Ellington Stone

United States

Hi, I'm Ellington (a.k.a. Ellie)
She/Her 15
INFP & HSP
OLP, Grapheme-Color
#BLM
#loveislove
#feminism
Joined Feb. 2021

Message from Writer

Hey!
I LOVE to read & write & draw (Melanie Cellier, Wendy Mass, & Jillian Dodd) ...all that good stuff.
I mainly post things I've been playing around with, but I always appreciate feedback! Feel free to drop a comment or a review, it's always appreciated. If you ever want a review, I'd be happy to help. Just ask :>
I mostly write little poetry things, short stories, flash fictions, and some political commentary/mockery.
Thanks!

Published Work

Imperialism

I. Economic: you are obsessed with the charted numbers and dotted graphs - yours, theirs, ours, everyone's - it doesn't matter.

II. Militaristic: you call upon fleet after fleet and toss your budget to the bonfire of conflict, not caring about the consequences... not caring about who you lose in the process.

III. Political: you worm your way in, silently weaving yarn through the mob, whispering coded messages into the ears of the grand throne - a grand throne that you so badly want to control.

IV. Cultural: you claim to be "all inclusive" and "completely welcome," but, we all know the targeted truth, we've all seen the blood-covered arrows you shoot into the abyss.

V. Religious: you may not publicize your praise for any specific belief, but you cover the brick walls in graffiti and display the warning signs for everyone to see; the warning signs rooted in fear and fear alone.

 

How Dare You

how DARE you.

how DARE you call yourself my "friend"
and then say... that,
right to my face.

do you know the state you left me in?
the tears didn't leave my face.
at all,
the whole night.
how DARE you treat me like this?

and i warned myself in advance,
i said "i'll be crushed,"
over and over,
but i didn't take my own advice,
because i trusted you more.

well, that was dumb of me.

and how DARE you make excuses!
claiming my existence is "illogical,"
isn't what i would consider kind.

but, whatever,
i'm abnormal,
so what do i know?

god, how DARE you do this?
whatever happened to "everyone should be treated equal?"
because i know you preached that
quite a few times.
but i guess it just doesn't apply to me?

i guess this whole thing sheds a new light
on you...
and me...
and us....
but how DARE you...

I Thought We Had Our Dreams....

I thought we had our dreams
Of moving to California and rooming together so we could afford it.
Of us going to university, here in the states, and helping each other study all night.
Of always being there for each other, no matter what the circumstances.

I thought we were best friends
Because anyone can be friends with anyone as long as they cared for each other.
And I certainly cared for you,
But I guess the feeling wasn't mutual.

I thought you were the kindest person in the world
And I even looked up to you.
But, my judgement was certainly off there.
So that's annoying.

I suppose I'll miss you, but I'm probably better off without you.
Either way, I hope you have a good life!
And good luck with your exams next week.
Bye.

From Another POV

What do you mean
"I hurt you"?
I just stated my opinion,
Which I have the right to do.

What do you mean
"It's okay"?
Why wouldn't it be okay?
What is there to confirm?

What do you mean
"You forgive me"?
There's nothing to forgive!
I did nothing wrong!

isn't it funny when teachers get mad?

i'mbored, i'minclass, and
my history teacher keeps asking
"whichemperorcontributedthemosttoimperialism?"
but no one feels like answering,
so now he's getting mad.

thenhegoesandswitchesthequestion,
thinkingthatwillsomehowengageus.
in a really slow voice,
he asks "is imperialism good or bad?"
buteveryonejustsays, "itdepends," becauseitdoes!

now he's sighing and rolling his eyes,
andwesittherewatchinghim.
he rattles on about "respect" and such
butwejustholdbackourlaughter.
isn't it funny when teachers get mad?

his eyebrows scrunch together, all bunchy.
he slams his book down on his desk,
butitdoesn'tscareuslikehewantsitto.
nowhe'smadaboutthattoo,
and we can't help but grin.

and apparently we're now going to have
"thehardesttestofyourlives!!"
tomorrow. but,
we've got the textbook, our notes, his notes, and google.
it'snotgoingtobeallthathard.

but, ofcoursenoonetellshimthat,
becauseitwouldn'tbe "respectful" tostatethetruth.
so we walk out of the room at the sound of the bell
and leave him at his desk, fuming.
isn't it funny when teachers get mad?

Droplets Of Color

Looking back, we can all see that culture was language and land was wealth. The world is laid out in simple definitions, just black and white, consistent with the splotches of civilization, splattered over nations and timelines.
But, if color were stripped of this global mind, just gray would remain.

Wheat, 
Rice,
Falsehood,
Lies,
Whatever they fed us back then.

It's all a power dynamic: bread and circus.

Illustrations of improvement surround us, progress... and propaganda. Brass bars to a palace gate, stone columns of a grand cathedral. They're plastered within our homes and ingrained in our minds, suffocating the urge to shout. The historical archetypes that define the boundaries our society, even today, have fooled us all. 

Those from the time of lords and dragons still argue over monarchy.
Those from the time of pirates and mermaids still argue over dictatorship.
Those from the time of revolution and war still argue over democracy.

Why must our lives be run by those...

May Grab Bag

Many Examples



gasp!
gulp!
guffaw!—anagnorisis,
              almost alliteration
                      onomatopoeia;
                                           "why do we use them?
                                     because it peaks interest,
                    hydrophobia and T.S. Eliot's allusions
are just a few of the many examples."

