Lights in the Dark (poem)

Well, here is the poem I referred to in the last post. It’s a hopeful poem about creativity. Hope you enjoy it. Something positive~ <3 

———————————

Lights in the Dark

Ideas emerge like random sparks of light

in the abyss of my creative soul.

The void— the emptiness, the darkness stretching for what seemed like infinity— felt like home to me;

that it was all I would and ever be.

Yet brief flashes of light have recently returned,

shining brightly in the dark.

Inspiration, motivation, creativity— I thought these lights burned out long ago,

never to flicker on again.

And somehow, the lights are turning on again.

Brief flashes at first, random sparks in the dark, 

slowly gaining confidence and glowing brightly for longer as the days pass by. 

I don’t know for certain, but I think it is possible 

for my heart to feel less heavy,

and for my soul to light again. 

——————————————

Alrighty! That’s my new poem. :D 

~ Shan/Shyrah 

Writing Paralysis | Early April 2022 Poem

Hey. It’s been A While, huh? It’s already September, and this is my first blog post here in 2022. 

Well, a lot happened. I mean, it would be weird if nothing happened. Well, some things stayed the same too. And other things changed (some for the better, others for the worst). I guess that’s Life. 

I’m not sure what to exactly put here, so I’m deciding to insert a poem I quickly wrote in my Notes app on my phone in early April. I’m not that proud of it. I’ve been having writer’s block for such a long time. But hey, it’s something. 

I have a feeling that I wanted to include it in a blog post when I wrote it but forgot about it until now. It’s been so many months. I didn’t even check anything related to my blogging account in several months. I honestly forgot the last time I checked before last night (September 4th). 

I’m planning on making some blogging changes. Some I already implemented; others I plan on doing soon. I just… there’s a part of me that tells me I have to do this. 

Anyway, here is my poem: 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Writing Paralysis 

Stagnate, stuck in this state 

where my movement is frozen

and my lifeblood stopped flowing.

Too many and too few thoughts

that I can’t put into words

no matter how much I 

desperately want to get out of

this paralysis called 

writer’s block.

How do you gain back that spark 

when the fire died out long ago

and there is nothing left 

to rekindle it? 

How do you make your

motivation, inspiration, and passion

return to you after so many 

who helped creative writing become 

your purpose and identity

have left you or died without

saying ‘goodbye’—

and how do you move on 

after they’re gone? 

I’m not sure but 

writing this seems like

a decent first step.

Mask (poem)

There is a certain sense of 

feeling disoriented in the disconcerting situation 

when your lines of reality and unreality become 

blurred so much that you realize that 

there were never solid lines in the first place.

There isn’t anything like 

staring at yourself in the mirror,

touching your face,

and finding out that 

what is staring back at you

turns out to not be your face 

but a superficial version of yourself. 

I wish it was straightforward—

the moment of realization when the mirrored face

turns from human skin to 

plastic, clay, wood— 

anything that’s not your skin,

but such a transformation never happens

since this isn’t a 

beautiful mess of a metamorphosis. 

 

There isn’t anything beautiful 

when you don’t know your true self anymore 

and all you know is suppressing and hiding 

who you really are 

in order to survive. 

There is no beauty in discovering that 

your face and reflection don’t match;

identity crisis rises in bile in your throat 

and you start questioning everything 

because you don’t know who you are anymore. 

This is an insidious type of mask 

that you could go years and years wearing 

without even knowing it,

and you don’t even receive a costume piece 

as a gift for finding out about your own mask 

because in the end, 

there is no mask.

This is ironic,

such a bad joke,

and you’ve got to be kidding me.

Finding out that I have a mask

which I can’t take off and use as a costume—

where is the silver lining?

But when you learn about your own mask,

you can’t go back,

so now you know better

since you know you have a mask,

and it’s better than being in the dark,

not knowing why you are the way you are.

There is nothing wrong with us

for being forced by society to wear masks 

in order to adapt, be accepted, and less ridiculed 

by the intimidating majority.

There is nothing shameful in

using survival tactics without being 

consciously aware of them 

since you’re so used to wearing your mask. 

