I am in love with the possibility of life,
because in all these years that pound against each other,
bruised & broken, perhaps even forgotten behind the new shiny illusions
fighting back, I've learned that life itself is an opportunity to succeed.
I do not love my life, it's covered in those layers we add so the pain won't hurt as much,
skin scraped back in places where I wasn't strong enough
but as the sun comes up in the splintered & sagging world,
I can't help but smile at the opportunity, perhaps the idea
It's comforting to think that every time I laugh, I change the world,
perhaps one more person laughs sometime in the future, one more smile
because when I cry, they cry, when I laugh, they laugh with me,
because we are one, one species trying to survive
in this reality, we cling to,
and yet try to change.
After years of not seeing...
I told her that I thought she was beautiful,
that the way her curly hair cascades down her back,
"it's like a waterfall, the light reflecting."
the way her eyes light up when she laughs,
"it's like the sun, bright and boldly passionate"
how much she cares, how much she loves,
"you carry so much love, I'd think you'd explode with kindness"
one word comes to mind: stunning.
I told her that she WAS beautiful,
but her eyes faded to sadness and the love she carried for others,
disappeared when she thought of herself,
"no, no, you've got it all wrong. I am not beautiful."
she gestures to her body, frantically, wildly, she wants me to get it/ to understand
"I mean, look at me, this mess of imperfection, this crypt full of flaws"
but all I saw was perfection, imperfect perfection.
she is not stone-cold perfection or the epitome of social beauty standards,
her beauty lies deeper, and...
when she met darkness, the night stretched on for miles,
and it pushed her down beneath the frigid waves, and
cried out, "You're useless"
the waves were rough, their gentle touch forgotten,
pushing her around, twisting her until she forgot
that such a thing as kindness had ever existed.
Help me, darkness has reached its hands around my neck, I'm choking.
when she met darkness, it decided to never let her go,
the night was endless, the stars were stolen and locked away,
none of their light could shine down on where she stood.
there is no longer enough laughter to soften the edges of pain,
no longer enough courage to fight back.
Help me, the night is so dark, the stars are no longer there to give me hope.
when she met darkness, it smothered her light beneath its icy glare,
it could not be swayed or changed,
it held her there, a light in its darkness,
Abandoned. Lost. Empty. The square was forgotten. Left behind to freeze in time, simply a beautiful memory. But despite the feeling of emptiness, despite the gaping hole left behind, there were those who had not forgotten. The sun was low in the sky, color seeping away, fading fast. The trees were cold outlines against the sky, raindrops slowly falling.
But I could hear them. I could see them. The children running up and down the streets, playing as only children can. Laughing and shouting with joy. Bright red jackets, a distinct sound of feet hitting the pavement. Now and then a cry as someone fell and scraped their knee on the ground, blood seeping. Vibrant. Noticeable. Bright.
And then it started to fade. It was a second of life, but then the color started to dissolve into thin grays and lifeless black and whites. The laughter and tears started to echo loudly in the now apparent, deafening silence. I could...
to stumble and often fall,
as you make your way along an empty road
but despite the hopeless passion of your blank
& vacant world, you’ll keep going, won’t you?
have you often dreamt of running away?
alone & staring at the walls wondering what went wrong, you’re living a life that wasn’t enough,
now realizing how quickly you were forgotten.
you must be very brave, to keep going,
when you can’t even see a destination.
you must be very brave, to remember,
when everyone else, so easily, forgot.
sometimes, when the lights are dimmed
and you can only lie there trying to dream,
you hear a low cry of someone breaking,
the sound of something ending.
even the most beautiful things feel pain,
stained with hidden memories.
even the most innocent human beings are crushed,
by a world that no longer cares.
do you want me to come back for you?
if you’ve lost your way again in those...
"Life is wanting to cry, but having to learn how to laugh instead."
so content with what and who you became,
you needed nothing more than your peaceful life,
still waters & deep oceans of the humankind you witnessed
a simplistic, untouched beauty of such a small window in our world,
you gave such joy, shining in the morning sun, glowing in the moonlight.
you have given me life, a view into something I never before understood,
a picture of something I had never before experienced or known.
you were easy to find, a shadow of the glory you are now, but still...
so energetic, full of life & as much love as you could hold.
you were easy to find, a light in my shadows;
but you will not be easy to forget.
I'll miss you.
I love you.
Another page, another sentence, another story. Another day, can I stop writing just once? Maybe just reread the stories? Then stop adding more, because we don't need to go on, do we? Or maybe, maybe our stories were poorly written, errors upon errors, mistake after mistake. Maybe we should throw them out before we feel a nostalgic urge to keep them? If we stop writing them, they will become mere memories, a view into a life that no longer lives on, a moment of a world that now lies still. How beautiful it would be, to let them become memories, faded and almost forgotten pieces of the past.
Shall I pause for a moment to catch my breath?
From when we were young, times that are now only remembered through memories and stories, and dusty photographs holding a memory in its hands, never to let go. It represents freedom, and an urge to disappear from what you know, to run away to a place that you can only dream of. The paint faded and peeling off of the old wood. My reflection not visible in the cracked and blurry mirror. Each shard of glass holding onto the faces it has seen and the stories it has witnessed. I have heard your story so many times, told in the dusty twilight of a summer day, or beside the fire while the wind and snow beat heavily upon our solitude. Given from hand to hand, and heart to heart; pulled from place to place. Showing up on our doorstep many years ago, to be passed on to our home, to our world; to be remembered when everyone else has forgotten. ...
If there is one novel that everyone should read at least once in their life, it would be Wuthering Heights. Emily Bronte’s masterpiece is one of the most revolutionary books of all time, thoroughly unexpected and a complete work of art.
