2 
i’m sorry for the things i can’t change
i can barely breathe i’m in pain 
someone tell me now it’s ok 
i feel like i’m trapped in a maze 
someone get me out it’s falling

Chorus
i wish that i could float away 
far from all the tears and heartbreak
erasing all my fears that stalk me 
a place that i could go just to breathe 
stop this pounding on my head
it hates me

Bridge
i’m sorry for myself and mistakes 
i’m begging get me out of these chains 
but i can’t ignore the fact i’m guilty 
so tired of myself 
it kills me 

Chorus 
i wish that i could float away 
far from all the tears and heartbreak
erasing all my fears that stalk me 
a...

You’re Probably Sexist And Here’s Why| Don’t Let Your Mistakes Turn to Habits Part 1

It’s truly shocking when you take a step back and look at the world from a new lens. Sexism seems like a pretty obvious form of discrimination to identify, but most of us only recognize part of the sexism that occurs everyday. The clear situations of sexism like gender pay gaps are hostile on the Ambivalent Sexism Inventory. There is a whole other side of the spectrum, benevolent sexism, that many of us, even I, have partaken in without knowing; that I believe is the root to the injustices against women on a larger, more intense scale.
Benevolent sexism is feeding into gender stereotypes. Phrases, such as “girls are more organized than boys,” are on the benevolent side of the scale. It may seem harmless to feed into these gender normals, but it conforms people of different genders into categories and leads to prejudices and groundless perceptions against these people. For example, the phrase, “women are more emotional than men” could...

Greatest Gift

Isolation.
A single salty tear races down a sorrowful face in self pity. 
Scared to be forgotten. Left out. 
Lines blur between safe and social.
Knowing right from wrong becomes shadowed with comparison.

Why is my only question.
Why?
Why do bad things happen to good people?
Why?
Why does innocent reap the consequences of the corrupt?
Why? 
Why put my life on hold when others are not?
Most of these questions have no answer.
They fill the world with even more mystery.
Yet the last one is different.
The answer is perhaps the other mysteries of the world.
Shall we be humble, honorable enough to banish our own self interest?
To think about the good and the innocent?
To aid those with no say in their fate?
Think not of yourself in trying times, 
for isolation is the greatest gift of all.

Who are you?
Away from the bustle and chaos of others;
perhaps, it is not a mystery...

a letter never written

dear unaddressed angel,

thinking of you 
i am numb. 
a loss for emotion 
in an overwhelmingly full way.
i heard once,
that your mind knows when there’s too much to handle.
shuts down emotion as a defense.
i’m drained of all energy.
you provided that fire.
driven by the need to make you proud.

denial.
a mix between refusing to believe
and incomprehension.
did you see the new show to-...
i experience realization in waves.
it comes in with the humble tide.
nothing with substantial significance yet. 

i’d meant to write you. 
tell you how much you meant.
never was unsure what but how. 
how does one place into words a feeling they don’t understand?
you knew only an atom of your impact.
i wish i had the time to tell you the rest.

too many pages left unwritten.
too many words left unsaid.
one too little letters unsent.
...

liminal spaces

an earthly purgatory
a situation in between times.
unsettling emptiness.
no human presence but the remnants of the past. 
like footsteps on the abandoned moon. 
a reminder of the cycle of the universe.
life may vanish 
yet it’s impact remains. 
 

connection through division

in a year of separation.
germs. 
disease.
isolation.
tragedy brought us together.
memories. 
weeping. 
loss. 
a communal suffering:
our common link.
 

16 lessons in 16 years

so much knowledge can be gained in one year let alone 16. i managed to figure out how to walk, talk, and read. now as a writer i present to you, the 16 lessons learned in my short 16 years on the planet. a list, in no particular order, to symbolize the amount of wisdom i’ve acquired and the enormous amount left to learn.  

  1. true friends will never hesitate to defend you when someone hurts you. that message still hunts me to this day, “no one likes you” and not a single person in that group chat said a word. not even my so called best friend.
  2. never turn your back on family to try to fit inmy biggest regret is saying those hurtful things to the people i love most to try to be accepted by a group that would never accept me. family is your roots your foundation. if they can’t accept your family they’re not...

the difference of a year

our dying earth.
her lungs overflowing with toxic smoke
her arteries blocked by the plaque of plastics
she miraculously races another ultramarathon
around the everlasting sun.