                                            
                                            

Mid-March Grab Bag

The Days of The Week

A poem about the color of an idea. For example, what color is music? What color is Friday? (by TwinklingLights)

Monday
Is the brightest, bubbliest, and most positive strawberry pink.
With an underlying hint of scarlet crimson,
And a twinkling shimmer,
She's the kind of girl everyone likes.
Slightly overwhelming at times, sure,
But she'll be your best friend
In a heartbeat.

Tuesday
Is bright in a way that doesn't frighten,
Is innocent in a way that doesn't deceive.
He's blue, sky blue
Warm but quiet,
Shy but confident, 
And incredibly kind to everyone, no matter the circumstances.
He's a teal sapphire, but the least likely to show it off.

Wednesday
Is confidently quirky, the good kind of weird. 
They are bright yellow, shining down like the sun. 
The shade of a buttery dandelion.
A ray of sunshine, a bumblebee, silliness and all.
The sort of person with
Brown floppy hair
And 
Tie-dye t-shirts.
Unapologetically authentic.

Thursday
Is...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

HAPPY BIRTHDAY
To that /person/
Somewhere out there.

I hope you have an ***amazing*** day,
And I hope your home
Is /decorated/
With banners and  s p a r k l e s
Because  s p a r k l e s  make everything better.

If you have friends,
I HOPE you get to see them.
If you have family
I HOPE you get to see them.
If you don't,
I HOPE you still have a /wonderful/ time
With yourself
Because it is your  s p e c i a l  day.

And,
Even though I am just a (stranger)
I know it is ***someones*** birthday /today/
So... CONGRATS!!

And,
Whether you like it or not,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Bitter

Bitter.
The taste of sharp tobacco.
The scent of cynical sorrow.
Foul,
And full of an emptiness that cannot be helped.
Is it resentment, or harshness?
Or is it simply a distaste?
Is it specific to something in particular,
Or a desperation for anything in particular?
Bitter.

My Hidden Monster And His Hidden Whisper

Within us all, there's a beast.
It's always sending us a little letter,
Messages as quiet as a whisper,
Each with a cream-colored envelope and scarlet stamp.
The written word slashes our mind, one wound
Per question.

The notes are a series of suggestions with the same thought-provoking question:
"What is my purpose as the beast?"
While there's a typical responses(: to wound),
The hidden dragon disagrees. "The letter,"
He says, "Is an excuse for the blood-covered stamp."
The words bounce and the walls shiver, whisper.

He smiles a wicked grin and breathes into your ear - a hidden whisper.
"Do you have a question?
About that gruesome stamp?"
He smirks, raising an eyebrow. "Go ahead, I don't bite." He cackles again. The beast...
Is a liar; that much shows through each and every letter.
You are frozen in fear, your finger tracing the cut on your left wrist - a hidden wound.

Yet another wound.
In hushed voices, in...

The Land Of Pretension

Welcome to the land of pretension!
We're a nation controlled by the media.
Do you have ultra egomania?
If not, you're gonna have to catch up.

Hope you don't mind polarization,
It's the only way we can function.
You gotta master the art of addiction, 
Arrogance, and acting vindictive.

Here you have all psychotic freedoms.
Go ahead and form an insurrection!
If you try and blame it on ANTIFA,
Then you've become a real American, yeah.

Come on, get up on our level!
As ignorant, corrupt, and criminal,
The U.S. is obviously better
Than anybody else!

 

Girl In Red - Girls

I stare at the screen,
completely unfazed
as my mind runs in circles.

It follows the path
paved by the ever repeating lyrics
that never leave my conscious.

"They're so pretty, it hurts...."

The anthem to a word
That I want nothing to do with.
A word that I can't help
But circle back to.

Running that same road
In all directions.

"They're so pretty with their button-up shirts...."

How can someone relate so much
And still be in denial?
And don't say that it's impossible
Because I'm the living proof.

But,
At least there's comfort in knowing
That none of this will get out
Until I want it to.

If I want it to.

Excuses, Shame, Denial, And Fear.

She is rooted to
The internalized fear, objection, denial,
The internalized hope, desperation, refusal.

She is tied down by beliefs she no longer holds.
She is clinging to her faith, hanging on by a thread.

The contradictions are almost overpowering.

She is just an ally.
What she feels is just admiration;
Just a longing to be friends, just a longing for respect.

Nothing more.
It is not anything more.
It just cannot be anything more.

But she is dragged down as her head swarms.
Dark circles under-eye from endless nights of 
Discarded online quizzes.

She fills her head with excuses.
It is not real. Right? Right.

Nothing more than a childish phase, something of shame.
And she chooses to believe this.

Except...
It is.

It is a lot more. 

I Wouldn't Say....




I. I wouldn't say I'm timid
          I'm just respectful.
                     And sort of
                             Quiet.

The opposite
Of threatening.

                            But not necessarily
                            Timid.

II. I wouldn't say I'm passive
    I just
            Don't 
                    Like 
                          Conflict....

    Though I guess
    That's not a good thing.

    But I've got opinions,
    Strong
              Ones.

III. I wouldn't say I'm boring,
     I'm just shy.

                      Trust me, my inner world is
           Vibrant
      And
Full.