But finding out that we’re not alone

and that a whole community is out there 

makes the future seem a little brighter

and worth taking those tentative steps out of the dark. 

We aren’t fake,

superficial versions of normal,

pathological liars

for wearing masks.

Know what it really is?

It’s something called

Masking. 

. . .

I

have changed

and will continue 

to change

until you, and them,

and everyone

are unable to recognize me.

I am

unrecognizable,

a force of chaos,

instability,

mental anguish;

a spectrum of emotions and colors

too wide and complex to be

fully seen and comprehended

by any human eye and mind.

If you think you know me,

you are sadly mistaken;

I am no longer that person,

nor do I recognize that version of me,

no, not anymore.

A forcefield,

too much force,

too much impulsivity,

too much 

yet never enough

simultaneously.

Played tug of war

and I pulled too hard,

causing you to let go;

then I let go

with cruel hands that only know 

harm and errors,

with my deceitful fingers that only

spin lies as truth,

and I am caught up in the web

of my lost and forgotten identity.

I have

bled and bled,

vomited up my sickness,

got myself covered in bruises—

accidental? with intent?—

had my heart break and collapse and spasm

in this void in my chest;

self-destruction and self-sabotage,

those are my specialties,

my addiction that I want to quit

but I 

relapse time and time again.

I am unrecognizable

to you, to them,

to myself;

I am unknowable;

the key is that

I am going through my very own

metamorphosis. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That is a poem I just wrote on the spot. No plan, no thoughts; I just wrote it. Simple as that.

I couldn't bear looking at anything related to this blog or anything Blogger/Blogspot for a long time, but I knew I couldn't permanently leave this place. At least not with a proper goodbye. 

So I guess this to say I haven't forgotten this place. It still means a lot to me.

I am back. 

////////////////

Well then. It’s been a while. It’s Friday the 13th. 

To be honest, I forgot about this place. 

Uh.. hi? 

It sure has been a time. Time feels fake. Is it real? Is 2020 even real? Did this all really happen? 

~*STATIC*~ 

I’ve been feeling dizzy only in my brain every now and then. Light-headed. Dizzy. Out of it. Out of focus. Zoned out. Spaced out. Dissociated. 

Emotional instability. Mood swings. Emotional dysregulation. :) :( :) :( :) :( :) :( 

“Are you me or are you normal?” — that’s my catchphrase that plays in my head all the time. 24/7.

I’m not normal. Never was. Never will be. 

//ARE YOU ME OR ARE YOU NORMAL?//

“!! hyper! happy! energy! :D” (short amount of time later) “... lowkey feeling suicidal. i have the urge to kill myself.” (switching between these multiple times a day). 

What’s the real me? What’s my identity? 

I don’t fucking know! My mind is a carousel and full of static. I keep on feeling dizzy only inside my head.

I love you. I hate you. I love you. I want to kill you. I want to kill myself. 

//HIGH. LOW. HIGH. LOW. HIGH. LOW. HIGH. LOW.//

I read very disturbing and graphic content for my classes. Most of my reading assignments are like that. 

//IT GETS IN MY HEAD. AND IT STAYS THERE. MY MIND DISTORTS IT AND I’M THE PREDATOR. I’M REPULSED. WHAT IF I’M CAPABLE? I’M CAPABLE. WHAT IF? I DON’T TRUST MYSELF. I DISTRUST THESE HANDS.//

I hate and want to kill you! Why? I don’t know. 

(not “you” whoever’s reading this. “you” isn’t you.) 

//KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. I’M A MURDERER IN THE MAKING. AND I’LL BE MY FIRST VICTIM.//

I want to throw up all the bad. I want to stab a knife through my head. Feel the blood dripping down my forehead. 

Expel the evil out. Bad person. Bad friend. Bad blogger (or whatever the fuck this place is). 

Spiraling. Relapsing. Regressing. I’m going nowhere. No progress. Not even making any effort to. 

They’re not coming back! They’re gone! God damn it.