Wuthering Heights is a combination of gothic fiction, romance, and tragedy. It will leave you crying at the captivating diction and writing style. Written in the 19th century, Wuthering Heights differs from other literature of its time due to its depth and intensity. Other novels such as Little Women or Pride and Prejudice, are lighter and happier, making them easier to read. Bronte’s novel is a book that challenges you to keep reading. It explores human connections, pain, the cycle of aggression, and then finally hope. I love the book and I recommend it to everyone; the emotion made me catch my breath, and it changed my perception of the world and other people completely.
Dripping from your mouth like poison,
Seeping from the open wounds like gold.
shattered glass on the floor, like ice.
bloody knuckles, twisted limbs.
Leaving behind empty ghosts every time you walk away,
come dance with me under the dusty streetlights,
come dance with me in the dead of night.
You smell like death and jealousy,
perhaps you should come to dance with me
so the smell wears away,
perhaps you should cover that smell with perfume
so no one can smell what you really are.
Crawl for the light,
before the darkness is too thick to escape,
or perhaps you want to stay?
Perhaps the darkness is the only thing that keeps you alive?
Perhaps you want to drown in darkness?
Is that what it is?
Look at this mess that you and I have created,
shall we sit in the moonlight and sew the torn world together again?
Shall we walk through the rainstorms collecting your tears?
Today was a horrible and terrifying and heartbreaking day in the United States. People died, and what happened went against everything that has ever been worked for in this country. I know that some of you may have a different opinion about Trump and this country than I do but what happened today was disrespectful, violent, and absulutly unnacceptable. This isn't something that is supposed to happen in the United States, we are supposed to be a representation of hope and freedom. Today, we were not.
Stay Safe everyone, & I am hoping that everything gets better for everyone in this world. I know it's been a terrible year for everyone, and I hope that slowly things will get better.
Well I hope that once this is all over,
that once the winter has thawed &
yet another year has passed &
we forget the details of what it was like to live through this.
Once we have moved on, to something,
once again familiar & expected.
I hope you will know how you gave me hope,
when no one & nothing else could.
I do not know you, I have never even met
a shadow of who you are now but
with one glimpse of your face,
so hopefully in a time where untruths are everywhere
& pain is more relatable than happiness.
With one glimpse of your joy at leaving
such a thing behind you, with the hopeful look,
that you push towards what is to come,
you have given me hope,
when nothing else could.
What about you?
Did you ever stop and think
about how every time you walk away
you leave untruths and your exaggerated stories
of how while you reach the top,
you push everyone else down
before they can defend themselves.
While we forgive, you only continue
to hold it against us as if you never cared at all.
While we remember, you forget
everything & everyone you used to
pretend to love.
What about you?
Who do you want to be?
Will you continue to lie out
of every single situation that makes you scared,
or will you drop your weakness and fight?
What about you?
My darling, life is too short to pretend to love,
life is too short to walk away from those opportunities
that you leave lying on the floor whenever you are tired of your reality.
Life is too short to be tired of reality.
Walk backward and apologize to all those people you left behind, ...
"And would you even want to be the hero of this story? Would you want the pressure of telling everyone how bad the situation really is? Telling the children that the happy ending is a myth designed to trick people into believing that everything will be alright?"
"It will get better in the end. The happy ending always comes, no matter what. It will get better."
"I don't believe you understand the situation. Let me make one thing clear to you. There are no happy endings for people like us, there are no heroes of our stories. The question I'm trying to ask is do you want to devote your life to something that can never even happen?"
Humans are like glass. At first, we are able to withstand so much wear, so durable against the words thrown at us, so unaware of the judgment. But then slowly we start to notice. Day by day, cracks appear in the glass, the seams start to tear apart, and soon, if we aren't careful we will shatter into thousands of pieces. Thousands of pieces of shattered dreams & ambitions, of remaining hope & fear. Microscopic pieces of who we once were, before we lost control. I don't want to break, promise me you'll stay, promise me you won't let me break.
If they had learned anything in the million years that they lived, it was that you can never run from your own shadow. It will catch you, you will never be able to escape. Instead, you have to ask it to dance. Twist and turn in the dusty light of a streetlight, let your shadow copy your movements, let feeling trickle from your movements.
If they learned anything, it was that bones are always broken and skin is always cut open to reveal the darkness seeping inside. Seeping down like raindrops on a window, like blood, like tears.
If they learned anything, it was that the most beautiful things are created from the most twisted ideas. That the deepest pain can create the most dangerous happiness.
If they learned anything, it was that the softest rain holds the most deadly demons and the darkest nights can hold the brightest stars.
If they learned anything, it was that their memories were...
Heavy rain is falling, invisible in the blackness, seeping through the earth, carrying its memories & stories with it, remembering every word & every thought & every life it has touched. Tonight, the rain is full of ghosts, it is brimming over with the stories which, to them, are so familiar. Oh, so many stories.
And the windows can hear those stories, and they repeat them to the empty darkness. They know everything, every secret whispered in the dusty twilight, every word spoken to the wind. Some days, when they can’t keep it in, they begin to speak, their voices light and airy, like low cries, or the wind through the trees. Right now, as the cold creeps under the doors & covers the floor with a thin layer of frost; they are whispering one story in particular, one memory that the rain is shrieking.
Today, they are extra loud, and for the first time, if I listen really hard,...
I know you care about me, I know that;
but... you keep telling me
what to do and what not to do,
who to be and who not to be;
you're telling me to become
someone who is perfect,
but I'm not that person,
I can't fit into that mold
you've created, because
even though I know you care,
you're trying to make me become
someone that I'm not.
I want to be a good person,
but I have my own imperfections,
You tell me what I'm doing wrong,
but it's too much now,
you ignore the fact that I'm trying,
but if I try more then I already am,
Writing your madness down, so that you can then become sane again.