        But slightly scary.
        I'm the only one allowed. 

IV. I wouldn't say I'm calculating,
                                            No,
                      I'm just... careful.

                      Too careful?
                      Maybe.

 It's not like you have to watch out.
 Don't worry,
 I'm not dangerous.

                Well,
                I'm only dangerous
To myself.              
     
V. I wouldn't say...

Braces.

9:00 AM
My right tooth was just slightly above my left.

11:00 AM
So the doctor put in a new wire to lower it.
I didn't care.

2:00 PM
Until....
Now, they have switched places.
Now, my left tooth is just slightly above my right.
And it hurts like h#!!.

 

Four Parts Of Life: A Basic Human Right

I. Fire is not good nor evil, it just is.

Flames dance on oiled-up wood, casting the shadows of childhood nightmares.
Flames light up the walls, casting the heat of childhood campfires.

Spark,
Singe,
Scorch.

If you fight fire with fire, the world goes up in smoke.

Correction: Fire is both good and evil, it just is.

II. Earth is a place with our utmost respect.

Plant-life gives us life, the formations of our planet forming our society.
The mountains, canyons, valleys.

The Earth is what we all have in common.

What would we do without it?
Correction: Earth is a place worthy of our utmost respect.

III. Air is the thing we all breath and the thing we all take for granted.

Wind whips through the pages of old novels, swirling around those reading them.
Wind brings life to the forest and ripples to the water.

Fresh air: fills you lungs and clears you mind.

Correction: Fresh air is the...

A House Full Of Antiques Has Character

A house full of 
                      Antiques
                      Has 
       Character

It's,
In a way,
Better than a plain house.

              Imagine growing up
              In one of those ancient
Mansions

Can't you picture it?
                  The old
                  Wallpaper,
                  Paintings,
  Full
  Of
  Character.

It's one of those story-lines
With 
       Clues
               And
                     Codes
                              And
                                    Quests.

Living there,
                         Would be like
Living in a dream
Or an old mystery novel.

Because,
                                     A house full of 
                       Antiques
                Has
Character

Home’s Essence

MY CITY

When I was /small/
I called it
My very own  a l i e n  planet.

The /bright/ lights
And tall buildings
Formed the ***skyline*** I will NEVER forget.

The (sigh) of relief
When the plane flew in
And I could overlook downtown.
The ***lake***,
The highways,
MY CITY.

The ever changing  w e a t h e r.
Was the only normal I knew.
The awful /baseball/ traffic
Was the only system I knew.

The ***smile*** of joy
When the cab rolls in
And I'm back home.

And I'm happy, 
Because it's MY CITY.

And then they say, 
"We're moving."

But, even once the (tear) stains are  s c r u b b e d  off
I don't care
Because it'll ***always*** be
MY CITY.

The Kingdom Beyond The Mirror



The most magical time of day, when the air seems to sparkle,
Is just after dawn, before reality sets in but after sleepiness has a chance to fade.
It was at that moment when I spotted a light shining through the mirror.
I followed the sign, disappearing through the glass like an act of magic. I found a ring,
Lying beneath the billowing clouds, in the shade of the Tree of Fate.
And I know something led me on that adventure.

Do you ever long for excitement, long for an adventure?
Do you ever pretend that your life had that sparkle
No one could ever take away? Do you ever try to believe in fate?
I used to convince myself that destiny was real, but my faith always seemed to fade.
But, now, I have something special; now I have that crystal ring
And I have the kingdom beyond the mirror.

And for those of you with doubt, I can...

i really do love you, i promise.

Remember that time
When I said something funny
And it became an inside-joke
Just between us?
Everyone rolled their eyes and shook their head
In dismay
As we laughed and laughed
Because they just didn't
Get it.
I miss that.

Remember that time
When we listened to the same song on repeat
All afternoon?
We gazed out the window as we heard
The familiar lyrics
And doodled on our homework.
Time seemed to stop and everything else
Faded away.
I miss that.

Remember that time
When we fantasized over all sorts of
Crazy ideas?
The mythical worlds
And mythical characters,
All just in our imagination?
I know I was weird
But you were too, and that was the best part.
We were weird together.
I miss that.

I wanted to thank you
For always being there, no matter what.
I know I was a bit of a jerk sometimes
But you never cared.
Never.

We had so many wonderful moments together ...

Weird Rhyme I Made Up While In Biology

We're here and we're ready
And we're gonna flow steady.
So drop all your envy,
It isn't that heavy.

The Colors of Life

Red blood smeared on old mystery books, the clues no longer hidden.
Orange tinted pages with stamps of approval. Memories curled with ash, burnt by the 
Yellow flames licking the page corners. Layers of imagination piling up as
Green stems sprout. Wispy clouds swirl, mixing ideals and pushing past the close-minded barriers of
Blue skies above. With a surge of shock, thunder cracks and shadows shift to 
Indigo, flashing with lighting and horror. Discovery has proven what we have always known: the
Violet petals wilt and fade away, but only this life is temporary.

A Game Or An Excuse?

Life is made up of little moments in time, like the pieces of a puzzle or the squares on a presidential debate bingo game. Some we will always remember, and some will fade into the background.

We will never forget the loneliness of lockdown, stress of screens, fear of disease. We will never forget the unity that pulled us closer: we're in this together.
Those unconventional movements, those forces to be reckoned with, will forever stay. 