//SHE DIED. SHE DIED.// 

Trauma. Trauma. Trauma. Trauma in the stories. Trauma in the memories. Trauma in the records. It’s not okay! That’s not okay! 

it’s not it’s not it’s not it’s not it’s not it’s not it’s not it’s not it’s not— 

//TRAUMATIC. TRAUMATIZED. THEY FUCKED ME UP. I CAN’T TRUST MYSELF. I DON’T KNOW THE REAL ME. THEIR WORDS ARE BULLETS SHOT OUT OF GUNS AND I’M COVERED IN BULLET HOLES. NOT EVERYONE HAD THAT SHIT HAPPEN TO THEM. NOT EVERYONE LIVES IN FEAR OF PEOPLE THEY LOVE. NOT EVERYONE HAS A COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH THEIR LOVED ONES. WITH THEIR BLOOD.//

I impulsively overshare. 

I regret it. 

And I do it again. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. Again. 

//THEN I PUSH THE BLADE IN...//

~*StATiC*~ 

This isn’t real. This is a simulation. 

Make it stop moving. Make it stop! 

I don’t exaggerate. But...

Welcome to the show! 

The commercial break is over. 

Welcome back. 

//WAKE THE FUCK UP!//

And go back to sleep. 

This isn’t you. This isn’t me. This isn’t you. This isn’t me. 

//WHO ARE YOU? WHO AM I? WHO THE FUCK ARE WE?//

Peel the skin around my fingers off. Pick at scabs. Tie a noose with my guts. Put my hand inside my chest and take out my heart. 

Take it out! Turn it off! Make it stop! 

I have no identity. Chronic emptiness. I feed on others’ feelings. 

Give me something. I need it. 

//I NEED IT. I’M OBSESSED. I’M ADDICTED. I NEED IT.//

Welcome back. 

//WE MISSED YOU.//

————————————

1. Fools

The number in the beginning of the post title for posts this month refer to the day and order of poems for napowrimo. It’s April. I have poems now.

This one is called “Fools”~ 

————————————

The year is 2020–

and the joke’s on us. 

High hopes, heads up,

new decade, fresh start— 

2020 will be our year. 

Well, the joke’s on us. 

Double 20,

I don’t have 2020 vision—

I never could have seen this coming. 

The months change, and each one 

lasts an eternity. 

Time is infinite, 

and time isn’t our friend. 

Oh, the joke is on us. 

2020 isn’t our year— 

we never asked for this. 

March changes to April,

and we’re fools.

Fools, fools, fools.

2020 laughs in our faces

and tells us how wrong we all are.

Only fools fall;

we all fall down.

Fools, fools, fools. 

In 2020, we are all fools.

We are April Fools. 

Joke’s on us—

2020 fooled us all. 

02/02/2020 (poem)

Hi, I’m here with a poem post. 

I had so much energy the night I made that last post. Geez. 

And now I’m tired. College is wearing me out. 

Anyway, this poem is about February 2nd. 

Which should be pretty obvious. 

Ok. Yeah.

——————————

02/02/2020

the second day of

the second month of

the start of

the second decade of

the century.

02/02/2020.

groundhog's day.

winter's coming.

will it stay or

will it go?

poor groundhog is afraid of

its own shadow.

fearful groundhog,

afraid of the world.

my little tuxedo cat

watches the groundhog on tv.

then the focus shifts to her.

little tuxedo cat,

the family celebrates your birthday

in early february.

the second of february.

happy birthday, my dear cat.

happy birthday, thelma.

february the second—

a day worth celebrating.

———————————

:-)

November 9: Abecedarian Poem

I forgot I also have this poem from the November poetry challenge. 

It’s supposed to be my first attempt at an abecedarian poem. That means each line starts with a letter that’s in alphabetical order. 

Like this: 

Alpacas 

Bongos 

Chameleons

Disasters 

Elephants 

Fierdan

(etc., etc. for every letter of the alphabet) 

Haha, I’m being silly. :3

Anyway, this is the actual poem. For real. Yes. 

———————————

Arriving at your house,

Bees fly in your front yard.

Came all this way to see you that

Dread is buried in my stomach, but

Excitement runs in my veins.

Fear is shoved away.

Gosh, so many emotions!

Happily, I ring your doorbell.

I tap my foot while waiting for you.

Judgmental thoughts invade my mind; I successfully

Kick them out as you open the door.