Scribbles on the yellowed paper, liquid darkness, inky madness.
Your heart leaking onto the pages like ink,
leaving through the cracks in your soul,
the chasms that let the light in and the darkness out.
Imprint your bloody hands onto the scribbles of poetry & excerpts
of stories you wrote while tears streamed down,
Leaving the jet-black mascara smeared on your face, creating the imperfections that make you whole, covering the scars that you earned, every time a lie left your mouth.
Everywhere you look, you leave your scattered feelings & unfinished thoughts.
You leave them lingering on the faces of the people you left behind.
You leave them running from the tears of the people you hurt.
You leave them drowning in the darkness that you shed
and left behind as you walked away.
Where else to run but the old scraps of...
Listen to me, very carefully. We only have 2,555 days to be a teenager. Sure, it seems like a lot, but it will pass quickly. Time never stops for anyone, it is going to keep going, and going and going. People die, we grow older. Don't waste your teenage years regretting the past, everyone makes mistakes so don't regret things too much.
You aren't going to be able to run around till dawn with friends when your older, you'll be too busy. So do it now, spend every moment doing things that you want to do, don't cancel anything. When you need a break from life, take a break but live but life to it's fullest because soon you won't have that chance anymore. Listen to music that makes you dance, laugh till you cry, smile till your face is sore, cry till there are no tears left because, in the end, we will all die, so live, while you...
Hello Lorelei and Abby.
I hope you're doing well, I really do, I don't hate either of you if that's what you think but I do have something I want to say. Yup, I know that you two don't know each other, but you both have something in common. You both had something against me and I couldn't figure out what it was.
Lorelei, I know that there was a lot of stuff happening in your life that hurt, I know your family was going through a really rough time and I'm sorry about that and I sincerely hope you're happy now... but why did you have to try and push it onto me. Maybe you didn't know how much it hurt me back then, maybe no one knows how much it hurt, but you still said some pretty awful things to me, and to my friend. I remember how you would come over to where my friend and I...
When there was no sun in the sky, we stepped on our escape as though it were only a cigarette under our shoes.
There was no way out anymore, only the thick darkness, like a net that wrapped itself around us every time we reached for the door.
Unseen hands reaching to pull back from our dreams, entering our subconscious, entering our thoughts,
controlling our actions so we thought that we had to stay there,
forcing our nightmares to become real, twisted, and shaped so they would trap us as we tried to run.
We've lost sight of what world was real, the blurry visions, the madness seeping into us.
We tried to run. We were pulled back into the trap, the ropes reaching out so we couldn't move.
F a l l i n g
the air rushing up to grab onto us.
C r y i n g
the unwelcome tears sliding down our faces.
R u n...
The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines nostalgia as a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for a return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition. There is a long history associated with this feeling, and back in the 17th century, it was considered a psychological disorder. Dr. Johannes Hofer called it a “neurological disease of essentially demonic cause.” The term was first created in 1688 when soldiers in the Thirty Years’ War said they felt a longing to return home. After the war, those soldiers were discharged from the army, labeled as psychologically ill. During the 18th and 19th centuries, there was a lot of confusion as to what this unknown “disease” or “emotion” was and what caused it.
Eventually, years after the idea was first invented, nostalgia became what we know it as today, an emotional response that we feel when a mix of memories reminds us of the past. The feeling of nostalgia comes to us at specific moments...
Isn’t laughing a good thing? Doesn’t that mean that I have succeeded in my goal? Doesn’t that mean I have finally accomplished something? For the past eleven years, I have stood in my room, ready to give up. I have waited for the punishment I knew would come. I waited, I lost the last remaining piece of who I used to be when I was younger. But now eleven years later, I have finally met someone who has let me unbury the fragments of that person, and I have succeeded in fully unveiling them for at least one night. Isn’t that something I can laugh about until I go mad, isn’t that something to go mad for?
And we did laugh until we went mad. We lay there on the moist ground, looking up at the stars and not realizing how they were watching us, looking up at the stars and laughing, laughing till we went completely and entirely...
a figure is silhouetted against the sanguine sky / tread lightly over the ghosts of our dead memories / weeping / bloody tears / eloquence of the torture / we suffer / there is beauty / in this never-ending agony / it is serendipity / that we meet / today / in this ethereal world / a translucent wall / separates us from what we love / no matter how hard we struggle / we are restrained / a homesickness / to return to a home we never had / a world we never knew.
The rain came down softly,
landing on my hair and eyelashes,
then rolling down my face and neck.
Throwing my hands up in the hair,
The rain was streaming along next to the curb;
and jumping up and down,
I ran through the puddles,
splashing mud on my face.
The air was fresh and cool.
soft as it touched my skin.
So often, I had jumped in the puddles,
splashing water all over my clothes.
So often, I had run, chasing the water as it flowed,
like a river, along the edge of the street.
So often, I had placed a stick in the flowing waters
and watched it disappear on its long journey.
So often, I had been upset a the sight of
so many worms lying dead on the concrete.
are memories of a childhood rainstorm,
memories of a distant past.
pouring acetone over your colored nails,
a sweet overpowering smell,
of sugar and fruit.
toxic lies hid beneath.
layers, and layers
of fake skin to cover
the hatred you hide
under your nail polish,
and sweet perfumes.
superficial and yet beautiful,
toxic and yet sweet,
truthful and yet you hide things
where no one can find them.
where only you
since youth / painting has always / been a sign / that one / is alive. / we have expressed / our feelings through / purple elephants and / blue trees; / we have painted outside / the lines, / to show / who we are. / we have painted vibrant sunsets / as parts of our past / shatter right before / our eyes. / we have painted the world / just as we see it / as over time, society / forbits that we see / the world in / any other way / then what they / have seen. / painting has never / and never will be / just an array of colors / it is people's passion / love / anger / and emotion / expressed though art / to show the world / what they see / and feel / as a human being.
