Langer

United States of America

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. -Ernest Hemingway

Message from Writer

Negative and positive feedback welcome, but if you spell words incorrectly or use improper grammar I will completely ignore your suggestions. Enjoy and happy reading!

Published Work

No words

Stressed doesn't cover it. Anxiety really doesn't either. As a writer, I search for words to explain feeling, but sometimes, I can't find any. I can't describe the weight on my shoulders. How it feels at the end of the day when I fall into bed and this goddamn weight is still there. When I wake up in the morning and it's still there. I sit in seven hours of classes with it still resting on my shoulders. Three hours of work after that. Then homework. My life is surrounded by heaviness. And it's hard to see when it will get light again. It hasn't been for a while. My shoulders are tired. It's hard to remember that things will change. But that's the only thing keeping me going, the hope that someday there will be a different weight. One that's more bearable to carry everyday. One that doesn't make me fall on the floor in just pure exhaustion. Maybe...

Open Prompt

At peace?

I can't remember the last time I've been at peace. With myself, my life. There is constantly things to be fixed, to be thought out, planned. There's this constant to do list that never ends. I need to work on my relationships with my family. Get better grades, get into college. Work on anxiety, check on friends every few hours, extra curricular activities. Expand my knowledge, write more, read more, laugh more, cry less. Watch less Netflix, spend more time with my father. Be the best at whatever I do. Eat right, exercise regularly, stop looking at your cellphone. Be better, do better.
​And I wonder why I have this crippling anxiety that makes me sit and watch the ceiling, waiting for it collapse. Why do I have this pressure in my chest that feels like I'm under water?
​Does it ever change? Is life about being at peace? Or is it all about this chaos?

Warped Mindset

I recently acquired a floor length mirror at my local target, purposed to hang on a door or wall. It was exciting for me, it was now possible to bask in the glory of my outfits and do my makeup while standing. As I looked at myself in the mirror for the first time I noticed something wrong. My waist and hips were somehow wider than usual. I had a shorter, stockier figure and my face seemed thicker. Upon further inspection, it was realized that the mirror was warped outwards, causing objects in front of it to seem wider, adding about an inch to everything. Once the problem was addressed, I quickly took a breath in relief, knowing that my body wasn't the problem. I began to push the mirror against the wooden door every time I inspected myself. My body instantly got thinner and less curvaceous.     A few days ago, as I was pushing the mirror flat, I had an epiphany. The...

Carl's Jr.

Usually I'll start one of these entries a bit more poetically, but I'm going to get straight to the point. I'm pissed off. Today I was watching television, and I saw a commercial that not only offends women, but also causes children to lose their innocence. The three way burger, created by the ever so popular (note the sarcasm) Carl's Jr. Now I would consider myself low key feminist. I appreciate when someone holds the door open for me, but I can do it myself. I don't call other women sluts or whores and I happen to believe that women should receive the same amount of money for the same job, but I don't however, believe that women are superior to men. But I believe that you can advertise a burger, without putting three partially nude super models in front of the camera. As if they are an object to look at, and to observe. These women are people with...

I remember

I remember leaning on the ladder of my loft bed, waiting for an answer on the phone. I remember pacing my backyard, listening to the truth that was hidden from me. I remember laying on the snow, praying to God that it wasn't true. Everyone has moment's in their lives that will be remembered forever, whether you want to or not. They are events that define you. Times that have broken you. I've had my fair share of those moments. Maybe one day I'll grow strong enough to write about them. To write about what broke me. But for now, it comes in flashbacks. A song, a smell, a place will inevitably bring me back to one of these moments. Sometimes I wish they didn't haunt me, sometimes I'm glad they do. It reminds me, in the most painful way possible, that whatever happens, these moments will end. It will be added to my long list of past nightmares, to...

Letter Writing Competition 2016

Are you there, God?