Luckily, you don't notice.

Marching into your house,

Never avoiding my chance to make you laugh.

On our way through the kitchen,

Pepper is picked up by my nose, and I

Question why it smells so strong.

Roast beef sandwich on the table reminds me that I'm

Starving, which triggers my stomach to rumble.

Talking words I can't seem to

Understand and comprehend.

Visiting you is the best part of the

Week for me.

X out these annoying pop-ups on the computer screen of my mind.

You ask me again, "Would you like to have something to eat?"

Zipped lips, I nod my head.

——————————

It’s silly. :D 

Ooh la la. Look at this font. So fancy. 

I had such a weird and disturbing dream. And no, Fierdan wasn’t in it this time.

Dang, that’s tragic. :( 

hhhhhhh hECK 

ok ok OK 

bye for now...

~ Shan 

Dear Anxiety: December 12 Poem

This is my poem for December 12th in that poetry challenge I mentioned. 12/12. 

I think I’ll go with it having this title. It fits. 

The prompt: personifying something and talking back to it. 

In my poetry class at college, I wrote a poem called “Anxiety” before I wrote this one. 

Unlike that poem I wrote for class, this one is more of a power poem. 

Power. 

Giving power back to you. 

You are strong. You are capable. You are powerful. 

I have so much more to say, but I’m making this post exclusively about my poetry. 

Since I’m copying and pasting my poems from my Notes app, I decided to change the font for the actual poem. It makes them stand out more. 

Without further ado, here’s the poem! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Anxiety 

Anxiety—

You cruel and greedy beast,

never satisfied, only wanting more and more.

You're so greedy that you took my life away from me.

You take the appearance of a caring friend,

a friend who only wants the best for me.

Then you stab me in the back and in my chest,

and you call it Love.

Deceptive, manipulative, distorting my reality,

I can't tell the truth from the irrational because of you.

You and your twin, Depression, are the worst abusers

that I've unfortunately gotten to know all too well.

You two took my life away for your own personal gain.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you and

I will defeat you.

At least I can trust Fear, unlike you,

who took advantage of us.

I thought we were friends, that I could trust you,

but you filled me with irrational fears

with no real reasons behind them.

Your pet, Dread, is a parasite who burrowed itself

in the bottom of my stomach.

You've ruined me.

You're the first villain in my story.

Anxiety, I'm breaking out of your chains,

and I'm finally breaking free from you.

List Poem + Exploring Season: December 11 Poem

On Habitica, I also wrote a few poems for a December poetry challenge. I will show that poem in this post. 

But first off.......

Unrelated updates! (... heck.)

I forgot to add that being under anesthesia is also a weird feeling because you can’t feel anything. You can’t feel pain. It’s just... nothing. Did I mention it feels weird? Because it does. 

Well, I hope that was rather obvious. Because it’s general anesthesia and all. 

*cough, cough* Ahem. So yeah. That happened. 

There’s also a chance I’ll make a post called “Please Don’t Take My Sunshine Away”... and no, it isn’t about where that line comes from. If I make that post, it’s going to be all about Sunshine. If you don’t know Sunshine, she is my dog. My 14 year old dog. 

Honestly, it’s been rather hectic these past couple of days. Sunshine hasn’t been feeling like her usual self. Luckily, she started feeling a little better than before a few hours ago. 

I want to take her to the vet, but I’m also sad and conflicted. My parents, especially my dad, refuse to take her to the vet. My siblings and I have tried convincing them to take Sunshine to the vet. 

It’s frustrating to say the least. 

Anyway, here is my poem. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winter:

the season of death,

the time of year when life is dead,

the haunted bride drags her long white gown along the path,

freezing anything and everything that comes in contact with her,

Persephone is with Hades in the Underworld,

short days, long nights,

outside is cold and dark,

warm jackets, gloves, hats, scarves,

sitting by the fireplace,

hot chocolate— perhaps with marshmallows and peppermint,

the holiday season,

house lights and streetlights shining the street,

pouring light into the dark,

yin & yang, optimism & pessimism at war,

and winter is both

the last and first season of the year.