The sobs cried out at each news article, shaking the white house steps
The sight of kindergarten fights that broke out over taxes and abortion. Accusations flew, the playground surrounded in gossip as lies and injustice threatened each other.
The contradictory statements never resulted in peace of any sort. As the numbers stacked up and statistics climbed to the sky, all the advertisements screamed "flatten the curve!!" 

It was almost a competition:
Who could think up the...

The Colors of Life

Red blood smeared on old mystery books, the clues no longer hidden and twists no longer jarring.
Orange tinted pages with stamps of approval. Memories curled with ash, burnt by the 
Yellow flames licking the page corners. Layers of imagination piling up as
Green stems sprout. Wispy clouds swirl, mixing ideals and pushing past the close-minded barriers of
Blue skies above. With a surge of shock, thunder cracks and shadows shift to 
Indigo, flashing with lighting and horror. Discovery has proven what we have always known: the
Violet petals wilt and fade away, but only this life is temporary.

Hidden Desperation

hey, just thought i would check in.
hoping you are doing alright.
it has been a while since we last talked.

you probably think i am super weird,
but i still remember the last time we walked home
and i still have the card you gave me.

it is likely that you will never even see this, 
so i will admit that i miss you
and your funny summertime stories.

sometimes, when i hear that song
that we danced to all night, singing into pretend mics,
i will laugh and smile to myself.

anyways, if you are ever free
or feeling up for chatting with me,
i will be here. until next time.

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

Childhood Sensations

The sight of school buses and field trip discoveries.
The discoveries that fuel wide-eyed gasps. 
The gasps of awe and wonder.
The wonder of childhood yearnings.

The smell of burning campfire wood and billowing smoke.
The smoke of lively camp songs built from excitement and hope.
The hope of starry-night skies, forever ingrained in memories.
The memories of childhood dreams, wistfully naive.

The touch of cement pavement sidewalks.
The sidewalks, smeared with sticky blood and tears.
The tears of skinned knees and crashed bikes. 
The bikes of childhood pain, simple struggles.

The taste of popsicles and sticky juice, sugar-rushes of adrenaline.
The adrenaline of cartwheels on summer afternoons. 
The afternoons of excitement and smiles.
The smiles of childhood friendships, idealized and not yet broken.

The sound of the long-awaited school bell. 
The bell and buzz of after-school plans, gossip surrounding the playground.
The playground of harsh reality and longing. 
The longing for childhood sensations.

YOU, The Writer

Come Alive!

And the world becomes a fantasy
And you're more than you could ever be
Cuz you're dreaming with your eyes wide open

And you know you can't go back again 
To the world you were living in
Cuz you're dreaming with your eyes wide open


Okay, so I stole that from The Greatest Showman....
But is there a better way to describe it?!
Think about it: is there a better way?

Come alive!
 

A Blessing And A Curse: The Universal Description

A blessing and a curse: the universal description.

Life... is a blessing and a curse. 
Honesty... is a blessing and a curse.
Family... is a blessing and curse.

The cliche rose analogy, we've all heard it: flowers, thorns, buds.
The blooming petals, the sharp spikes.
A blessing and a curse.

Being yourself.
Being a certain race...
Or religion...
Or gender....

Speaking your mind.
Speaking up...
And fighting back...
And not simply staying afraid...

And not choosing the easy route....

All a blessing and a curse.

Because who knows if it will hurt, or if it will help.
Anticipation rising, hope thinning, desperation calling out.

The unknown: a blessing and a curse.

The Struggles Of Writing A Letter

Hi? Nope.
How are you? Eek.
Greetings? Ugh.

Overthinking the simplest of things.

From? Too plain.
Sincerely? Too formal.
Your friend? Too forward.

Just choose one.
It's not that hard. It is that hard.

Stop overthinking!

Thanks. What for?
Sorry. What for?

More or less?
I don't know.
Is this enough?
I don't know.

No, no it's not.


Why is nothing enough? It just is. But why?

I don't know.

 

Football (Extended)

11:00 a.m. on Sunday. That means everyone's over to watch the game. It's a social event, a gathering, a homecoming.

Our family circles the television, cheering and booing when necessary. A banquet of snacks has been laid out on the coffee table. Doritos, artichoke dip, celery and other vegetables. It was neatly organized just thirty minutes ago, with the bowls of chips and carrots arranged on white, dollar-store trays, but Riley got to it and now the whole table's a mess.

Red plastic cups are scattered about the room, half full of different drinks. Aunt Cheryl brought punch for the kids and Uncle Kevin brought beer for the adults. I take a sip of lemonade I got from our fridge as Megan bounds up to me. "Which team are we?" she asks in her high-pitched, six year-old voice. 

"The blue one," I answer, gesturing towards the television. "They've got the ball right now."

She nods and runs back to where...

The Story of Mother Nature

Mother Nature was born in a small void of the universe, dark but comfortable. It was a place she grew to love and she stayed here until she was old enough to explore, old enough to understand the responsibility that rested on her shoulders: to create Earth. Of course, she would not have to form it from thin air. Earth was already a large clump of emptiness, covered in a mass of neither land nor water. Mother Nature spent her childhood years observing this floating ball of nothingness from afar, planning the grand adventures that were sure to come. When she was old enough, she traveled there herself. 

