the emotions of despair and anguish;
they spilled out of her in hot tears
it wasn't because she was weak,
or she was being "dramatic"
she had collapsed from
the amount of pressure she had been holding up
because she had been strong.
who ever said that tears were for the weak?
I had a friend, once. He was the type of person who would wait 'till the day before, to start on an assignment. Anyways, the young man knew what he wanted; what he liked.
Perhaps that is what made him so... ignorant of other peoples' perspectives.
When he was somber, he would come to me, seeking my comfort. And I gave it to him, for I pitied him at those times. Which was a mistake. Now, I ask myself: Had he ever cared about how I felt? But we were still friends.
That was, until I left him. I knew that he couldn't handle it well, so I wonder who he went to, to find comfort. Even though he wasn't someone I liked to remember, he taught me that some people just weren't worth your kindness.
It is said that, "Beauty is pain,"
and I believe that it is.
Whenever someone compliments me
I smile and thank them,
as any decent human should.
But I feel a bit sad, or regretful.
Why do I feel this way?
Maybe it is because they are complimenting me
of a facade; a mask I put up to please them.
They admire someone who is not me; a lie.
Beauty. Is. Pain.
I have to make an effort
to be be someone I am not.
And I hate it.
petals flushed with hues
delicate and deep,
conflict through bloodshed
before settled in peace
flame and sparks,
an aching heart
the abundant daylight
about to depart
and autumn's theme
wouldn't be complete
if not for this shade
this thread of red,
or rather called
The laughter of my little sister rang in my head. It was such an innocent sound, a carefree melody. I wish I could laugh like that again.
“Elle,” she had called earlier in the day. She tugged on my arm. “Come play with me, outside. I’m super bored.” I was working on finishing my essay, attempting to focus. When I found it was impossible with my sister bothering me, I demanded she leave me alone. Her lips pressed tight together. Silence. “Please?”
“NO.” I turned to my homework, as she sighed and ran from the room. I ran a hand through my hair. I would not tolerate distractions; not with the amount of homework I have.
Now I lay in bed. My mind lingered on the thought of growing old. I was scared. Responsibilities and expectations would heighten. I was already burdened with the loads of work my teacher had assigned, and my...
The couple was the center of attention. I watched as the mystery princess twirled with grace, her brilliant sapphire dress sweeping across the ballroom floor. And her glass slippers, they were most delicate. Oh, how I longed to dance with the prince as she was.
But I knew in my heart, that this couldn't last: this picture was refined, beyond my reality. And maybe that is what makes moments like these so special. It pains me to think that... when I wake up from this dream, I will find myself in a void of love and freedom. Tears pooled in my eyes.
Because I knew that he could never want me, a ragged maid.
She was as beautiful
as a flower whose raw petals
just about exposed itself
to be immersed in sunlight.
And her voice was laced
with tones so honey sweet,
it evoked a cry of pure bliss
from anyone listening.
Yet she could not speak a word
that held a sliver of kindness
or express any love,
because she was never loved
and she could never be.
Now she lives by herself,
forgotten and alone.
Her heart is cold and empty;
a stirring reminder
of what could have been
if she was able to love.
Was there a problem with wanting something more of my life?
"Belle, this is our home. It is the place where we can find security and happiness," Pa told me. I loved my father, but I felt confined in this tiny village, suffocated with the expectations of society.
People judge me because they think me different from other young women; and I am. I want to see beyond the walls of my village, free from the binds of doubt.
And that's because I fear that I will never belong or be loved, here.
Desire is like a flame
at the pit of my stomach.
Only when I am told of
what I cannot do,
it is a raging fire
that longs to prove them wrong.
There was once a lighthearted girl with clear blue eyes, who lived surrounded by love. She resided in a small village with her family, which comprised herself, her two older brothers, and her parents. They were content, for the five of them had all they could ever ask for.
When the girl turned six years of age, war broke out through the country. Her brothers received conscription, and when conflict neared their area, the government called upon her father to serve in the military as well. Her mother begged him not to leave, but he couldn’t ignore the king’s orders. He assured them he would send a letter every month, and he kept his word.
After another two years, a message arrived at their doorstep stating that her father had died in battle. They never heard about her brothers. Out of her grief and helplessness, her mother sent her only child off to an orphanage. The foster home...
PROMPT #1: WRITER ID
What is your favorite genre to write?
My favorite genre to write is Fantasy.
What is your favorite genre to read?
My favorite genre to read is Fantasy as well, but I like reading Historical Fiction once in a while.
What draws you to the WtW community?
I want to improve on my craft through feedback from other fellow writers.
What do you find most challenging about writing?
The thing I find the most challenging about writing is choosing the right words for the right time.
Creating a world through words for readers to enjoy, is what I find most exhilarating and exciting.
What is one goal that you have for yourself while here?
One goal that I want to achieve is to write more eloquently and smoothly. Also, I want to develop a firm writing style.
The couple was the center of attention. I watched as the mystery princess twirled with grace, her brilliant sapphire dress sweeping across the ballroom floor. And her slippers, they were as clear as glass. Oh, how I longed to dance with the prince like she was. Tears pooled in my eyes.
But he would never want me, a ragged maid.