Untitled Poem: November Day 12

Continuing from the same challenge thing I mentioned in the last post. 

This is my poem for the 12th of November. 

. . . / . . . / . . . 

... I’m tired. 

———————————-

The dilemma of staying in the known

or venturing into the unknown. This comfort zone isn't actually comfortable,

but it's all I know. To stay or leave? To stay in the dumps

or rise up? Those are the real questions. Do I want to get better?

Or do I want to have Anxiety and Depression to accompany me

throughout my life? I'm indecisive, so indecisive, it sickens me.

The way I'm strapped into myself,

I can't escape.

I can't trust my mind.

Self-destructive tendencies.

What am I doing?

Why can't I stop?

Why can't I just get better

be okay

be normal? I'm told to simply

"Wake up and be a better person!"

It's a lot harder than that. I want to break out of these ties,

but I keep on getting pulled back.

Please believe me when I tell you

I tried.

Untitled Poem (as of now): November Day 2

Hi, so I have a bunch of poems I quickly wrote while participating in a poetry challenge on Habitica. 

All of them are untitled as of now. Coming up with titles is difficult, okay? 

So anyway, this is my poem for day 2 of November. 

True story! ;) 

*sighs* ~~

———————————

Driving to the store, she's in the passenger's seat.

I turn the dial–

the audio is blaring.

Feeling overwhelmed, feeling frustrated,

take me away from here.

Senses are in overload;

irritability returns to me and sits on my tongue.

Oh, would you please just—

Shut. Up.

Repetition, repetition, repetition.

She repeats herself over and over.

I get it! I heard you the first time!

"Shut up."

I don't think much of it; it's only a bad habit.

I want to break it,

but I say it on instinct.

Saying it feels natural;

my irritability phantom followed me for years.

I shove it away, but it returns each time.

She stops. I feel relieved.

She looks hurt. I hurt her.

Guilt joins irritability—

suffocate me.

This silence doesn't fit.

The music is louder than ever.

I drown in it.

———————————

That’s all for now. Take care of yourselves! <3 

~ Shan 

Instructions On How To Smile: Instruction Manual Prose Poem

Hi everyone. Today was my last day of my poetry class. Here I'll be showing my latest version of the instructional prose poem I wrote for the class.

*Note: It's supposed to be written like an instruction manual. It is supposed to be instructions on something we shouldn't need instructions for. The subject is on any innate human ability. Satire is also included in this type of prose poem.

Enjoy! ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Instructions On How To Smile

            First, remember that you are alive. Think of something, anything, that motivates you to keep on living. When you have thought of something, write it down on a piece of paper. Get some tape and stick it onto your bathroom mirror. Reread what you wrote.

            Look at yourself. Watch your reflection staring back at you. Don’t disappoint the person on the other side of the glass. That is not recommended. In order to smile, stretch your lips horizontally. Do not stretch vertically. Imagine that what you wrote down is happening right now. Feel it through all your senses. Live it to the best of your ability. 

            If you are unable to feel joy, fake it till you make it. Despite popular belief, brains aren’t that smart. Using your facial muscles in an attempt to form a smile will trick your brain into feeling better. If you’re still having trouble, have a sense of humor. Remember that life is a joke. Laugh, then smile. Your cheeks and mouth may begin to hurt. Relax your muscles, and most importantly, be kind to yourself.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that's my prose poem with instructions on how to smile. :)

Bye for now. <3 

The Red Light

A creative writing piece.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Content Warning: blood, animal death

Hi, I'm back with another assignment I submitted for my poetry writing class. (Yep, I submitted this. XD)

This is supposed to be a surrealism prose poem. Every idea I came up with was full of violence. Haha, I couldn't help myself.

I also had to read this out loud to the whole class. That was quite something.

This was written around the spookiest time of the year. I mean Halloween.

