A letter to my future selfDear me,Hello my dear I hope you’re well, but I suppose that’s for time to tell.I hope you’ve aged with a beautiful grace, with no wrinkles on your face.I hope your smiling as you read this, I hope you’ve took your time and succeeded.Are you still writing? In your therapeutic way? For I know it keeps your demons at bay.How’s your family, I hope it’s grew, changed a lot from just being you?I know you’ll be more confident than you what you where before, I hope those common things don’t seem such a chore.How’s the view from your window, I bet it’s of the sea. Or somewhere very beautiful where I know you’ll feel so free.I know things are better than they ever were before, I know you’ll be strong through all the things that make you sore.I bet you seen all the sights and more than you ever dreamed, I know things will be so beautiful than they ever seemed.I suppose you’re busy, with you’re happy lif
My dear friendMy dear friend, I know it's been so long.Please forgive me, I was wrong.But I want you back, can we start again?When we're together I forget the pain.I'll let you lead and then I'll follow,I need you back, I feel so hollow.I miss the memories we used to create,Our relationship was truly fate.I hope my dear that you feel the same,Will you be the spark to my flame?I'm sorry that I went away,I miss you more, day by day.But as I write it's clear to see,My dear friend poetry you've came back to me!
One of those nightsIt's one of those nights were my eyes won't close,were tears keep dripping down my nose.It's one of those nights were everything's wrong but I can't explain why,When the light burns out all I'm left to do is cry.It's one of those nights were I panic at the slightest sound,Were under the air I feel like I'm drowned.It's one of those nights were I can't seem to breathe,Were I choke and I heave, I just want to leave.It's one of those nights were I can't stop thinking,I'm slowly falling, I'm drowning, I'm sinking.It's one of those nights were there are no lights in the sky,Were I feel grounded when I just want to fly.It's one of those nights were everything comes back,All the dark thoughts that shroud your mind in black.It's one of those nights were I'm too scared to dream,For once it's ends, I'll wake up, and scream.
The fame gameShy and quiet, is what you are,Yet is see you dreaming to be a star.Basking under that radiant spotlight,Smiling as your lips gently dust the mic.I see you glow as your passion flares,You melt all fears, you have no cares.But tell me now as your growing strong,Never missing a note in each and every song.Was it really necessary to change your name,Will it really gain you fame?They told you that your own wasn't cool or acquitBut your stage name doesn't really seem to fit.The wig and make up are a good gimmickBut for you I don't really think your with itI'll admit I'm happy for you,But as far as personalities go I think you have two.The fame monster seems to be growing insideYou can run but you can't hide.And the fact that your acting like you're hot shitYou're getting there, but you're not quite it.Watch this space.To late I've seen enough.
Can't be savedBound by pain, torn insideWorrying feelings are coming alive.A storm is forming inside my heartI can't breathe, I'm falling apart."Come help me" I scream as I fall from the skyYou reach out to catch me, then wave goodbye.I can hear your laughter ringing in my earsI can hear the demons whispering my fears.I try to call out, in a desperate pleaBut I know you can't save me.I want to go back, to change it allIt's all to late I've started to fall.I never even said farewell,As I fall to the gates of hell.I cursed myself, for that is trueThere's so much more I wish you knew.
The song of the Magpie One for sorrow, two for joy. What once was joyful, is now just sorrow.The bitter taste of today, is stale for tomorrow.A heavy drowse of a now distant past,Faded memories, of passings so fast. Three for a girl, four for a boy. There once was a girl who fell in love,Who had a heart as pure as a soaring dove.She met a boy with a heart of gold,Hard, metallic and awfully cold. Five for silver, six for gold. She was promised silver, diamonds and stones,Yet all she received was brass, ash and bones.She found the gold, in the best of others.Giving love and strength to her sisters and brothers. Seven for a secret never to be told.Lies were formed and secrets keptSerpents whispered while she slept.She let nothing bother her, had struggles a few.Though legend says for joy, you must see two.
I began to writeI began to write a verse filled with spite, filled with anger and utter betrayal.I began to write how I was truly hurt and all the wrongs that had been done to me.I began to write to protest on everything you had done, to shame you, to blame you.But as I began to write I seen that nothing worked, that I had filled the page with a vile and hateful verse.I had seen that what I had began to write was the beginning of a fight, a beginning of a war that would only hurt both sides.So instead if fighting fire with fire, I extinguished the flame, and made a white flag for my soul.I took a step back from my fiery attack.And I began to write this.
Take a walk with me.To the end we shall go, were ever it may be,Take me down the path less travelled, walk me through the sea.The broken glass of crackled hearts, were bare feet may tread,Along side the river of the dammed, the water coloured red.Hollow bones and bullet holes litter the sandy plain,Dried blood is the mark that only death may reign.Yet here we stand in fire and smoke,Drowning in it's gentle choke.One inhale,and off I'll sail.To a valley of eternal bliss.
My WingsMoving on to better things, I'm so happy I found my wingsNo need for tears, no sinking fears.A burning passion comes in roaring fashion.A smile I bear, free without a care.No broken hearts, or scaring marks.I'm moving on to better things, no more rocks upon my wings.