The journey was difficult. She swam through the darkness of the universe for several years, keeping her eyes set on the bare planet that she was to create. There were times when she longed to give up, convinced that she could not carry on further, but her hopes and dreams kept her...

Months of The Year



January
Is solid, dense, knows what she wants.
Rough around the edges, but selfless inside.
She's dark, like a navy storm
Or indigo denim.
Tough, but loving. She's
Rough, but thoughtful.

February
Is the lightest of soft clouds, soft gray.
He floats along blue skies
Without a care.
Shades of creamy smoke
Swirling puffs that wrap up and around, smiling.
His heart shines, anything but gray,
Leaving innocent footsteps behind, 
Quietly.

March
Is the wildly colored clown, the brightest of shamrock greens. He's
Loud, obnoxious, mischievous, 
Neon.
Witty and comical, using his boldness for good.
Though that's doesn't always show.
Flashing emeralds
To everyone he passes,
But still adorable in his own way.

April
Is the sound of a sigh, the scent of sweet sugar,
And the color of rosy fuchsia.
Petals dipped in hot pink paint,
She's
Speckled with magenta,
Splattered with strawberry.
W
ithdrawn, but beautiful. And doesn't see her wonder.

May
Is
Carnation, sweet. ...

The Importance of Authenticity

Am I all just flesh and bone? Does my opinion stand alone?

Authentic: au·then·tic /ôˈTHen(t)ik/
Noun: of undisputed origin; genuine.
Adjective: to be sincere; to speak or act with truth


Sincerity's a rarity, it seems nowadays.
If only I could stop and hear their truly inner ways.


When they speak to me in power, I believe them. Is there any other way? The brass gate swings open and lets in the rush of pride and gratitude that were previously trapped, hidden. The waves sweep under my feet and slosh me back and forth. It cradles me, reassuring the ability and talent as it floods my heart with joy. I let it surround me, foolishly believing that was all there ever was

When they speak to me in dishonesty, I hate them. I feel the spark deep within, the ignition of something hot. It dries up all moisture and drowns the flood in smoke. It singes my insides and...

Photograph

A simple sound, the flap of wings, golden tipped, quietly chirped. The chills race upwards with the slightest shadowed breeze and the slightest drop of

Sunlight, starlight, moonlight.

Quiet, still, 
Pearl white mill

Stars, sky
Can't help but cry

Swings, sweeps
Trees in the breeze

The sweet moments of life, pieced together one by one, forming each step taken of a journey.

Captured
In. A. Single.
Photograph


 

Emotional Transition #1: Shock to Intrigue

Everyone's experienced shock at one point or another. Not just surprise, but true and complete shock. 
The kind that makes your feet stick to the ground, your legs go numb, and you knees almost buckle. Your fingertips tingle as your hand quivers, shaking just slightly. Your heart seems to have both stopped and sped up at the same time. Your mind swims in circles, shouting, screaming.

Shock is when your mind doesn't know what to think and your heart doesn't know what to feel.
Shock is when your body doesn't know what to do and your soul can't tell what's real.


First, you think, ...w-what? 
You just can't seem to understand or process this new reality. 

Shock digs that dreaded pit of fear and confusion.
Shock sparks that dreaded fire of smoke and delusion.


Eventually, you take a deep breath and your body regains control. Your mind takes a moment to reorganize its thoughts and there's a twinge of shame ringing...

One, Two, Three.

One lone flower peaking between the cracks of 
Two cement stones, dragged down by guilt, just below
Three pearly petals, at ease, twirling in the summer breeze.

Stories Untold

There are no benefits of ignoring history, yet history is constantly ignored.
Only a fraction is taught. 
Only a fraction is learned.
Only a fraction is ever understood.
Stories untold.

Minorities go beyond groups of people, dripping into success. It's evident in the past and spans over to the future. This "fundamental" mindset infiltrates every aspect of life, and it continues to go unnoticed. Those who are impacted are never given the chance to narrate their experiences.
Stories untold.

They say it's all in the name of honor. What an insufferable lie. I say it's all in the name of discrimination.
If the true force was honor, all heroes would be held at the same pedestal. There'd be no dismissal of thoughts, emotions, ideas. There'd be no unsung champions, saviors, or legends. There'd be no...
Stories untold.

It's hypocritical to deceive those that are hurting. It's hypocritical to take credit for someone else's advancements. So... why are we so hypocritical?...

Dust Jacket

Dusk Jacket

Three communities to which you belong (these can be unusual).   
- 16Personalities: I'm utterly obsessed with anything and everything relating to Myers-Briggs.
- OLP (Ordinal-Linguistic Personification): I just found out this isn't normal?!
- Progressive Catholicism: I was raised this way and I'm glad.

Three adjectives your peers would use to describe you.
- Tranquil: Another way of saying "painfully shy."
- Imaginative: I'm such a dreamer.
- Idealistic: It's a blessing and a curse.

Three adjectives your family would use.
- Competitive: And a card shark.
- Nervous: The furthest thing from a "dare devil" that's ever existed.
- Surprising: I guess there's more to me than meets the eye?

Three adjectives you would use.
- Vibrant: I'm more passionate than I seem.
- Sneaky: Everyone thinks I'm incredibly honest, but I'm not....
- Secretive: I don't think anyone knows what's actually going on in my head.