How's my attempt at writing horror/surrealism? Please tell me. I'm curious.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Red Light

You are driving home after a long day of work. There are no lampposts or store lights to lighten the path, and the moon and stars are not visible. Then a red light flashes ahead of you. You slam your foot on the gas pedal as you zoom towards it. As you approach it, it takes the shape of a traffic light. When the front of your car is only a few feet away from the traffic light, you are able to observe it up close. Its red light taunts you, which only motivates you to force the gas pedal to the melting asphalt below. Your car is overheating, burning the ground below, but you do not care. You are too attracted to the red light; it mesmerizes you. On closer inspection, you realize that the shape of the red light differs from that of the yellow and green. The red light is coming from a laser pointer. You have to catch it. Without thinking it through, you run the traffic light. After you pass it, you notice that the red light follows you. A red, round spot the size of the palm of your hand lands on your car’s windshield. Still feeling desperate to catch the red light, you unbuckle your seatbelt and stretch your arms in front of you. As your fingertips touch the glass, a red glow surrounds them. As the red glow drips down your hands, it takes the form of blood. Blood is in the air; blood is on your tongue. This does not horrify you; it is something you anticipated. Less than a minute after staring at the red spot on the windshield and your red hands, everything turns dark. The red light no longer hits the windshield; it simply vanished right in front of you. However, your fingers still feel wet and sticky; your hands are warm. The next thing you remember happening is the sound of the laser which emits the red light turning on and off again. Then the red light does not return; instead, the moon turns the sky yellow. All of a sudden, you see a cat—your cat— standing on its hindlegs and holding a gigantic laser pointer in your direction. The cat drops the laser, its red light spilling onto the ground, and approaches you to pick your car up. It unlocks a car door and grabs hold of you, cradling you in its paws. As the car crashes down into the near-boiling asphalt of the street, the cat scratches your head and tells you to eat your pet rabbit you hunted and killed in the morning. Then the cat leaves, and you stand on the roof of your car. You excitedly wait for your cat to play the red light game with you again and give you your dinner. The burning metal does not hinder your appetite for bloody rabbit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed reading this! >:D



............. Yay, I'm able to insert images in my posts again. Just on the website, of course. 
I'm still feeling... pretty unhappy. I planned on posting this a little while back. 

Metaphor for Starting Recovery

When you first entered the forest, you were scared.
Shivering in fear, you didn’t know where to turn.
That child from long ago had so much to learn—
maybe the kids at school called you weird,
and maybe that’s the first thing that brought you here.
Hidden monsters made you afraid of the dark,
but today, greeting them is a walk in the park.
What happened to all of the fear?
I know, you replaced it with apathy.
You’ve been in the dark for so long
that the monsters now live in your head.
Believe me when I tell you they’re wrong.
Your friends don’t pity you. They’re giving you sympathy.
Take one step: Try to not spend all day in bed.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Hi everyone, I'm finally back with some new poetry! 

I'm not that sure on the title, but I submitted it as this. Oh yeah. I'm taking a poetry class at school, and this was the most recent poem I wrote for it. It's a Petrarchan sonnet (though we had some flexibility when it came to the syllables, so it didn't have to be ten per line).

I didn't really write poetry during the summer, and I feel like I'm a little rusty. (... maybe?)

Haha, I feel like I can only write poems about (my) mental health. So, uh, this one is more hopeful than a depressing old vent. I've been thinking about healing and recovery a lot lately. I want to be better. And yes, this poem is me @ me.

Bye. <3

---------------------------------------

Copied the text I wrote on my deviantart. Read the same poem here.

I'm home now since I have a break from classes.

I'll create more posts later today. Hopefully.

Where The Lost Go (class assignment)

Where The Lost Go

After “Harlem” by Langston Hughes

Where do our lost memories go?

            Do they fall out

            like raindrops from a cloud?

            Or fade away like a child—

            Who is not loud?

            Do they drift like waves out to sea?

            Or dance and fly over us—

            like a hardworking bee?

            

            Maybe they just disappear

            like a meaningless thing.

            Or do they become nothing?

-------------------------------------------------------

For an assignment in my creative writing class a while back, I had to write a poem in the style of Langston Hughes' poem, "Harlem". And so, I wrote this.

I received good feedback on it from my classmates and professor. I'm pretty proud of this. Oh and I also got an A+ on it.

I wrote it back in March and edited it at the beginning of this month. And I'll admit it- I've been thinking about my poem's theme for a few months now. (memories, lost memories... yeah.)