Gone UnheardI'm now the proud owner of the ultimate compendium of classic stories! I'm no longer the owner of hundreds of dollars, but it was a wise investment. The greatest ideas ever orchestrated by women and men of superb talent, they're all here. What I wouldn't give to join them someday, to acquire the skill displayed by these authorities of the written thought! I trust that, by entering worlds born out of such brilliant minds, some of their genius rubs off on me. May I then contribute something of worth to this world myself!So I open the first book in the collection, attempting to enjoy and simultaneously learn from its contents. No such luck. No sooner did I begin reading, that an annoying voice, a sadly familiar one, distracts me from my springboard to progress."Hey! It's me, Inspiration! I just thought of a plot with potential to spare! Let's go to your nearest notebook this instant, we'll begin a killer story!""Quiet, you liar! I'm not even two pages into the book, and you're t
The moral of the storyDoomb: ‘If the boy is destroyed he will die.’Not-so-doomb: ‘Ah, but he won’t die. He will live long and prosper. After all, all good things come to those who wait.’
The Littlest Knelf Traveling across the flat world that wanderers proceed to meander aimlessly, determinedly wanting to seek satisfaction to quench an unending thirst, nothing will be filled. A lone creature strode amid the green grasslands. The boundless emerald savannah stretching across a barren, cold world, almost like covering the burns from an unfortunate event, it was the most beautiful moorland that one could witness. This individual was a knelf: a soul born of flesh and fashioned by unbridled mirth. This jollity coming from the atmospheres of societies from far-off municipalities, something long since gone; the fading laughter echoing in the ears of the knelves, seemingly like a distant memory. The pursuit of meaning was pointless. Still, this brave knelf had journeyed through the Four Valleys of Despondency, and had taken a gamble w
SolitudineLas estrellas. Astros que iluminan un cielo. Astros que siempre permanecen, viven incontables generaciones humanas. Las vemos. Parecen cercanas. ¿Pero hay mayor soledad que la de una estrella?Desde la distancia su cercanía es casi patente; se tocan, rozan y bailan sobre un manto negro pintado de blanco y azul. Se les dedican canciones de amor, promesas imposibles de fidelidad eterna, intentos fracasados de recogerlas. Ojalá se pudieran enfrascar como si fueran pequeños faroles que mientras brillaran iluminaran el camino a recorrer…La realidad es cruel. La distancia entre ellas es infinita y sólo en la muerte son reconocidas. Una muerte que no es muerte, una muerte que puede arrasar sistemas, una muerte de la que surge una nueva existencia. Ni si quiera ella cesa su martirio. Ni si quiera el fin acaba con el mal que las recome.Bellas. Lejanas. ¿Hay mayor soledad que la de una estrella?
read this in silenceIt was a moment of still; a moment of self-awareness and clarity he knew he would never forget. She stood before him, but the distance between them didn’t seem real. Naked souls shivered in realization of each other’s proximity and began to synchronize their intricate harmonies.He saw her. Truly, piercingly, saw her.“This,” she said simply, “is my everything.”
The Wanderer - Day 13The man wandered, not knowing where to go.He walked for miles on end, through rain and shine, deserts and sprawling fields of rolling green bliss, looking for a home. He didn't know where he had to go, or even where he belonged, he just knew that he had to keep going.He stumbled upon a vibrant forest of flowers that stretched into the sky. It was every colour of the rainbow and more. All sorts of fuzzy and beautiful creatures grazed in its plentiful meadows where to enormous petals parted. Light shone down gently, brushing against his skin as he strolled through. It was amazing. Everything felt so alive. He would have stayed, but he realized that he would have to craft everything he owned himself. His feeble, shaky hands simply wouldn't be up to scratch. So he moved on.He wandered on, and climbed up a vast wall of stone. He struggled, but luckily he reached the top safe and sound. He stood on a plateau, amongst a series of crumbling towers. The wind cut them at exact angles, and whe
UntitledTimofey turned the sealed envelope over in his hands, staring down at it. His grandparents hadn’t wanted much or anything to do with his mother after she’d followed her fiancée to Russia. Now they’d sent a note to him asking to meet him. Worse, they’d already included a plane ticket- two of them.“What’s that?” Arina was looking at him curiously and then down at the tickets.“Plane tickets, but I don’t know why mom’s parents decided now was a good time to meet their only grandson.” He gave a strained smile, dropping his gaze down to the envelope again. “Someone clearly forgot to mention that I’m a vampire. I can’t do daylight.”The arm his girlfriend slipped around his shoulders was only a little bit reassuring. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”Timofey grimaced, twisting around in the kitchen chair to look at her. “Neither one of us know much about America for one thing
Writing Exercise 2An impending sense of doom. A dreadful anxiety. The inevitable panic attack. These are my current feelings about school. The work keeps piling up and I feel like I shouldn't be here. Impostor Syndrome. I look at everyone else and they all look so confident with their friends in what they're doing. How did I even get here? I don't belong here. Other people show intelligence while I'm just here. I just am. There's nothing great, nothing special. No amazing hidden talent to prove my worth. This is suppose to be the best time of my life and here I am squandering it, wasting my life. I'll never amount to anything. My dreams of med school are fast fading because I can't seem to chase them.I can't seem to do anything.
GradationBlack and white mentality...Grey world.
The irony of the colour redI find it strange how the colour red can symbolise;Hurt HatedSufferingBloodPainAngerLiving hellBut it's can also symbolise love.