Three beliefs you hold.   
- BLM: I support the phrase and the...

Sijo

Gorgeous But Ordinary

The sun creeps over the hillside, shining, quiet and still.
A small farmhouse, white and red, tucked away in the emptiness.
The morning like any other, gorgeous but ordinary.

And Now I'm Sorry

It's too late, I know.

It's my fault, I know. I pushed you over the edge.
It's my fault, I know. I wouldn't shut up.
It's my fault, I know. I blew my last chance.

At the time, I just didn't realize that,

If I'd stepped back, you'd be fine. 
If I'd tried harder, you'd be happy.
If I'd given you a even the slightest chance, you'd still be here.

And, if I'd listened when you spoke your mind, you wouldn't be so trapped.

But now you're gone, and now I understand.
And now I'm sorry.

Confusion and Snakes (Revised)

Confusion is... confusing.

It starts small, maybe in the very back of your head or the very bottom of your heart. At first, it's unnoticeable, just a gut reaction. You brush it off, calling it irrational. But, before long, it starts to make itself known. You begin to find little hints scattered here and there, like pieces of a puzzle that completely fell apart. You decide to collect them, just in case. Little slivers of shed skin, mysterious pieces of an untold story. But soon, there's more, and more, and more, until it cannot be ignored or dismissed, cannot be shoved aside. You can't seem hold them all any longer. Everything is spilling, overflowing.

Little do you know, it's been waiting, observing your every move, listening to your every thought. Then the clock strikes. Ominous echos surround you, demanding control.

That's when it comes slithering in, shaking and rattling, sounding the bell of looming defeat. It moves slowly, almost silently....

Tradition

There's a fine line between celebratory unity and fear of change.

That's EllingtonStone

an acrostic poem (in which each letter spells out a word or phrase) with your username (by BriRiley)

ver so grand
ike a spiraling staircase
ooming above all else
n existence.
ever forgotten. A
reat leap of more
han the cliche faith
O r binding trust.
N ot just a
S imple statement, but meaningful
he layers strip power from
val offices. Forces shifting,
ew ideas surfacing. That's
llingtonStone

March Grab Bag

Football

A 100 word story based on a randomly generated word - the story title should be the word that you generated (by alyanna) *Note the word generator website is not affiliated with Write the World. 

Families circle the television, cheering and booing when necessary. A banquet of snacks is laid out on the coffee table. Red plastic cups are scattered about the room, half full of punch or beer. "Which team are we?" and "What happened?" work their way through the adults as kids wonder how the game is even played. They run around frantically with their cousins, stirring up trouble and raiding the food plate. The uncles argue over who knows the most about each individual player as the aunts mindlessly chat among themselves.
It's a social event, a gathering, a homecoming.
It's football.

Anyone Else Want Culture?

I just want something to be proud of. I'll never have that sort of community. And I know racism sucks. And I'll never have to go through it because of my fair skin. I know I'm lucky. I really do.
But....
Anyone else want culture?

I know it's not a thing, but I'd like to say that I'm an honorary Latina? Hablo espanol desde... siempre. I'm in the immersion "Heritage Class" for native speakers. I accidentally drop in pieces of Spanish when I talk. 60% of my friends are Latinx. I get pissed at stereotypical an inaccurate depictions in the media. I embrace the customs fully, the food, the festivals, everything. I listen to Gloria Estefan, Enrique Iglesias, and all the cliche pop-singers on repeat. I'd choose musica latinoamerica any day. I'm obsessed with novelas, y lei leyendas coloridas caundo era pequena.

But I know I'm not. It's that simple.
This isn't the fault of self-deception, it's just longing and...

Justification?

I: Introverts aren't rude or judgy, they just need some alone time every now and then.
N: Intuitives aren't naive or impractical, they just focus on the future a bit more.
F: Feelers aren't reckless or stupid, they are just in tune with their emotions.
P: Prospectors aren't lazy or rebellious, they just tend to struggle with rigid lines.

No wonder INFP's feel bad about themselves.

(Some of the) San's and Santa's of California

San Francisco
Too liberal for some, but perfect for 20-year-old hippies. You're stomach drops every time you turn down a road, it feels like the end of the earth. Gorgeous and iconic, with the bridge and the bay.
Santa Barbra
Beautifully simple, like a deep breath of salty ocean air. Palm trees swaying in front of quaint traditional Spanish inns, with balconies and vistas. Authentically archaic.
San Jose
A rougher Silicon Valley, a cheaper Saratoga, a busier Cupertino; the best of all worlds. Rolling hills just east of downtown, bustling buildings in the center of the city. Santa Clara county, baby.
Santa Cruz
The harbor, the lighthouse, the summer vacations and spring breaks. Created by excitement and childhood wonder. A traditional boardwalk, known far and wide, with greasy street food and loud amusement rides. A different type of history.

Women In Politics (& Names)

We refer to Donald Trump as "Trump" and Joe Biden as "Biden"
We refer to Mike Pence as "Pence" and Barack Obama as "Obama"

But,

We refer to Kamala Harris as "Kamala" and Hillary Clinton as "Hillary"

Why don't we refer to Kamala Harris as "Harris" or Hillary Clinton as "Clinton"?

- Because Kamala's first name is unique!!
- Because Hillary's last name isn't unique!!

Are the excuses I hear.