- S.

-------------------------------------

poetry. poetic. poet.

I was thinking of posting this earlier. Oh well, you guys can read it now. (gosh, finally!)

<3 

3. blunt

you want the truth, huh?

well okay, whatever you say. 

i’ll be blunt with you. 

if someone brings up romance 

in an in-person conversation,

there’s a chance that i will 

zone out and no longer pay attention 

to whatever they’re talking about. 

yeah, i know, that’s probably rude

but i simply can’t bother 

putting energy into caring.

because “aro, aro, aro” plays on repeat 

like a chant in my head 

whenever anyone brings up anything 

related to romance (well, outside of fiction)

and no,

i can’t relate to a word they say. 

stop pushing assumptions about romance 

onto me like i can share my romantic experiences 

as if romance is something universal.

i’m an aromantic fool

so jot that down. 

i (used to) wish i could love like you

and only recently did i learn 

that it’s okay 

if i can’t love like you

because i’m learning how to love in my own way.

she said she’s jealous of my body

yeah, okay, sure.

but don’t complain 

when you realize

my mind and body 

have become my enemy. 

she said my legs are nice 

and that she’s jealous of my body.

you want to live in my body, you say? 

good luck

(living with a brain with its default setting on death).

some days it gets so bad

that it feels like my ribs are poking out of my chest

that there are weights pulling down my arms and legs 

that my stomach was constructed incorrectly 

and my brain is probably cursed. 

and on some days 

i hear more intensely than others.

if i hear you 

chewing

or, what the hell, 

even breathing 

too loudly for my sensitive ears 

i’ll imagine myself doing 

any damn thing to shut you up.

stop making so much noise 

i hate that, i hate you, i hate myself.

stop breathing

or i would have dreamed of me 

doing terrible things to you. 

sorry but 

it’s too late. 

well, would you look at that? 

everyone around me is planning their future.

well, fuck my life, i suppose. 

i’m still incapable of planning my future

since i never planned on having one. 

they think i rarely get angry 

that i don’t get mad

but that only makes me more angry

and i am full of anger now. 

there’s an unhealthy amount of hate 

inside of me.

and the truth is 

i’m rarely happy. 

so fuck off with your awful assumptions 

please and thank you. 

i’m a monster.

i can’t be saved

nothing can save me

nobody can save me 

stop pretending you know me when you don’t 

because you don’t know me at all. 

i can’t be redeemed in the end 

i’m too far gone. 

haha what 

what do you mean? 

people usually remember memories from their childhood? 

and in vivid detail too? 

even the happy memories? 

are you joking? 

... why can i barely remember anything good at all? 

... why can’t i remember a damn thing? 

... what the hell is wrong with me? 

well... fuck.

i find it harder to concentrate these days

and i can’t focus like i used to. 

stimulate me, entertain me

i’m more robot than human. 

these movements are robotic 

and i swear i’m not living 

because a ghost is in control of this skeleton. 

none of this is making any sense

i’ve lost my logic a while ago. 

this is no longer a poem

it is a thoughts dump.

but screw it all,

i’ll post it anyway.

i hate her and i don’t know why. 

i hate my thoughts so much

i... 

i don’t know what to write anymore.

i’m so tired of living 

life this way /

here /

life.

but to be honest,

all three answers are completely accurate. 

i’m holding a knife

and the blade is 

blunt.

let’s slash our throats with a blunt knife and see what happens. 

maybe that will shut us all up for good. 

2. un-romance

yeah, i’ll do it

i’ll do it for you

don’t you worry.

i’ll write romance

i’ll write about lovers

i’ll write those little clichés 

with my little twist. 

as long as it’s fictional

and nothing more.

that is a threat. 

———————————-

short, bad poetry from yours truly~ 

1. Return of the Aches

[these numbered posts are going to be poems for napowrimo even though the month is already half over] 

———————————————

the body aches and pains returned 

to this shell of a body 

my damaged soul possesses. 

they’ve come to tear myself apart 

yet again.

is this déjà vu? 

last year’s april? 

i thought it finally ended.

i guess i was wrong. 

i have a desire 

to be thrown back 

into the fire. 

cast me down 

into a hell i don’t believe in.

just get rid of these

aches and pains. 

oh god, it hurts. 

maybe i deserve this. 

god will send me to hell

but i don’t believe. 