I don't know what you are,
but you control me.
An inner creature,
forcing the words
from my mouth.
I don't know what you are,
but I'm losing control,
I can't think,
only your voice echoes
through my head.
You have to listen to me.
I know what's best,
don't listen to anyone else.
I know you best.
I losing control,
and time is running out.
You're like a puppet master,
and I am the puppet.
You control me,
and time is running out.
we all walk on fragments
of shattered dreams,
this is a world of chaos
we all have dark secrets
Demons among us,
whisper in our ears
there is darkness
with no light,
with no hope,
with no purpose
this is a world of chaos,
a world of fear.
I can't sleep at night now,
you tell me to
but I can't.
There's a lump in my throat,
stopping me from feeling
I feel numb, seeing life through a blurry lens,
confused and not knowing what is
I try to cry, thinking I'll feel better,
but I can't, I'm like a
How can I be calm when my world is shattering?
How can I be calm when people around me are dying?
How can I be calm when my world is burning?
Does no one care?
Can no what see what I see?
I can't do it anymore
I can't stand by and watch the world fall apart,
without being able to do anything
because I'm frozen solid.
I'm angrier than I have ever...
While the trees turn yellow and fall to the ground,
I stand there stuck in a whirlpool of memories.
While frost covers the remaining plants,
I remember laughing and smiling to get your attention,
I remember trying so hard...
but was that the right decision?
Would I have still been so immature if I knew what was coming?
Would I have spent all my time around you, trying to get your attention
if I knew that the clock was ticking away the last moments of that life?
Every night, you and I sat under the twinkling stars
talking about our futures not knowing that those beautiful stars were laughing at us;
not knowing that those plans would never happen;
not knowing what was to come;
I remember when I loved you,
I remember when I thought you were the most wonderful person in the world,
but now, oh so many years later,
all I can remember...
“How and when will I know that I have discovered the way to get rid of these souls, everyone is always talking about how I will know what to do, and how I will save everyone but will I? Can I?” I was lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, talking to myself. That’s how I know I’m going mad, I talk to myself now, and I don’t know what to do about it.
I lay there for a while, waiting for someone to tell me it was time to go. We were going to visit one of the cities that had been hit the worst from the wars, and see if they had left any survivors. Finally, one of the workers came to tell me that I had to go. I went downstairs and found everyone assembled and waiting for me, I put on my shoes and hat and we stepped out into the chilly October weather. ...
The screams of death
through my soul.
Yet another grave is dug,
We cry in our silent grief,
a weight sits heavily
upon our hearts.
Unhuman moans break free
from our lips.
Lie beneath us,
in the frozen ground.
We are never
quite at ease.
Always on edge,
for a sign of freedom.
But it is all in vain.
For we are bound to this grief,
this overwhelming regret.
We are bound to it with ropes that can never be broken.
Our fate is to live in fear.
Live with hardship and pain
until that fateful night,
when it comes.
We wait in silence.
We never speak anymore,
for slowly, we have learned the consequence.
When we speak,
It comes slowly.
Gliding towards us,
clothed in black.
Making the air around it,
We scream out for mercy,
we scream to be spare.
“Why are they coming here? I thought they were supposed to be busy, killing everyone. I don’t understand why Mr. Davis and the rest of the government decided to have us fight, we are just going to die, there isn’t any way we won’t.” I thought to myself.
“Now, humans of the earth,excluding our good friend here that belongs with the souls and not these humans, I don’t get how she deals with all this crap. Anyways, we have a suggestion which could possibly save you.” A few demons had walked into the room, and were now lazily standing there, with wide grins on their ugly faces.
“What is it?” Mr. Davis sounded curious, personally I just wanted them to leave.
“I believe you will find this quite interesting, we have decided that we will spare your lives…. If you give us earth and every month you sacrifice one human to Satan. If...
“They have started their attacks, our soldiers try to fight back but they have no chance, we will fight, not because I think we will win but because even if we die, It will be better to die fighting then die cowering in a corner, hiding from them. They attacked a small coastal town first, the people tried to fight but every single person was killed, the town was burned to the ground and nothing remains there that lives. Send for trained soldiers, we will fight them off as best as we can by the time they reach us, they will be here before we can fully realize what is happening”
A few people walked quickly out of the room to do their jobs, Mr. Davis sat quietly in his chair, frowning as he looked down at the newspaper, Ethan, Elaina, and I was silent.
It has been over a week, one by one more...
“You are wondering why we would kill your people, you wonder why we want revenge. Are you really such an idiot that you even have to ask that question. The answer is right before you, we are different then you, we don’t forgive, we never have and we never will, sometimes people go to far into their betrayal to notice that they are the reason that the world will fall apart, sometimes they are so stupid that they cannot see how they are helping their enemy, this is the definition of the human race, you don’t realize what you are doing until it is too late to turn back, you are the only person that will be left after we come because you are the only person that cannot die. Get that into your head, realize and understand that because of you everyone will die, because of you, you will stand there as your family falls to the ground.”
“Why do you keep a dead rose in your room? Get out of bed right now, and take it to the trash. I have enough to do with work and taking care of you.”
“Yeah right, you sure do take great care of me,” Audrey thought to herself, “ coming home late every night with your boyfriend and both of you too drunk to walk.”
“I said, GET UP! And take care of that trash!” Audrey’s mom yelled across the room, as she closed the door behind her with a slam.