Yet, we refer to Michelle Obama as "Michelle" and Melania Trump as "Melania"

So

Now

I'm confused....
Is there no respect for women in politics?
Is there no respect for women, even in politics?
Is there no respect for women?

Excuses For Immature Injustice....

Some act as if skin color matters. But... why? The truth is, we'll all end up as skeletons anyway.
Is this really important in the grand scheme of things?
It does not justify treating one person better than another. In fact, very few things justify treating one person better than another, mainly because we are all people! We all have feelings, emotions, thoughts, and we all impact other people's feelings, emotions, thoughts.
Honestly, this is like saying that someone's handwriting should dictate how you treat them. Like, what?! That makes absolutely no sense.

Everyone is equal in theory, yes.
In reality, no.
They should be, but that's not how it is right now. There are so many minorities, and the fact that they have to be called minorities in the first place proves this point.

One side is wrong, one side is right. Or left. Does anyone else realize that best solution is bound to be somewhere in the middle?!...

Numerous Narrators

How I Wish I Were Her

ANNA:

    You know how every school has that one girl, all popular and pretty? The boys run to her and she pretends like she hates it. She always shows up in the trendiest outfits, with the most glamours jewelry. It makes everyone wonder when she has the time to be so perfect. The boys think she's gorgeous, and she knows it.
    Here, that girl is Sofie.
    
SOFIE:
    
    You know how every school has that one girl, all quiet and mysterious? The boys are fascinated by her and she pretends like she doesn't know it? She always shows up in the darkest hoodies, with the most beat-up Vans. It makes everyone wonder what she does outside of school. The boys think she's captivating, and she knows it.
    Here, that girl is Anna.

ANNA:

    Yet, I can't seem to hate her. She's smart, kind, super outgoing. She just seems so......

Holding Back

You say you're mature,
You're not.
You say you're correct,
You're not.
You say you're independent,
You're not.

You say you know me, all of me.
I know you don't.

But I hold back anyway. I stay silent, letting you run your mouth. Words beg to be set free,
But my lips stay sealed.

It can't be helped.

Memory Object

California: Est. 1850

    It was just a sweatshirt, a simple hoodie. Maroon red, sort of scratchy, with little balls of gray fabric stuck to it from the laundry. As a size medium, it was just slightly to big for Aubrey's frame. Some would even call it frumpy. She'd gotten it in the Oakland airport when she was 12, right next to the section with Athletics fan gear.
    Scrolled across the front, in large, thick, white lettering, was California: Est. 1850. That was it, no decoration. Simple.
    And Aubrey wasn't even from California, let alone Oakland. In fact, she was born and raised on the opposite side of the country. But that didn't matter. She liked it anyway. So, she wore it everyday.
    "Aubrey," they'd ask, "do you even have other clothes?"
    Of course she had other clothes! It wasn't like she wore the same shirt underneath everyday! Her hygiene habits were healthy for that of...

Monarch

[Verse 1]

Don't cry
Cuz I'm the queen of this town
Nothing you can try
Will push me to the ground
My head's high
And I'm rocking with my crown
I know I'm gonna fly
Done being broken down

(Broken down)
(Broken down)
(Broken down)

[Pre-Chorus]

I'm smart and strong, I know right from wrong
No matter what you say, I'm gonna sing this song

[Chorus]

I bet its hard to push my limits
When you cannot even find them
Cause I'm tracking every minute
While I'm sparking all the mayhem

I reign above you all
I'm standing nice and tall
I'm never gonna fall
So stop acting so small

[Post Chorus]

(so small)
(so small)
(so small)

[Verse 2]

My speed's at fast
There's nothing slowin' me down
They're gonna end up last
Back in the lost and found
I'm kicking their ass
Spinning them around
Cuz what's past is past
So why not leave 'em dumbfound

(Dumbfound)
(Dumbfound) ...

I'm Addicted To Nostalgia

    I'm addicted to nostalgia. To laughing with early childhood friends about past memories that they don't even recall. To scrolling through your camera roll and reminiscing on moments frozen in time, captured in mid-air. To when a sudden scent takes you back days, months, years, to a place you'd never forget. To that feeling when a part of your soul knows you've been there before. To the soft scratching at the back of your mind when it can't quite place what it's thinking about, but your heart seems know every detail.

    I'm addicted to comfort. To watching Friends re-runs and laughing at the iconic age-old jokes. To eating three bags too many of microwave popcorn, and then making another. To waking up in sweats, rolling over, and falling back asleep. To grabbing the book you've read at least nine times and escaping into the familiar story line, predictable and safe. To replacing your life with that...

Confusion and Snakes

Confusion is... confusing.

It starts small, maybe in the very back of your head or the very bottom of your heart. At first, it's unnoticeable. But, before long, it starts to make itself known. You begin to find little hints scattered here and there, like pieces of a puzzle that completely fell apart. You start to collect them, just in case. But soon, there's more, and more, and more, until it cannot be ignored, cannot be shoved aside. You can't seem hold them all any longer. Everything is spilling, overflowing.

That's when it comes slithering in, shaking and rattling, sounding the bell of looming defeat. It moves slowly, almost silently. You are frozen in your place, unable to move, heart pounding, palms sweating, mind throbbing. Its small, yellowish black eyes seem to stare directly into your soul, knowing what it is you fear most. It knows what you long for, it knows what you dread.

