Through their eye’s everything is magnified,
A light touch is a mighty blow,
A flick of a switch is a raging storm,
A small ember is a seething hell,
They feel the need to convert experiences into masterpieces
Be it photos, drawing, music or writing
It may just be a snap of a camera but it’s their way of capturing their life and seeing it from a new perspective
It may just be a few sketchy lines but it’s how they portray their emotions and discover themselves
It may just be a few notes but it’s their sole way of communicating with the world
It may just be ink to a page but it’s their emotions soaring over the white landscape
The need to fill the obsidian darkness which lingers within
To drop the mask, stand back and watch it shatter
So you go and judge but we won’t be the one’s coughing up the ashes of a burnt out flame.
Tag Archives: creative writing
Rainfall – Brooke Safferman
Some
Rainy
Days
I
Like
To
Look
Up
At
The
Clouds
Through
My
Skylight
And
I
Watch
The
Droplets
Fall
Like
Words
In
A
Poem
Sorta
Like
This
One
And
I
Think
Of
How
You
Used
To
Hold
My
Hand
And
Kiss
My
Softly
On
The
Tip
Of
My
Nose.
Perspective of a Man – Karlee Sanders
every sunrise,
every sappy love quote,
could never be as beautiful
as the words her fingers wrote—
in the sky
connecting constellations
to the moon.
maybe it was the way she looked in the night air.
the picturesque white light on her face,
she was all things innocent and as innocuous as she could be.
but when the moonlight fell upon her fair skin,
she was a wildfire of blue and purple mixed with the almost fluorescent light and soft brown in her eyes and hair.
she could’ve outshone the sun.
not a soul on this planet could ever convince me that she was flawed in any way.
the way she touched my hands ever so carefully made me feel intoxicated with the inane butterflies she always rambled about.
when our eyes met that night, we were a part of the same dark sky we wore on our shoulders.
we were stars.
and nothing else mattered.
I Just Can’t Love You Either – Brooke Safferman
Where is my home now?
Broken hearts more painful than the shifting bones they belong to
Where is my home now?
Unspoken words burning my inner ears like a radio set to static
I have learned to no longer ask any questions that
I would really rather not know the answer to.
Your fingers on my collar bone, your fingers in my hair
Exhale.
“I just can’t love a person like you.”
Inhale? Inhale, inhale, inhale!
You beg to yourself,
But all of the oxygen has left the twin-size bed.
And all you have left to breath in is
The truth.
Here today, gone tomorrow they always told me
I always thought you’d be the one to prove them wrong
Your smile was bright but your heart was even brighter
Or so I thought.
Or so I thought.
At night, when I’m still awake, 50 shades of the-light-is-off-so-why-can’t-I-sleep
It’s been three months, give or take a few days
And the words you said still haunt my dreams.
Inhale.
Inhale.
Inhale.
“I just can’t love a person like you.”
But then, one of these nights, an epiphany occurred
In the darkness of the night
I just can’t love you, either.
How to Have a Midlife Crisis When You Are 24 Years Old – Samantha Forsyth
pace back and forth in the kitchen,
and when he comes home
tell him that you are unhappy.
he will look hurt but not surprised.
start to walk away as he says
something like “Things can get better”
or “I can change”. and for this you will hate him.
say that you will take a walk
and before he can catch up to you, add ‘alone’
when you get back, find him
at the kitchen table
with a glass of wine. sit across from him
and tell him that you are pregnant.
before a year, there are medical complications
there wont ever be anything conclusive only a rash of tests
the thought occurs to you
that you are waiting for something to die.
have a child together and then bury it.
tell him again that you’re unhappy,
and hate him more for silently
putting a hand on your cold shoulder
there wont ever be anything conclusive only a rash of tests
start to find excuses not to be with him.
sit alone at cafes and hope he is having an affair
but when a man offers to buy you coffee,
let him. have the affair for your husband
wake up early to think about what would
make you happy and brew
a warm cup of coffee, but not for him.
don’t say anything when your husband starts
to play piano or learns your favorite song.
don’t look at him when he glances at you for approval.