365 days. 
merciless mornings.
restless nights.

8760 hours.
ringing bells.
another piece of the 24 wasted away.

525600 minutes. 
moments spent waiting by the phone
pulling out what’s left of sparse, paper thin hair.

31536000 seconds.
ticking of the clock.
absence of breath with the missing beats of the circulatory drum. 

a year. 
the ignorance of commencements
the penitence of completions 
for the difference of year-
broken hearts mending themselves,
only to be broken once again.

 

a losers guide to winning

imagine being lost.
no idea which ways up or down.
you reach for heaven 
but
instead grasp hell.
no perception of direction.
that's left 
and 
that's right
wait,
no 
that's right 
and
that's left.

imagine the world as a blurred microscope.
no detail 
but 
no bigger picture

imagine running
but 
the second you see the finish line 
the end vanishes,
disappears.
then time speeds up
but 
you're moving at the same pace.
collapsing into a moment in time.

an ode to love’s corruption.

it was a young lovers living fantasy. 
a majestic flow of body to body
lips grasping to feel the touch of another
hands tracing the plows of someone else’s flesh 
a faint murmur of dreams and desires 
muffled by the beauty of attraction 
or perhaps the wretchedness of this earthly law
stubborn squares forcefully bent and misshaped 
an attempt to fit into the circular mold of another’s image
oh to love the idea of love
 

golden boy

golden boy. 
thin rays of burning sun 
piled onto the topmost point of his figure. 
a skyscraper that boy.
stretching out
trying to steal the sky’s stars.
his heads in the clouds
as he paints murals in the atmosphere
floods of auburn, lemon, and scarlet morph into one another,
a wonderful display of love and attention. 
yet 
he,
oblivious to his flawless talent. 

he’s an animation. 
distinct form of movement.
graceful motions abruptly halting then beginning once more.
a cycle of uncertainty 
he travels without sense of direction.
a broken compass 
but
always finds his way.
golden boy.
his names in the boldest letters
but the smallest print.


 

liquid life

blood. 
rich mixture of maroon and burgundy.
signifying life simultaneously with death.
glorious beginnings and horrific endings.
an alarm reminding us of the soul our bodies still possess, or the remanence of its exit. 


 

selfish

what’s my problem? 
we’ve been friends since birth,
yet somehow you feel you can’t trust me.
what did i do?
did your most darkest secret fall out of my lips? 
am i brainwashed? 
i thought we were getting closer.
closer than even before.
but it’s me 
i’m unloveable 
i’m too loud
i’m hidden.
maybe that’s it.
the fact that i don’t share much about me
because i’m scared of how you’ll react.
so i guess we weren’t as close as i thought.
but it still hurt.
that panic in your eyes that i might hear those words.
maybe i’m just selfish.
 

the forbidden side of welcome mats

“come on in”
under a brilliantly detailed white colored door. 
but it’s lying.
sure, 
youre welcomed in.
but beware.
don’t dare look any further.

a pristine living space.
pillows neatly filed onto the sofa
drowning in pleasant odors masking the foul smell of the past.
magazines carefully layered as an extension to the smooth wood coffee table
seamlessly covering the blemish of the previous cups’ rings.
a quaint painting on the wall
concealing the hole left behind of it.

deception.
a home is a temple.
under the welcome mat, 
a key.
to a world never for you to see. 
 


 

Speechwriting Competition 2020

tomorrow begins today

audio/visual version:https://youtu.be/n1W2xMr6ois

As Americans, we are the “oh, we’ll do it tomorrow” people. Tomorrows turn to yesterdays in an endless cycle causing us to conform to the mistreatment and the oppression of our country, our world. As women, this is our reminder; tomorrow is today. We hold the key to unlocking a world of justice and equality for both men and women. We must put an end to the catcalls, the sexualization of our children, and the thread that has been used to tie our lips together in order to hold back our voices. Our powerful voices. That speak words that we will no longer allow to be whittled down by the corruption of our society.   