And it uses your inmost self...

Confession is Painful

Confession is painful,
Brutally dreadful
Confused, but guilty,
Hollow and empty.

I feel gross and sickly.
If only I was witty.
I could through on some class,
Make it all clear as glass.

I know I'm in the wrong,
I just want to be strong.
Why is it so hard
To let down my gaurd?

Confession is painful,
Brutally dreadful.
But I'm not the one hurting.
My heart's not burning.

What Do I Do Now?

You lie, over and over again. It's painfully obvious, the reasoning lacking logic. Your statements winding within themselves, overlapping and canceling out. Yet, I let you continue, giving up my power, handing it all over.

You confidently weave stories and plots, knitting together bits and pieces of a fake life. You think you slip by undetected, but you've simply convinced yourself. Yet, I do the same, lying through my teeth.

You craft illusions out of imaginary paradises, sending me to the moon. Falsehood, deception, empty promises. And we both know it will never happen, this ideal timeline. Yet, I pretend to believe you, against my better judgment.

You switch from classic to harsh, never giving me warning. It's no longer a challenge. I dread every word, every moment, my heart sinking. I can't survive much longer. Yet, I stay silent, slowly deteriorating, withering away.

You try to get to know me, but I don't let you. I put up a wall...

To Make A Difference

We've resorted to playing online games with random kids, and we're way to old for that. 
We've resorted to going on seven walks a day, just to stay somewhat sane.
We've resorted to snacking every hour, just to have something to do.
We've resorted to re-watching old sitcoms, because we'll laugh at anything now.
We've resorted to sleeping through half of the day, just to kill time.

Yet, we are so lucky and we still complain.

On The Edge

I'm standing on the edge of darkness, with a precipice right below. The emptiness is unclear. It's hollow, echoing. Consumed by fog and smoke.
Smudged.
Scratched.
Scarred.

My hands tingle, my heart pounds. I'm throbbing, my veins are pounding. Blood rushing, nerves running. I can't feel my feet. 
Shaking.
Breaking.
Taking.

One more step to rocky cliffs and jagged stone. One more step to the breathtaking fall. One more step to the edge. One more step to danger. One more step to amazement. Just. One. More. Step.

But I don't want to take one more step.

I hesitate. My first mistake.
The shadows sweep across, swarming every inch. Surrounding all that there is, invading every thought. What if?

I reach inside, searching for something, anything, to block it out. And just a fraction of my mind is true, pure. It always will be.
No matter what.

It stays strong, but not strong enough. It holds, it fights, it fails. It...

100 Words: Pool Sharks & My Irrationally Fearful Imagination

    You know when you're swimming around in some hotel pool? It's around evening time, so the underwater lights have been turned on. They cast this ominous glow that flickers as the water moves. You're hanging around in the deep end, bobbing up and down, just catching your breath. Then, out of nowhere, your stomach drops. Images flash through your mind of large, scary, gray sharks swimming up and biting off you leg. Before you know it, you're scrambling out of the water as fast as you can.
    That's a pool shark.
    Just me? Probably. I hate my irrationally fearful imagination. 

On The Edge

I'm standing on the edge of darkness, with a precipice right below. The emptiness is unclear. It's hollow, echoing. Consumed by fog and smoke.
Smudged.
Scratched.
Scarred.

My hands tingle, my heart pounds. I throb. Blood rushing, nerves running. I can't feel my feet. 
Shaking.
Breaking.
Taking.

One more step to rocky cliffs and jagged stone. One more step to the breathtaking fall. One more step to the edge. One more step to danger. One more step to amazement. Just. One. More. Step.

But I don't want to take one more step.

I hesitate. My first mistake.
The shadows sweep across, swarming every inch. Surrounding all that there is, invading every thought. What if?

I reach inside, searching for something, anything, to block it out. And just a fraction of my mind is true, pure. It always will be.
No matter what.

It stays strong, but not strong enough. It holds, it fights, it fails. It reaches up, but falls...

The Drabble

A Bird and a Flower

    A sign of a new day, new hope.
    Just a bird, a bird and a flower. 
    Dancing through the branches, flickering. Movement scattering sunlight into splotches of color on the ground. Shadows shifting. Sweet smelling summer mornings. Grass still wet with beads of water. Feathered wings glinting as the sun rises. 
    Red.
    Orange.
    Pink.
    No city noises, only chirping in the air. The breeze stops. For a moment, there's quiet. No wind, just stillness. A miracle. A sign. A possibility. Maybe they'll play. Maybe they'll laugh.
    Maybe not.
    After all, it was just a bird, a bird and a flower.
  

An Escape From Reality

An Escape From Realtity

A thin center with whispery ends.
Whimsical, dreamlike,
Almost a fantasy.
Small and helpless,
Barely enough to survive.
This miracle
Is just
An escape from reality.

No beginning and no end,
With no path between.
Threatened and hidden, 
all tucked away,
Beneath the layer of suffocating smoke.
This soul
Is just
An escape from reality.

So close to being
Simply a memory.
Erased, replaced, released into the wild
Where life will end,
And nothing will ever begin again.
This darkness
Is just
An escape from reality.


 

25 Words

Snow

Falling, drifting, sleek but soft.
Sparking emotion.
At first sight.
At first touch.
Footsteps that form a trail, a trail that form a story.
Snow.