let his fingers trip over the keys
and let the notes be heavy and dry,
hope they are painful for him to play
even though you know he will keep practicing.
there wont ever be anything conclusive only a rash of tests
“I think this is maybe gonna stick with me for a long time.” – Matt Gryzduk
You will forget the way the friction burn felt at four years old, forearm dragging along rug
You will remember it all at once when people change their Twitter bios to the same thing at once
You will forget her resting expression because you never knew her well enough
You will forget that you thought about death maybe too much in the past but now never
You will forget birthday cakes, you will forget stories told to you under fluorescent lights
You will forget rewriting your name into her mouth
You will forget that it comes and goes in waves
You will forget that you’re only the second to worst person in general
You will forget that you weren’t thinking but are now very conscious
You will forget her name
But you will remember the friction burn, graft it onto others and like you perhaps they will tell others about the scar it left.
Seasons – Harika Kottakota
You stand in the wheat plains gazing heavenward
Palm rested on the side of a chestnut foal
Cumulus drifted slowly, soft heels dug into clods
Shoots brushed cranberry cheeks, crickets whispered
Their secret melody under the settling dusk
Gold waves to rickety barn, sides infested with ivy
Dismantled windmill blades sprinkled in dew drops,
Seedlings of those scary thunder nights,
Lay glistening like a second sun on muddy sky
Faded fence skewed like an ice skater’s blade
Scraping joyously on frozen lakes under Moon lamps
Waking to Mother’s oven and Grace’s doll house
Father rapt in daily news of some faraway place
Hopping over creaky floorboards, storing static
Against wool carpets and zapping Grandma’s knitting
Vision wrinkling in warm shades like mangoes, oranges
Frisbees dropped, under hammocks or crude tents
Saving scrapbooks from attic cobwebs–pasts, before pasts
Taping our precious scribbles religiously until our
White ceilings converted to memorial mosaics
Dragonflies and Vs of geese enchanted our daydreams
Off to some Everest or Yosemite where adventure lurks
Leather-bound journals lined tables clasping memories
And reminders to future selves to always hold dear
Your heart’s home: acres of beginnings, middles, and ends
Worldly Pleasures – Karlee Sanders
She filled her life with worldly pleasures. She knew she was frequently disturbing the lives of cautious do-gooders, but she didn’t care. And although she didn’t care, she would send them letters purposely laced with the scent of her vodka telling just how “sorry she was for accidentally running over their mailbox” or how “she didn’t mean to slash their tires, she thought it was her ex’s truck, naturally anybody could make that mistake.” All in sarcasm, you could presume. She was carefree and having the time of her life even when everything seemed to be going wrong. Obviously, I knew her well. She was my best friend; and those were her glory years.
Now, I call her at work and she complains to me how her students are too “wild” and it makes me chuckle because all of that alcohol she indulged in just might have erased the memories of her crazy days. She was a teenager once.
Remember that your teachers were once the people you are now. They may seem like fuddy-duddies and old hags, but if you look in their eyes, you might just see the same teen spirit lurking in your eyes, in theirs. She filled her life with worldly pleasures. She knew she was frequently disturbing the lives of cautious do-gooders, but she didn’t care. And although she didn’t care, she would send them letters purposely laced with the scent of her vodka telling just how “sorry she was for accidentally running over their mailbox” or how “she didn’t mean to slash their tires, she thought it was her ex’s truck, naturally anybody could make that mistake.” All in sarcasm, you could presume. She was carefree and having the time of her life even when everything seemed to be going wrong. Obviously, I knew her well. She was my best friend; and those were her glory years.
Now, I call her at work and she complains to me how her students are too “wild” and it makes me chuckle because all of that alcohol she indulged in just might have erased the memories of her crazy days. She was a teenager once.
Remember that your teachers were once the people you are now. They may seem like fuddy-duddies and old hags, but if you look in their eyes, you might just see the same teen spirit lurking in your eyes, in theirs.