“Fine, fine, fine!” Audrey jumped out of bed, frowning. She knew that she wouldn’t get rid of the rose though, she liked to keep it in her room as a reminder that life wasn’t always great, that all good things come to end, that all things die, that it was pointless to hope. It was a way for her to not be disappointed by anything…
She got dressed quickly,...
The light was fading quickly from the room. The chairs and tables made disturbing shadows against the white walls. And there were solitary patches of golden light on the floors. Mr. Davis and Ethan had left after I had told them I wanted to be alone. I couldn’t help it, I felt so, so tired and my heart was beating oh so fast. There was a lump in my stomach and my hands shook like I had had too much coffee. I just sat there on the white velvet chair. I didn’t bother to turn on a light, I think there are times when one can be more comfortable sitting in the darkness than in the light.
It wasn’t too long before the silence was interrupted though. The doors opened slowly, and a young woman walked in carefully. She wasn’t dressed like the rest of the workers, in the normal black suit instead, she was wearing a colorful scarf...
Yellow leaves reflecting off of the water,
I gaze upward, to bare branches, empty spaces
the stark outlines swirling through the sky
falling swiftly through the sky from their seasonal keeper, in time.
It's that time of year when cemeteries come alive,
there is nowhere left to run and nowhere left to hide.
The crisp, cold air rushing at you from all sides.
The wind moans it's eerie cries into the darkened night.
Leaves flying through the air like dancers carried by the wind,
bonfires with titian flames, leaping towards the sky,
roasted chestnuts and warm apple pie,
pumpkins lining the sidewalks and rain falling softly through the night sky.
Summer has gone, and fall is here.
Did I just hear a cackle in the air?
Was it the wind, or something more?
On the long, long night's we shall close the door.
I write to experience a million lives, I make friends with the characters, I fall in love, I live in a different time and place. I write because it is the only way I have to express what I truly mean, and I write to understand and be understood. I write to re-do parts of my life that I wish I could have acted differently. I write to bring other people happiness or move them because that is the only way I know how.
“Alright, come on, I don’t have all day.” Ethan stood leaning against the outside of the car, waiting for me to move, his brown hair blowing effortlessly around his face, his hazel greenish eyes laughing and yet completely calm.
“This looks intimidating, I don’t want to go in there…” The car was parked in front of a large building,a few stories high but barely any windows, and security cameras everywhere.
“Come on, you’ll soon know about everything that’s been happening if you only move.”
I sighed. As I stood up the hot sun beat intensely against my back, as it reflected off of the metal building.
We walked quickly towards the front doors, and when they got there, a tall man in a black suit walked up to Ethan and whispered something into his ear. Ethan frowned and looked back at me and then replied quietly.
“What in the world is happening right now?” I thought to myself.
"Look, I don't know how much you know about this, but it's clear you were surprised when you heard that message. Why?" He drove, looking straight ahead, completely calm and yet at the same time urgent for an answer.
"Why should I tell you, I just met you probably less than an hour ago, and you've basically kidnapped me." I was annoyed and still in shock from what I heard.
He smirked, "I didn't kidnap you, you came willingly. Now tell me why you were surprised." His voice suddenly going back to its unsettling calm.
"Fine, fine. I was surprised because those were my dad's dying words. It was almost as if he was in a trance when he said it. I was only five when he died but I remember it vividly, and-"
She stopped because Ethan had slammed on the breaks and was now staring at her with his mouth wide open, "You're, you're... What? Seriously?!"
The day passed slowly, everyone seemed to be walking and talking in slow motion, the people inspecting “the new girl” seemed to be taking their sweet time as they passed Audrey in the hallways. It wasn’t anything new or unexpected, Audrey was used to people staring at her, she was used to no one knowing what to think of her, she was used to the glares and the smirks, it wasn’t anything new. She didn’t know anyone, no one came to talk to her, no one said one word.
Her classes were slow and boring, her teachers cold and unfeeling as they assigned hours and hours of homework. Finally, the morning was gone, and everyone was running to lunch. Audrey walked slowly to the girl’s bathroom. There were a few other people there, who, as usual, ignored her. She stared at herself in the mirror silently, she didn’t look like most people. From birth, she had had completely silvery-white hair...
Is this what it's like? All the time, a lump in my throat keeps me from speaking. I want to cry but I can't. I feel like I'm overflowing with anger when someone asks me a question I don't feel like answering, I know they mean well but all I want is to be quiet and alone. I don't want to talk to anyone, I just want to curl up in my bed with a book, or my computer and be completely distant from the world. I wake up each night, wondering what the problem with my life is. I start to feel delirious and hysterical but I just lie there, staring at the ceiling like nothing wrong. What is the problem? Am I sick? But then I start to think: nothing is terribly wrong with my life. I have family and amazing friends... I have food and water... And a safe place to stay. Sure there is pressure with...
The night was cold and the wind blew steadily, moaning into the night. It felt like ice-cold knives were constantly piercing my skin, my fingers were frozen and numb, but I kept going. The forest was foggy, and by the light of my lantern, I could see the deep green moss the covered the forest floors were covered in millions of tiny frost particles. The trees, were twisted and gnarly like tall people, standing and looking down at me, and they creaked eerily in the wind. I didn't know what I was looking for, I only knew that I needed to be there, walking through this dark and lonely forest, all alone except for the trees and the cold wind. I seemed to walk forever, the fog was so dense that I couldn't see more than two feet before me.
After hours of walking, I finally came out into a clearing, and in the middle of the clearing was a...
I would like to travel all around the world. I want to see mountains and visit museums. Then I want to go to coffee shops and drink coffee, and eat croissants. Then I want to write poems on napkins and leave them for others to find. I want to write books. I want to go somewhere where I don’t know anyone, I want to be free and alone, and then meet new people and make new friends. I want to smell flowers and coffee, and old books. I want to touch the ocean water and wet sand. I want to hear music and dance to it in the fading light, under the stars.