  Dear God,

  I have to admit, ever since I got a call telling me that my best friend's father had died, I've had a hard time believing in you. People tell me that you're here to protect and defend your children. My pessimistic attitude has prevented my belief in that claim. In fact, in a world full of disappointing events and failed endeavors, it's easy for me to completely ignore your possible existence. I assumed that through everything I've dealt with, you weren't there, doing your job. Not well, anyway. I've played around with the idea that you aren't real at all, just as mythical as dragon or unicorn, but the hopelessly optimistic part of me, though a small part, desperately needs you to be there, above me.
    Going to church when I was young, felt inspiring. Talking to you and learning about you prompted me to idolize you. It's easy to feel untouchable when you're told...

Letter Writing Competition 2016

Are you there, God?

  Dear God,

  I have to admit, ever since I got a call telling me that my best friend's father had died, I've had a hard time believing in you. In fact, in a world full of disappointing events and failed endeavors, it's easy for me to completely ignore your possible existence. People tell me that you're always there, to protect and defend your children. My pessimistic attitude has prevented my belief in you. I assumed that through everything I've dealt with, you weren't there, doing your job. Not well, anyway. I've played around with the idea that you aren't real at all, just as mythical as dragon or unicorn, but the hopelessly optimistic part of me, though a small part, desperately needs you to be there, above me.
    I don't know if you watch the news, but if you don't, well, the world isn't doing very good. There's mass shootings, kidnappings, natural disasters, and murders. It's hard...

Collected Wisdom

My suggestion to you

My first short story was written on an old eighties type writer. It was about a bear, tortoise and a hare. I am pretty sure I stole it from a short story I read and it was full of spelling mistakes and white out covering the words I didn't mean. I still have it, it's buried under a pile of forgotten toys and worn-out clothes. It's a remembrance of the days I didn't know the importance of a comma and of course the ever present need of a plot. The point of this blast from the past is to say simply that improvement in inevitable event. It requires some patience and grace but it's achievable, proved by the notebooks filled with foolish ideas littering my room. My suggestion to you is to be restless in your endeavor in becoming a writer or whatever you aspire to be.  

Dear Me

I know you're scared

I know you're scared. I am too. The earth is big and you feel intensely small. There is a world of possibility's in front of you, and that's terrifying. You fear failure and regret, but inevitably you'll soon experience both. But there's beauty in that. You're young and insignificant, but there's opportunity in that. Make a name for yourself, help others, write truthfully and love passionately and live freely. You know who are and what you've been through, you kn ow your strengths and weaknesses. You are strong and powerful and you can do anything, because I know you, I am you and I believe in you. So look that fear in the eye and refuse to give it any power, because you are the one with the power

I know who you are, and so do you.

Smallest Coffins

The smallest coffins are always the heaviest. Dampened with grief of the ones who couldn’t have predicted such a tragedy. It wasn’t heavy in a literal sense, actually it only required myself and another young man to carry it out of the cathedral. No, it was heavy with the emotions that leaked through the oak bottom of this box of death. It was tears heard falling to the floor as the mother weeped against her beloved. It was the father’s words of prayer that intoxicated the room, the pitter pattering of the rain on the sidewalk. It made the casket unbearably large and hard to grip. I stood there with all my strength to keep that little boy from falling straight to the floor. It was a dense box designed to allow human beings to forget that we will all die and the people around us will all die. We have hidden death in the only place we knew that...

Her Eyes

Her eyes were home to a million stars. Each sparkle was a ball of fire, burning hotter than any flame here on earth. No matter how hard you looked, you could never quite decide the color in which her pupils were tinted with. I’ve decided that something so rich in design cannot simply be described with a color but instead the feeling you have when looking into them. Everything melted when I looked into those eyes, the world washed away and I was left with space, an intergalactic web of planets. It seemed so intricate but it felt so simple. Her eyes were a drug to me, looking into them for longer than a single moment would make me inevitably relapse into the depths of her being.