She filled her life with worldly pleasures. She knew she was frequently disturbing the lives of cautious do-gooders, but she didn’t care. And although she didn’t care, she would send them letters purposely laced with the scent of her vodka telling just how “sorry she was for accidentally running over their mailbox” or how “she didn’t mean to slash their tires, she thought it was her ex’s truck, naturally anybody could make that mistake.” All in sarcasm, you could presume. She was carefree and having the time of her life even when everything seemed to be going wrong. Obviously, I knew her well. She was my best friend; and those were her glory years. Now, I call her at work and she complains to me how her students are too “wild” and it makes me chuckle because all of that alcohol she indulged in just might have erased the memories of her crazy days. She was a teenager once. Remember that your teachers were once the people you are now. They may seem like fuddy-duddies and old hags, but if you look in their eyes, you might just see the same teen spirit lurking in your eyes, in theirs.
Three Quotes to Live By – Alex Esterline
Springtime, for me, is a time of renewal and self-improvement. I get this newfound motivation from watching the snow melt. Much like the flowers that will begin budding on the trees, I find myself attempting to plant seeds in myself. One way I’ve been doing that is by picking out some important quotes to keep in my mind. The three I’ve picked are the three I try and live by at all times. I’ll be sharing them with you and I hope they’ll help you sort some things out or reach for something higher:
“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
-A.A. Milne
Written by the author of a childhood classic, this Winnie-The-Pooh author writes a beautiful quote. I have a tendency to look back too much and wish for things that won’t ever come back. I regularly fall in love with places and feelings that I might not get to re-visit. At first glance, this quote reminds me to be grateful for having experienced these moments and feelings at all. But it’s become such a big part of my life that it actually reminds me to take in every moment from now on in great detail- so that I can one day look back and marvel at how hard it was to say goodbye. I hope it does the same for you, Reader.
“Cause a little trouble. It’s good for you.”
-Angelina Jolie
I’d first like to take a moment to thank Angelina Jolie for existing. I’d also like to thank her for her recent quote at the Kids’ Choice Awards. Her quote focuses on something that I have yet to accomplish- living far outside my comfort zone. You see, my idea of “trouble” is staying on Tumblr for 4+ hours. I’m going to try and use this quote to remind myself to not overthink every single decision I make. The best part about this quote is how much everyone could use it. We’re constantly being confined and sheltered to the point where our lives are sometimes so unexciting. Maybe next time, I won’t stay up until three in the morning doing homework, only to get no sleep. Beyond just worrying about good grades (which do not define a person), I am generally compliant with things that I do not necessarily agree with. This quote will serve as inspiration to speak up and act for things that I believe in.
“Don’t count the days, make the days count”
-Muhammad Ali
A professional boxer, Ali shines light on one of the hardest obstacles to deal with in life- Time. This quote seems to remind me of my fleeting youth and the oftentimes overwhelming desire for something to happen. I tend to lack patience (something I’m working on), and regularly “count the days”. I realize now, that I should be focusing that same energy on cherishing those days that I’m counting. I firmly believe, now, that if you count the days- you’ll miss each and every one of them. I urge you to take every opportunity that comes your way, and start making the rest of your life count.
I hope you take these words of wisdom and apply them to yourself. Happy spring!
Capgras Delusions and You (The Body) – Matt Grydzuk
Degauss the stars like cathode ray tubes using only your hands
The body first thinks explicitly in omens, or foretelling the end of things
Sleep less than intended; corporeality was tailor-made for you.
The body is just a suggestion, though, like the outline of existing
Akin to the stars lacking crystal clear imagery yet making shapes
Yet causing images in the night
And I sat and watched them unfold, shaking mildly, how beautiful.
How beautiful, the suggestion of form;
The existence of existence
Like wisps of stardust off the tips of your fingers and the rest of your outline
You are a degaussed constellation.
How beautiful the burning sensation; the smell
How beautiful destroying the innards
Like dying stars or a comet moving faster and then it’s gone
Creating outlines creating memories making
Sentences with your movements but no words.
How beautiful linguistics; complete sentences with two independent clauses
Intertwined to make the sun rise.
Watch it leave you like blood from the mouth, like stardust from the nose and eyes.
All other things beautiful like the suggestion of an outline; like actually falling asleep.
Inkling 