Each morning as students hear and recite the words, “liberty and justice for all” men are walking out of courthouses without an offensive to their name for the crimes they have committed against women, some females not even old enough to be...

where our paths diverge

It was a simple Tuesday evening. Mother nature blew a faint breeze across the mountainous landscape of our small town separated from our bustling city by only one lengthy river. The sun was in its final stages of resting for the night, and the only light was from the dim spirit of the moon. As two silhouettes merging with the terrain, you and I walked through the quiet streets kicking the occasional rock. Back then, this was routine; looking at the constellations and simply talking about life. Yet, it was this night in particular that is welded into my memory bank, wedged in the tightest spot in my mind unable to wiggle itself out. To an outsider, an impostor to my meticulous mind, that night may have seemed like any other, but to me it was different. It was the night I knew we wanted opposing things. The night I learned that this friendship, no this sisterhood, was shutting down....

love you always, grandma

it was sudden.
out of nowhere. 
looking for a book to fill my broken soul. 
i snatched the one i wanted,
but something stopped me. 
it begged me to stay.
told me to look a little further. 
“there’s something better in here”
it whispered to me.
who you may ask?
i don’t know. 
regardless, it was there.
it the dark shadows of my cobwebbed filled bookshelf.
a card. 
not a big deal, 
until i investigated what this intuitive function of mine yearned for me to see.
i opened it up like a store front’s doors on black Friday;
ready for the intense rush to come flooding in.  
i could not have been sure whether or not i was opening a card
or my heart in that moment. 
for i saw that message,
“Love you always,
grandma”
 

the first person to arrive on theme day

there i was 
i remember it like it was yesterday.
oh wait it was yesterday,
well anyways

there i was 
walking down the steps to the field of my high school stadium 
one foot before the other ever so slightly 
trying my best to carry the humongous team speaker,
in a tutu
and a wig 
and an obnoxiously festive headband
in front of the whole high school football team

as i walked with grace 
i received dozens of confused and shocked death glares  
i felt a sting of embarrassment attack me like a blood thirsty mosquito 
before the pride kicked in 
who else can say that 30 some guys checked them out all at once 

you see theme days are fun,
just not when you’re the first person to show up. 
 

in this ocean of marbles

i swim in a ocean of marbles.
the beauty of the light,
absorbed by the millions of spheres and rejected instantaneously;
casting its spectrum of hues onto my colorless skin. 
without this, i lose my vibrance. 
without this, i am simply flesh and bones.
no voice, no conscious, no breath 

i move like a bicycle in grass.
awkward and inefficient,
yet the colorful sea works like an electrical current. 
accurate and precise, 
it molds around the curves of my anatomy.
swiftly tumbling over every surface,
from the calluses of the balls of my feet to the very tips of my golden hair. 

it is not without its flaws,
for these marbles are bowling balls. 
they’re pressure on my figure,
especially my head.
they put knots and tension into the clay I am molded from. 
but without failure it works itself out. 
mechanically focused on this cycle of  bother and blithe. 

i swim in an ocean of marbles.
in all its...

Historical Fiction Competition 2020

Love Never Diminishes, Only Bonds Do

“Mom! Can you tell me that story again?” 

“Which one, my sweet little darling?” the woman asked her daughter as she tucked her into her sheets for the night. 

“The one about grandma and grandpa.”

“Ok,” the mother spoke, snapping into her story telling voice, “it starts something like this.”

***
Cynthia and Joseph were high school sweethearts who could not wait to start a family. Not long after graduation, Joseph got down on one knee and asked Cynthia the question she’d dreamed of since she could remember. This age of rock music and blue jeans was just the beginning of the couple’s lives together. On the first of December 1969, the draft lottery was held. Shortly after, Joseph received a letter in the mail.
“Greetings:
You are hereby ordered for the induction into the Armed Forces of the United States,”

Waves of salt water immediately flooded Cynthia’s vision. This can’t be real. How could they take him from...

i wish i knew the real you

that wasn’t you.
your image was porcelain,
but
you were clay
molded by a new student,
ignorant of technique.
an indistinguishable sculpture   
with smudges and sharp edges. 

they lied about you.
the book of your name was precise and crisp
freshly bought from the market,
yet
your story jumps from scene to scene without attention to order.
your cover was worn and dulled of its color.
your sheets were doodled on and folded. 

who were you?
an orchestra of the all the worlds best composers
with notes and instruments i’ve never heard of.
the melody is the only fragment of my puzzled mind. 

did i know you? 
or did you simply go along with the character i’ve written you as?
 

