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I often find that my greatest fears, or rather, any of my fears at all make for an abundance of inspiration in my writings. I am fortunate, yes, but I also wonder how my life would be if I didn't have as many, that when I would stand in front of my class to present or swing too high on the swing set I wouldn't have to worry of the possible expulsion of my last meal, that whenever someone recalled an event from my past, there wouldn't be a racing heart or sweaty palms as I searched frantically through my memory for something they held so dear. In ways I do not truly understand, parts of me regret not being able to control myself better. If only I wasn't as tense when talking to strangers. If only I held every one of my memories on close file to look back on when I wished. At least, this proves I'm human, right? I can feel things, too.
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Anyways, I wrote a poem for English class to help me make sense of it all. It was an assignment, but like all assignments incorporating writing, I made it personal. She called it a villanelle. I call it "Gone."
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"Please do not disappear!"
I yelled at the fading memories.
I only want them to be near.
~
And gone were the people that I held dear,
those twisted people, my enemies.
"Please do not disappear!"
~
And soon what happened, my greatest fear,
the worst of the atrocities!
I only want them to be near.
~
But they, my pets, caused so much drear,
leaving nothing but apologies.
"Please do not disappear!"
~
And now my mind is clear.
So instant were gone my memories.
I only want them to be near.
~
Mourning them every year,
I scream in extensies,
"Please do not disappear,"
for I only want them to be near.
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Not my best work, but since it was only an assignment, and the fact that I turned it in late, it isn't the worst. It displays my feelings toward losing my memories, one of my greatest fears. Maybe a day in the future I will learn to store them better, or not. Time tells all, after all.

Current Mood: hungry

Pursuing my journey through life, it has come to my attention that people find joy in the suffering of others. As such, I will soon join them in the darker side of reality, for where I am now is not a place I see fit for my untimely demise. I will excel in the multitudinous of lessons where the meaning of all things will be granted to me. Concluding the path of knowledge, I will shed my mortal flesh with great pain. Bystanders throughout will look upon me with disgust and hatred, but I will not fight back. Then, and only then, can I dare to judge others for how they go about their day to day activities. The darkness consumes me like a vile parasite. It is not welcoming or friendly or pleasurable. My vital organs have all but retired, and I writhe in agony over the earth. This is what I deserve to even consider me better than those who are pursuing journeys for themselves. I only hope that afterwards I am slightly recognizable to a select few, ones that despise my being with every fiber of their existence but cannot bear to look away. These thoughts plague my presence and haunt the cessation of my mind. I spiral but I cannot escape. I sink but I cannot breathe. I scorch but I cannot move. Is this what I'm destined to be? If this is what I've become, then is my journey complete? Am I punished in this way by mankind to forever gaze upon all who I've looked down on when the prediction of extinction was at my beck and call? Do not discourage self, I cry. My eternal anguish, here I stay, forfeiture lest I perish.
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Evaluating this piece, it begins with a character who wants the privilege to judge those who live similar lives as them without feeling guilty. They find it best to learn about doing so, and in the process, discover how to become immortal. They think they are able to finally judge the people as they see fit, but soon the character finds that with immortality comes hatred and disgust from the everyday people they once wanted to criticize. The character then finds themself longing for even a look in their direction. Following the desperation, the character experiences a sort of an existential crisis and begins to question everything. In the end, they find that it is better to give up their mortal coil in fear of a death longer than their life. This is what I thought when writing it but it can be interpreted in many different ways.
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Inspo pic:

Credits: genicecream (insta/tumblr)

Current Mood: thirsty

While searching through old school notebooks, I came across one for my history class where we had to glue pieces of paper and a bunch of random things in it while we learned about ancient peoples like the Mesopotamians or the Romans. In between the pages, I found a diary entry where I pretended to live in one of those ancient cities, and though I can no longer remember which one it was or even if I chose a real city, I'd say I did a pretty okay job at conveying the life back then...

Dear diary,
Today is the first day of summer. I just got back from pottery and my mom expects me to sweep the porch. It only has a couple of leaves, but I sweeped it anyway. It turns out you're supposed to clean the broom before you start sweeping. Now the porch is even more messier than it was in the beginning. Now I only hope that my mom doesn't find out.
I was walking back inside when I thought I heard water running. I ran into the house and checked under my bed. There was nothing. I ran back outside and looked into the well. There was nothing. I ran to the river and stuck my head under the water. Still nothing. Then I heard the most terrifying sound. A little girl screaming. I knew just where it was coming from. It was the one place that I haven't even thought of, the beach. I ran over there with my heart racing. When I got there, I saw no girl. I just saw the waves and the water. My heart was really beating now. It was beating so fast that I thought it was going to pop out of my chest. The next thing I saw was beautiful and scary. Right in front of me was a 30 foot tall wave. I wanted to runaway but I was paralyzed with fear. All I could do was scream. I screamed so loud that everyone from the top of Mt. Olympus to the very south of Crete could hear me. Everyone was running around and going crazy, but it was to late. The wave washed over me and every one in the village. We all died the same way as the little girl. We were all dragged down to the deepest trench of the sea and were never heard from again.
Sincerely,
(...)

Looking back on it now, it would have benefited me greatly if I paid more attention during my lessons. The sweeping part of the story was true, however. I did in fact make the porch significantly more dirty than when I started. I only hope my history teacher found enjoyment in reading it.

Current Mood: mellow

Unfortunately for me, I have accumulated a deep and extremely one-sided love for my childhood best friend, and it is ever growing (like a snowball if you will). Since she will only ever think of me as a friend, I have found myself writing poetry of her any chance I could get. This one is my favorite and was written in an English class not too long ago. I call it "Flight for Two."

*****
( Read More )

Current Mood: tired
Current Music: Let You Break My Heart Again - Laufey and Philharmonia Orchestra

For years I've searched for the perfect place to post my writings and thoughts, and though I have already tried various platforms such as Tumblr or Young Writers Society, I've decided to give this one a try as well. So here it goes...

The day awoke along with a girl, her eyes widened with curiosity, her brain itching to try something new. She peered out her bedroom window realizing it was early enough for her to complete everything she could possibly think of, but what was she going to do? Oh, the possibilities seemed to stretch the length of the horizon, expanding as the new sun would across the land. Maybe she would pick up a book. The stories would fuel her mind. Maybe she would pick up a pencil. Writing her feelings would give her peace. Maybe she would pick up a sandwich. A hearty meal would satisfy her stomach. Maybe she would pick up a movie. Watching an adventure unfold would give taste to her creativity. Maybe she would pick up a map. An exploration would heighten her senses. There was so much to accomplish, and she didn't know where to start, so she picked up her laptop and signed in. The internet would give her ideas. She traveled far and wide over the course of what felt like a lifetime and a half before she came upon a website, a website that welcomed the itch she so desperately craved satisfaction for. Making an account and customizing her page was the easy part, but what would she share with the world, what did they want to hear? She hadn't the slightest idea.

Current Mood: artistic

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Do You Remember Me?

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