I think it's so sad how people can go from talking to each other every single morning and night, till pretending that they don't know each other. How they spend so much time together, watching movies, dancing, listening to music, texting, cooking, arguing, and then forgiving, loving each other... etc and they know that they would die of sadness if they ever stopped talking to each other, and then they do. It happens slowly, and one of them has to sit there, watching the other one lose interest, the text messages become farther and farther apart, they argue more, they don't spend as much time together, and then suddenly it's all over, just a memory. I think it's so sad, they are each other's whole lives and then they aren't. It happens to everyone at some point but I think it's so darn sad.
These animals are becoming more hostile because of us
They have been driven from their homes, their children in danger
their homes destroyed.
We have abused them too much.
We kill with no guilt,
taking their lives.
We shouldn't blame them for their hostility towards us,
we shouldn't even be surprised.
They have had enough.
They feel pain when we kill their family,
anger when we steal their homes for our own personal gain.
They all have lives,
they love and feel and live life;
just like us...
We shouldn't kill them.
They are hostile because they are fighting back.
They are fighting for their homes, their protection.
We can't blame them for something we would do ourselves.
These creatures are going extinct because of us.
We cannot blame them for something that is our fault.
There are so many things,
that exist in our past that
over the years, never quite
I remember you.
I remember the pure
innocence of a childhood friendship.
I remember how we never thought
that we would ever grow apart.
But we did.
Who knows what happened,
maybe it was something that
one of us said,
or maybe it just wasn't meant
to last any longer.
After all, not all good things
Whatever it was,
and we stopped talking,
and hanging out...
I thought that I had forgotten
about that long-ago friendship.
Sure, I still see you
now and then,
but we never talk,
we would probably act like strangers
if we ever had to talk to each other.
But, I've realized that there is
something about friendship
that never quite leaves us.
They help shape who we are,
and I don't think that over the years
we could forget them.
Freedom of speech is a human right,
how can you delete our posts?
Our personal announcements
didn't hurt anyone.
Give us back our words,
give us back what
we want to share with the world.
Give us back our pieces,
thanking people for all the support.
Isn't it a good thing
to be grateful
to the people that have
Give us back our words,
they weren't hurting anyone.
Give us back our words.
Just remember that everyone you meet is fighting a battle. They have their own problems, their own struggles. They have suffered, and they have endured pain. Don't judge. Just like you might feel that people don't understand you, people you talk to feel the same way. Everyone is different, and that is why we can't ever really understand others or ourselves. We spend our whole lives trying to understand our friends, our siblings, our parents, and even ourselves. Just remember that in these hard times, everyone is struggling, everyone is facing change and suffering. We all need to love and have compassion. We need to have compassion for others and remember that you are not the only one hurting. When you are hurting, it helps to help others. Keep in mind that other people need you, and you help them through rough times. We'll get through this, not now, but eventually, we will. So have compassion for other people, and...
What the hell is "act like a normal teenager" OK. If you want me to act normal then just let me be who I am, isn't something that most people are told growing up, "Be yourself" Well, hate to tell you, but... being myself may not be always acting like your version of a normal teenager. And also, just to let you know, weight, age, height, and all the rest of that stuff, is not what I define myself with. I have a personality too you know, so don't go thinking about just my weight and age, alright? What is it going to become in the future, are we going to introduce ourselves like this? "Hello, I'm Zoe. But that doesn't really matter. I'm 5 ft 11 in. I weigh 127 lbs...etc." Is that really going to be what it's like, that no one will care about actual personality, they'll only care about money, and people looking like what society...
you left without saying goodbye
you crushed me like a cigarette
under your shoe
and left me on the ground
you hurt me
and yet I loved you
you left me
and yet I want you back
You told me
that you loved me too
but I learned too late
I love you
doesn't mean I'll come back...
I love you
doesn't mean I'll stay...
you left without saying goodbye
and so I turned around
and walked away.
It would be rated pg-13 for language and dark themes. It would be a realistic/comedy/romance. Realistic cause my life is realistic, I guess (I eat, sleep, look at dank memes on my phone, write and talk to friends, and most of all die from doing too much homework) Comedy because of my sad attempts to make a joke and because of how weird I am. And Romance cause I'm a hopeless romantic...
It would be way too cheesy for my liking. The music would probably be a jumbled mix of energetic, loud rock and heartbreakingly sad slow Indie.
It would be extremely weird, cuz I have a weird life. So, yeah, I wouldn't even watch it. It would be too weird. I would probably accidentally die from laughing too. The end...
What is life without purpose? Can I ask you to imagine what it would be like if every single person in the world had no passions or life purpose? What would we talk about? What would we do?
Personally, my passions and feeling of purpose in this world are what keeps me going through each and every day, and I'm sure a lot of you here can relate to that. When I'm angry, or upset, I write. When I'm sad, I write. It's something that through each and every day keeps me going and reminds me why I must keep living this life to it's fullest. I'm sure all of you have been reading a book before and when the book ends, you have felt an insane excitement that it had a powerful good ending, or you cried because your favorite character died. That is what we do, we create worlds, we create people that can impact the...
"Hello? Are you there?" A box pops up on my phone screen, my best friend's name on it.
I click on it and reply: "Yep. What's up"
"My mom has cancer"
I freeze. I know she isn't joking because well... that isn't something you joke about. I don't know what to say, so I just stare at my screen, leaving her on read.
I feel confused. This, this wasn't supposed to happen. This situation is always something that happens to someone else, you never think it could be you... until it is.
Finally, after what seems like forever, I type a reply, not really knowing what to say.
"I'm sorry, I'm here for you if you need me."