a few questions for the writer of my life story

whoever the storyteller of my life is i have a few questions:

  1. why do you only make me burst with emotions at the worse possible times? 
  2. why couldn’t you pick just one aesthetic for me? 
  3. when are you adding in the part about my glo-up? 
  4. why couldn’t i just start as the character with the natural talent? really, you just had to add the underdog cliché?
  5. am i the type to be satisfied with just me and independent, or will i find true love later on in the plot? 

if only i was any good at time travel

i’m tired of this.
when did love become so artificial
since when did the lilac stop catching your eye on your way to work 
pleading at you to take in its pleasant scent
to share part of itself with you 
to be vulnerable even for a second of your time 

since when did salty tears become so gloomy 
which date did the world decide so.
sometimes in the depths of the night i like to think as the world used to
how tears are a brilliant thing 
how you can let go your perception in such an tangible way

how long has the world stopped being naturally in love with itself
started focusing on how love looked the outsiders rather that how it looked to the possessor 
started begging for grand gestures instead of the little things 

the past is now only a part of my imagination
i dream of this world often
and when no one’s looking
in the...

a message to my country

TW: ICE, POLICE BRUTALITY, ABORTION ALLUDES TO SEXUAL ASSAULT, HATE CRIMES

dear america, 
we can do better than this.
as our president lays restfully to sleep
in his silk pajamas and his warmed sheets
there are perturbed children shocked awake in cages 
unable to sleep,
afraid they might forget their human if they allow themselves to dream.

hey, america. 
when is enough, enough.
“all men are created equal”
stop preaching this bluff. 
as our president cries about his rally,
his people are on the streets.
begging and pleading for their right to be free.
going numb of all emotions,
from their brothers and sisters lost in the commotion.

oh america we’re not through yet. 
you’re looking pathetic here, c’mon now!
as old men decide for women on what to do with their bodies,
females are objectified for their wardrobe and labeled as naughty.
“boys will be boys”
is your only response when we’re treated like toys.

so america are you...

"My Heart is Like"

to know you’re leaving before you’re gone

you know what my heart is like, 
since i learned your impending fate.
it’s like an amusement park ride,
with every inch of altitude my heart rages hastier and hastier with grief. 
like butterflies yet they're vile moths hollowing out my insides 
its like my heart is stuck at the top of the hill dreading the plummet, 
that looks a million miles long.
 

if only i was any good at time travel

i’m tired of this.
when did love become so artificial
since when did the lilac on your way to work stop catching your eye
pleading at you to take in its pleasant scent
to share part of itself with you 
to be vulnerable even for a second of your time 

since when has salty tears become so gloomy 
what date did the world decide so.
sometimes in the depths of the night i like to think as they used to
how tears are a brilliant thing 
how you can let go your perception in such an obtainable way

how long has the world stopped naturally being in love with itself
started focusing on how your love looked to the outsiders rather that how it looked to yourself 
started begging for grand gestures instead of the little things 

the past is now only a part of my imagination 
i dream of this world often
and when no ones looking
in the...

the meadow

there it was a field of daisies
the golden center and it’s snowy white so pure and perfect
the stems standing y’all and proud dancing as the wind blows 
a humble sway but grateful and joyous 
gifts from the sun they were
the rays from the fires ball made love and happiness 
i look at the sky in shock 
darkness surrounded this meadow 
rain of depression hurl toward the ground 
strangely only rays of sunshine fling this way 
the darkness always seemed to hitch along for the ride 
yet somehow i found a place where it can not bring me down 
i found the daisies 
i found hope  

my monsters.

i'm surrounded by monsters.
they're fire on my brain
there are monsters encompassing me,
and here are their names:

i.  marcus
a painting prodigy 
his works are elaborate
with subjects familiar 
but strange colors on his pallet  
he brushes the lines on clean
yet my assurance is lost to the guillotine

ii. angelica
a beautiful musician 
her symphonies start in pianissimo before its short hike to forte
every song is an audition
but there's always a blemish in my performance 

iii. charlotte 
a compelling actress
of her works is Melancholy
a film in which she had the magic touch
she has a fondness for presenting it to me often


there are monster's within me.
they dance like flames
causing destruction to my brain. 