(i don’t believe

in anything at all.)

almost every body part

aches and aches and aches

just right.

i’ll rip off this 

pleasant human disguise

and you’ll find 

a monster underneath. 

i can’t pretend anymore. 

these lies are hurting my body.

i wish i could be human just like you.

oh god, notre dame is burning.

the world is burning.

everything is burning.

i hate mondays.

and tuesdays.

and every other day that ends in y.

but i really hate mondays. 

—————————

a poem i wrote very quickly to start things off.

i won't even pretend i wrote this on the 1st. it's pretty obvious i wrote this today (the 16th).

yeah idk. this one is just a bad mess. 

(of course i have to write about pain again- that's like my thing when it comes to my poetry!)

First Sentences from Unfinished Novels (class assignment)

Hi, I'm back to continue the pattern of a post about anything followed by a post about one of my creative writing class assignments. :)

The title of this post (minus the parentheses part) is what I titled my assignment for this. I'm only posting the assignments I have graded and got feedback from. I'm generally getting good grades, so I feel fine posting them on here.

They're my sentences. They're mine. >:-)

This assignment: Write beginning sentences for different novels, using a variety of genres and point-of-views.

But instead of organizing them based on number of syllables (8-12 per line), I'm numbering each sentence and retyping them so they look like regular sentences.

I'm so extra because I came up with non-generic names for some of the characters. And no- I didn't use any of my story characters. (I'm too much of a coward to do that lmao.) But I was thinking of some of my story scenes for a few of these. (*cough* 11 *cough* ;) heh heh)
-------------------------------------------------------------

1. Bullets were flying across the room, but Agent Lily Parker knew she had to get to the money first. 

2. She imagined him looking at her with his light blue eyes and dark hair; she blushed at the thought of it.

3. I opened my eyes and saw that the sky was green and the grass was blue.

4. You didn’t know what to do as he stepped out of the shadows; then the bomb landed at your frozen feet with a single thud.

4. You were daydreaming about your middle school crush of all people while you were in geography class; you answered the teacher’s question confidently with the date he first noticed you running late to class.

5. Alix and Reyes tapped at the controls of the spaceship, attempting to escape from the imperious Martian Army.

6. The queen of the elves entered the kingdom on a unicorn whose footprints left a path of glitter behind her.

7. We all woke up only to find our limbs tied up; I thought I was numb to everything but that’s when the buzzing started. 

8. Kade gave me a letter written in red ink; it was too late when I realized it was blood.

9. Buck entered the saloon looking for a fight- he was staring right at me with a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.

10. They sat on the roof, gazing up at the stars, discussing their plans on when they would set the world on fire and dance in the ashes. 

11. Flames danced in his eyes as he glared at me; I was ready to die at that moment.

12. Casper was getting bored of reality, so he drifted into the world of dragons.

13. Doctor Clark studied the fingerprints left behind at the scene of the crime.

14. Alyssa and Samantha got lost in the woods; the next thing they remembered was walking down a cobblestoned street in early 1900’s London as the clock struck twelve.

15. Tommy was unusual because he kept on dreaming of flying fish and giant puppies, but he was my favorite kid to babysit.

16. The little girl watched in terror as her father turned into a demon.

17. He was chasing down the criminal when all of a sudden, they turned on him.

18. Aris was in a panic when the alarms sounded off, telling him to evacuate the spacecraft, but he was far from Earth.

19. He woke up swimming in the ocean eyes of his long-gone lover from Atlantis.

-----------------------------------------

And that's all of them! 

Comment your favorite ones because I'm curious on what you guys think.

I tried to write horror, romance, comedy, action, sci-fi, fantasy, surrealism, mystery, historical fiction (? kinda), and.. I think that's it but I could be forgetting one or two. 

What do you think? Like, am I weird? Well, the answer is yes. But come on now. Talk to me. Give me your thoughts. That would be nice. :-)

My sentences are long because I'm so damn extra. 

Thanks for reading! :D