That reply didn't seem quite right but it was the only thing that came to mind. I guess there isn't really a "right thing to say" in a situation like that.
She replied quickly, "Thanks :)))"
Despite her attempt to convince me...
You killed me with your words.
I tried to ignore you but you repeated your abusive speeches,
over and over again.
"You are not good enough"
"You will never be as good as your friends"
"You will never amount to anything"
"No one, will ever, ever want you"
"You're ugly, did you know that?"
"How stupid can you get?"
I tried to repel your words,
I tried to focus on something good.
But I couldn't find a thing.
All the happiness was fading out of me,
like I was dying and slowly losing part of myself.
You killed me.
The words cut into me like knives,
cutter deeper and deeper
blood flowing from me,
I felt pain and regret.
Was it true? What you said.
Were you right?
I tried to believe that you weren't right.
That you were completely wrong.
But each time you spoke I became less sure,
you were right.
1. I have no energy, so I'm just going to binge-watch a TV show and eat food, also, I'm not going to talk to anyone.
2. I have no energy, so I'm going to just sit here and stare at the ceiling... (Parents yelling at you from somewhere else in the house: "Oh no, your not. Get over here and do your chores!")
3. I have no energy so I'm just going to sleep now.
4. Wow! I have energy, lets do some chores, maybe do some homework, workout, etc...
5. Ya know what? Like every day, I have no energy. So... I'm going to spend another day in complete bordom.
"I'm sorry. He died late last night, there was nothing we could do."
No, this isn't happening. This can't be happening.
I was faintly aware of the nurse helping me over to a chair. I sat down. I didn't say a word, I only stared straight ahead of me. The silence was broken when I began to cry. Wet tears streamed down my face. My eyes were blurry with tears. I tried to calm myself, but I couldn't. I was felt like I was choking. I needed air but there was a lump in my throat and I didn't seem to be able to breathe properly. The nurse helped me stand and walked me into the hospital room where he lay, lifeless.
I dashed the tears from my eyes to look at him. His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling. He would never again see the energetic world, only the cold, empty darkness...
When we are young,
we fear the monsters
that we believe hide
in the dark.
We imagine these things,
with so much detail,
we know they don't exist.
When we grow up,
we fear other things.
And we forget,
those monsters that hid in the shadows,
we forget how they kept us company,
through the dark endless nights.
just as we have forgotten everything else,
no matter how happy,
comes back to haunt us.
This morning, I was going through my basement and I came across some old boxes of old toys from when I was young.
Immediately, I had this overwhelming sense of nostalgia. It's amazing really, I mean, everything from my childhood has so much meaning to me. Every time I pick up an old doll or toy from when I was younger, a million memories fly into my head. It's the same when I listen to a song that I used to love but haven't listened to in a long time. Music is so powerful, and it makes you feel, in so many different ways. When I listen to an old song like that, the nostalgia is so significant that I usually cry. Listening to something like that or seeing an old toy from when I was young, always makes me react like that because I associate that song or that toy with part of my life that has passed. A...
1. Your alarm goes off. You press snooze and put your head underneath your pillow, and lie there for another 20 minutes until you finally have to force yourself to stand up.
2. Your alarm goes off. You turn it off and fall asleep then wake up 3 hours later and have a panic attack because you missed half the day and you had a lot of things to do.
3. Your alarm goes off. You press snooze and immediately fall asleep, but then five minutes later the alarm goes off again. You press snooze and fall asleep again. This repeats for 30 minutes until you finally get up.
4. You forgot to set your alarm.
5. You accidentally set the alarm for 2 a.m instead of 7 a.m. And when it wakes you up at 2 a.m you can't fall back to sleep
6. Your alarm goes off and you jump out of bed emmediatly, energized for the coming day (This...
Why does it seem that every time I look at someone, they always seem to know what they're doing? I feel like when you look at me, you can see right through me; you can see how absolutely clueless I am. Why do people always assume, "Oh yeah, of course, you have your life put together. You know who you like and dislike, who you love, and who you hate. You know your life's purpose, and what you want to be when you're older. You know everything about yourself, and the people around you. You have your life under control."
No. I hate to let everyone down, I hate to ruin everyone's hopes. But I don't know what I'm doing, and do I really have too? I'm young, I have a whole life in front of me, why do I have to know what I'm doing right now?
Sure, I've always hoped that I would do...
You are walking. Looking straight ahead, not looking back. After what seems like forever, you stop and look towards a small faded yellow house. You open the rickety gate and walk into an overgrown yard. You want to leave and to turn around and go back to where you came from but you can't. It's like there is an invisible force pulling you towards this house. So you walk on.
You reach the door and walk in. There is dust everywhere and you feel like you are choking. You walk into a room, the wallpaper is peeling off the wall and the furniture is old and antique. All around the room are people, all of them watching you, never blinking or moving at all. You recognize them as family, friends, and relatives but as you are about to run to them they change. Grotesque, distorted forms now stand before you. Blood-shot eyes and evil grins. You open your mouth to...
A quiet hum of voices is heard
from the audience
as we take our places on the stage.
It is pitch-black,
and we can't see a thing.
apprehensive yet eager and excited.
The curtain goes up,
and slowly the lights turn on.
The music begins,
resonant and strong,
winding its way through the notes.
The dancers begin to move.
Slowly at first,
but then faster.
Moving along to the music,
in perfect rhythm.
The audience is quiet,
mesmerized by what they see,
hanging on to every note of the music,
and every movement.
We work assiduously,
focusing on every motion,
and every low
of the music.
We work while
our sweat turns
Our feet moan
but we are relentless.
We breathe in heavily,
trying to catch our breath.