 

we are the stars...

it happens at night,
when the last residue of sun is wiped from the sky.
the only light is the dim glitter of stars billions of miles away.

i'm like a star in a sense.
i try to brighten the whole atmosphere
but my sparkle is too feeble.

sometimes
i'm like a star.
blurred behind the copious amounts of pollution.
i try to brighten the whole atmosphere
but the shadows of evil cover the minuscule gleam of the fire burning within me.

occasionally
i'm like a star. 
completely distanced from the world.
i try to brighten the whole atmosphere
but its grueling with the need to camouflage myself.

everyday 
i'm like a star.
shooting across the endless sky.
i try to brighten the whole atmosphere 
and it's simple because each time I glow,
we are one star closer to 
brightening the sky.

 

 

Writing Streak Challenge Week 14

Writing Streak Challenge Week 14 Day 1

- DAY 1

Babylon
by David Gray


What would I give to live in a world where I'm bold and fearless? 
Sure, I'm that girl. The one who speaks freely and does whatever without a thought of how people may perceive me. Underneath all of acts and masks, I truly am a completely unique person muted by my fear of the unknown. Reluctant to ask this, do that, wear this, and go here because my excessive stress of ruining someone else's vision of this world. Writing this I see how silly it sounds, but its not enough for me to make that unguarded leap into the dark bottomless pit and out of my comfort zone.  

"I've been afraid to show you how I really feel"


The ability to block out the fear of
saying what I really mean,
embarrassing myself,
being disliked, 
not fitting society's mold,
                                     would change so much for me.


 





 

who needs reviews?

hey! i have been having a lot of fun reading peoples literature and giving them feedback recently, so if anyone has a piece they would like reviewed comment on this post with the name of the writing you wanted review. I saw someone else do this, and I thought it was a great idea! Please keep in mind I am very new to this website, but I will try to give the best feedback I can. I'll definitely make sure to get at least 5 done this week and depending on the amount I get I will continue that pattern until thy are all done. Also, remember that it may take a couple of days to receive your review because it has through WTW first. I cant wait to read your art, and happy writing!
- rainydayz  

The Unseen

the all consuming

regret. 
great suffocation pushing down on me.
he makes his presence known;
climbing onto my shoulders.
tethering himself to each of my thoughts.
building a space around me called, "Past".
he plays me movies at the 11th hour each night,
he feeds off these.

the could have been.
the emptiness of the present.
the fury of the past.
the uncharted of the future. 
a series of unfulfilled hopes and desires.

the fabricated dreams.
absolute euphoria congesting my days,
tranquility casting its shadow upon my soul, 
reality parallel to those seen on the silver screen,
has my shortage of hope and exhilaration distorted my reverie?
could it not be so bad, this situation I have?  

regret... 

 

new perspectives

Life is like a puzzle. 
    Searching,
    Searching,
    Searching,
for the piece that fits.

Suddenly, it snaps down,
    into place,
    into reality,
    into moment.
But not as you think.

Rain dancing across the ground.
    Known, yet new.
Early morning bus ride.
    Familiar, yet foreign.
A scroll through the block.
    Normal, yet strange. 
Everything exactly as before,
or is it?
    
 

An Unexpected Feeling

it's the breeze.
the one
    that whirs circles around my spine,
the one
    that jolts each inch of my back ever so slightly,
the one
    that returns to me among the unforeseen hour.

you come and go,
just as I forget you,
you wave hello.
but only when my thoughts consume me.
a minor sign. 
a pat on the shoulder.
a nod.
"do not worry"


could I be foolish?
could my youthful conscience cause such illusion?
my network of confusion on overdrive,
suddenly shuts down.
i feel your chilling touch.
i am content.


 

People On The Streets

    Slip on socks. Tie on shoes. Buckle on the dog's leash. Everyday the woman finds herself emerged in a completely different story, but it always start the same. Slip on socks. Tie on shoes. Buckle on the dog’s leash. She treads the same route each morning, and each day new faces come and go. A lady about 53 in age walks alone. She did not have the same determined glitter in her eye that many of lifelong fitness junkies her age wore like a shield of armor. Rather, she had a fairly lifeless look about her. The women started to conjure up a story. 
    After eighteen priceless years the lady's youngest son was moving off to college. She had been there during his first steps, first words, and first day of school. She could remember that day so vividly. The smell of french toast and bacon swarmed her senses.The site of her son so big yet so little...