Our whole bodies ache, and
our feet are covered in
the never-ending agony,
The sun was low in the sky, the clouds lit up with tints of gold. The ground was wet from rain, and droplets of water rested lightly on the leaves and petals of surrounding plants. The air was cold, as it usually is when the sun has just risen. A slight breeze was blowing, the lavender waving back and forth. Rows and rows of light purple lavender bushes reached as far as the eye could see. The wind brought the overpowering smell of flowers into the air. It seemed as there was nothing but lavender to be seen for miles in all directions. Beautiful, yes. But also unsettling, it felt almost as though you were stuck there. You could walk for hours and never seem to be anywhere different, you were trapped, and unable to escape. The air was unnaturally silent, not a cricket chirped, not a leaf rustled. The wind was so quiet tht you had to strain your...
Pieces of ash fall from the sky.
It's like snow
but the temperature
is above 100 degrees.
It smells like a huge bonfire,
Everything is yellow and orange
but at the same time sooty colorless gray.
It hurts to go outside,
lightheaded and dizzy.
Bone dry throat, burning eyes.
I'm sorry to everyone
that has been affected by this.
I'm sorry that this is what
we have to go through,
after everything this year.
Murder Hornets, and
are only the beginning
of the list.
And now these fires.
What more will come?
People predict the end of the world
almost every single day.
So I'm sorry that the world is gray,
and ashes fall from the sky.
Music says what words cannot.
It shows what we feel,
and says what we have never before,
been able to express.
It moves us to tears,
It has a deep
to change our lives.
It brings us together.
It reaches into our souls and moves us,
as we have never been moved before.
Music is passion.
Music is joy.
Music is sadness.
And every day,
if you only let it,
it has the power
to change the world.
If chutes and ladders characters were people these things would happen:
1. After a while, all the wooden ladders would break because of all the characters climbing on them, and everyone would fall to their deaths.
2. The characters would fight about who would go on the ladders first, and it wouldn't end well.
3. Since, on the board game box, the slides don't have sides; the characters would accidentally fall off the edges.
4. Since the characters are little kids, they would throw temper tantrums that they didn't win and they would start yelling at the other characters.
Your eyes are the opening
to your soul.
You try to hide
But you forget,
that our eyes speak
I see your pain,
your guilt, and regret.
I see the translucent tears,
that you wipe away
when you think no one is watching.
I can see your hope.
I can see your fear.
Your eyes are the opening
to your heart.
The opening to your soul.
I can see what you feel,
but do not worry because
I feel it too.
Brushing a stray hair away from her forehead, Eleanora slumped against the back of the chair and prepared herself to wait for someone to introduce themselves.
Eleanora was small and petite with blonde hair and gray eyes. She was pale and sickly but no one knew for she hid it well and seemed just as much the stunning young lady of her generation as anyone else did.
After what seemed forever, Eleanora saw a tall, middle-aged woman making her way towards her. She looked agitated and stern.
“My name is Mrs. Price. You are Eleanora Van Cromb, I assume?” Her voice was monotonous and she had a displeasing air. She held her head high as she looked down her nose at Eleanora, who was still sitting there, looking up at her, and it gave the impression that she thought herself above everyone in the room. Her gaudy clothes and jewels gave her an old-fashioned, unnatural appearance.
Standing up, Eleanora curtsied,...
The carriage rattled along the cobblestone streets. The smell of flowers filled the air, and small picturesque houses were painted with the most vibrant shades of red, orange, pink and blue. The ocean crashed against the rocks and shimmered as the sun shone around them. Small children ran through the streets with bouquets of bright flowers. Eleanora stared in awe at the smiling children of Italy. She had never experienced something so joyful, all the youth seemed so friendly and carefree.
The parents, though, and the workers and all the adults that were on the street were unsmiling.Each and every one of them wore a cold expression and never spoke, it was almost as if they didn’t want these friendly tourists to interrupt their peaceful lives…
The carriage stopped abruptly in front of a vivid orange building with balconies covering in trailing flowers and green leaves. The driver gestured stiffly towards the building, and said, “L'Hotel Dei Fiori.”
I'm the type of person that loves to stay up late and watch the stars appear, the moon come out, and the light fade... I love the darkness, I love the night. I love how one never knows what is hiding in the shadows. I love the night because it reminds me that in darkness, one can see stars, but in daylight, one cannot. That in order to see the stars, it must be dark. I love the night because I can think, and I can imagine and I can focus. I love the night because it's a whole different world, that a great many people have never even taken the time to discover.
The feel of the cool, dewy grass on my bare feet; the wind, gently blowing my long blonde hair around my face. I rub my arms, and wrap my jacket more closely around my shoulders, shutting out the chilly night air.
The sky is a deep...
When I sit down to write.
I wait for inspiration.
Sometimes, it comes slowly.
Other times, instantly.
Once I have started,
my hands fly across the keyboard.
Visions rush through my head,
vivid and colorful.
those visions turn into words,
descriptions, illustrations of a character's life.
I am the writer.
I hold the character's life in my hands.
I control their actions and words.
I decide on their fate.
I determine their values, and opinions.
I carefully shape their personalities,
down to every strength,
and every weakness.
In a way,
when I write,
I have a way to re-do
parts of my own life that I wish
I could have a second chance with.
I am a writer.
I transfer my feelings
It was one of those lonely summer days. Everything was silent, except an occasional barking dog. All the families in the neighborhood were gone on vacation, leaving their houses quiet and empty. Only I was still there. The air was so hot that as soon as I stepped outside my head felt stuffy. Sweat trickled down my back, and the sun shone relentlessly. The gravel on the path behind my house was hot and dusty; the plants in my garden wilted, begging for water to quench their thirst, but the rain never came. The earth was dry and dust was carried by the silent wind...