BitterTea Writing

Thought I should try and keep this stuff in one place

[bitterteawriting]

Vice

Off-kilter, a misstep and suddenly your home is foreign. One thing, a shift of the atmosphere and your heart is a separate being. Gradually and without conscious consent, I slip and then free-fall into needs bordering depravity. Addiction can be anything and my worst vice is people.

Bird in my heart, wings of silver and I once more long for the sea. I slowly dissolve under hot breath, lose sense and shape and leash. I burn at my own touch and finally words visit paper. My muse, solitary, lingers in the corners of my eyes and by the curve of my throat.

Whispers; leave, run, this land is sacred and your feet are unholy. Keep your breath and save the beat of your heart, you’ll need it. Fear the fire. I seek out subzero so I can crave heat and forget it burns.

[bitterteawriting]

My writing, secondary blog

Mostly for my own sake I made a secondary blog just for my writing - I’d like to have it all in one place.  From now on I’ll post here and if relevant, reblog it from my main, addicted-to-bitter-tea. Follow and unfollow at your own discretion! ^^

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

I write because I love the written word. I love how magic happens between blank paper and small black letters. And when I dream of one day being published, it’s not because of fame and it’s not because of money. It’s not about seeing my writing in the stores or in the theatre.

It’s because the greatest thing I could accomplish would be touching someone’s mind. I dream about meeting someone for the first time and being told; “I read your story.”

And I’d know that my words had been inside them. 

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

Falling in love outside school while cleaning my semi-automatic rifle - A Report

Author’s note: I just had to write this, it’s no particular characters and I don’t know if it’s done or if I’m gonna write more, but here you go: Night Vale love story.

On a rescheduled Wednesday I fell in love. One moment I was waiting in line outside school, my book-bag slung across my shoulders – of course empty of books as any book-bag should always be. I am a good student, not like those bad students who are totally why we have to wait in line every morning while the guard goes around and listens for books. Anyway, there I was, waiting in line and cleaning my semi-automatic rifle, as is a popular way of spending the time, and I see this guy with a semi-automatic shotgun. I nod at him and he nods at me, and just as I’m about to begin the reassembling; I fall in love. 

Now as you can imagine, this was pretty inconvenient; cleaning kit tools, dirty and clean rags and rifle parts scattered all over the place. As I sat up and did a quick perimeter scan I found that the guy had fallen in love with me, though at the time he was unaware of it as he was unconscious. He must have had fallen harder than I did. While he was out I assessed what we had of provisions. It was not much; five city council approved school lunch packs (of course including several tacks hidden in the food), enough ammunition for two days each, two water bottles and one filled with lazy, red smoke. 

When he woke up and after a short briefing on our situation, he pulled a hunting knife from his boot and slit the lining of his book-bag, revealing a couple of dried meat snacks. We shared one as we discussed our options now that we were in love. Falling out of love again, if it ever happens, is an exceedingly rare within the first three months, so it was quite a dire fate. Never the less, we both agreed we were happy to have fallen in love, as opposed to crushing on each other – while often short-lived is also excruciatingly painful. I consider myself lucky to have fallen with someone as capable as he; we may have a chance (If not, the one that lives longer have more to eat.). I will continue to keep this journal as we battle the difficulties of being in love.

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

Sometimes I want to run. As fast as my legs can carry me. As far as a train will take me. Sometimes I want to run, Until the reason I felt alone would be because I was. Until I could reminisce and say; I did something didn’t I? With all this wasted time of mine.

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

A helium mind with a lost string,

No tether in the body where it belongs.

Tired, lighter than air, it seeps along the ground exhausted.

Scraped on rocks and wars of the internal kind,

It will be once again be cradled by blood and soul,

Told with insistent, fervent whispers;

You are here, you are here, you are here.

Again and again.

Until tempestuous winds become an uprising,

The earth a safe place to stay,

And words have an anchoring weight.

You are here. You are here. You are here.

With us.

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

himo-sama replied to your post:Challenge me pleease..

Oh you should just write me! I’d love to give you those kinds of challenges! 268 words, emotional, sexy text about cabbage!

Omg I’m dying hahahahaah!XD (also, I sent you a bunch of asks a while ago, why no answer yet?!XD)  I did my best but this was really tough!! Trying to mix emotional and sexy is one thing, but adding cabbage to it? You demon!  Anyway here you go:

He was a boy whose crooked timidness held her at bay throughout their childhood. When they played, he more often watched from his mother’s skirts, than joined. An icky youth, she thought, and wrinkled her nose at him, as she herself blossomed quite lusciously. Soft-spoken and awkward, so easily overlooked at any social gathering. Nor did he have the slightest hint of an poet’s romantic charm – in fact, he didn’t even read. She might have forgiven him his flaws, had he had money, but no; his dad’s cabbages were all the fortune he had. He was definitely not for her. So she whisked past his cabbages on the arms of other boys: Boys that made her giggle, boys that gave her gifts, boys that stole kisses and whipped their horses, so her heart leapt into her throat from the wild ride. And under her fleeting glances and wrinkled nose, he slowly grew into a soft-spoken, awkward man. She got a glimpse one day, of how he gently brushed dirt off the full, round cabbage-heads with his bare hands. Then a peek, as he peeled back the snugly folded leaves and examined its maturity with practiced fingers. Their eyes met across the church aisle at the Sunday Mass and she blushed, turning her nose away. His obsession with cabbages was frankly unsettling, she gossiped to her friends – who would ever willingly marry him? A pity, she decided, as his hands had no fault, nor his shy smile. And one afternoon she kissed him and bade him lie her down and soothe the sweet ache he had planted in her.

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

write a text about pigeons that rimes please <3

Speckled; dirty feathers; one-legged; not always pretty,

They’re the wildlife of the city.

From the ground they peck and peel the waste,

We discarded in our egoistic haste.

In-between the concrete cliffs they hide their nests,

Yet still they are by many viewed as pests.

But with dainty claws and beak, they soar across the blue sky dome,

Above the drab, busy street that we call home.

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

I'll make you an offer you can't refuse. You have to do a descriptive first part of the Hotdog Guys Daughter, it has to be at least 500 words! It has to have this "something-is-up" about it! There must be inner dialogue, and you need to include the word: sausage-fest at least ones. I think it would be cool to end it like.. A cliffhanger, don't you?

This was so hard! There’s a reason I don’t write murder mysteries, and I haven’t written novel-style stories for years.XD I may come back and change some stuff, but you deserve to see the result today.<3 858 words!Disclaimer: Don’t read if you don’t like swearing or cannibalism.XD Also I’ve never worked in a hotdog stand and the inspiration is the Danish type of hotdogs. Enjoy my awkward writing!XD

Keep reading

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

If I was to liken myself with a body part it would be my hands. I like them; I know they won’t simply break, and yet still I keep them out of harm’s way. My hands are what I use to communicate affection, they’ll dance across someone’s back – press into the muscle, rub along the spine, scratch over skin, slide along their cheek, pet their hair and hold their hand. They’re my tool for honesty and sharing, because the spoken word was never really my friend, so it’s my hands that grasp a pen and write down my thoughts, it’s my hands that tap out my story and my truth on the keyboard.

Speaking aloud about the things that matter never really spoke to me. 06-01-2015 (via addicted-to-bitter-tea)

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

Shelter for the cherished

A bird in a cage,

Tiny, shivering, feathered being.

Your feet are warm, your pulse fast-paced,

The rain is cold and where you live is far away from home.

You could be crushed, you are not free to fly

And yet at times you will sing.

Thank you.

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

You are complete

It’s strange to look at someone you know and just think; Wow. You are so beautiful. This very instant I am looking at you: Not just the present, but the past and the possibilities too. 

The face that is yours, the one you were born with, the one that aged and changed, and changed again…and again and will continue to change for the rest of your life. Your cheeks that dimple with a smile or streak with tears, your eyes, your mouth - all the emotion I’ve seen you express and all that you’ve kept hidden. 

You are more than what I remember and what I know - you are that as well as everything you will never let me see. Right now, this moment, this second, tomorrow, a week and a year from now too, you are whole.  

I am not just looking at someone I know, I am looking at you and everything you are - regardless of whether I see it or not.  You are complete.

And it’s so strange to look at your everything, visible and withheld, and think; Wow. You are so dear to me. 

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

Reflection on the word reflection

And why it is super important to do.

Take a look at the definition of the word reflection. It does mean ‘thinking’, but it also means the image a shiny surface projects at you. That these two things share a word is not a coincidence. Imagine that for the entire day people have been staring at you weirdly – do you have food in your teeth? Is your make-up all the way down your cheeks? Is your clothes see-through, are you going bald or what’s going on?! Thank god there’s a mirror in the bathroom right? Now, the special thing about a reflection is that it does not show the world as it actually is, it shows it flipped vertically (unless it’s a spoon, spoons are messed up). When you look at yourself in a mirror, you are seeing yourself from different angle. So if you are not willing to look at your reflection – at the flipped-view version of you – how are you going to know if you’ve got food on your face? You can ask your friends, but you can’t actually confirm that they’re telling the truth. 

It’s the same with the ‘thinking’ reflection. That too means seeing something from a different angle. If you are not willing to see your actions and opinions from different perspective and consider the flipped-view version of them, you cannot reflect on them and thus you can’t know if there is something wrong. Which makes it a whole lot harder to improve.

Finally, you should always remember that you are not reflecting for other people’s sake. If you look in the mirror and you have food in your teeth, you are not removing it because it will offend other people; you are removing it because you, yourself don’t want to have food in your teeth, right? Likewise with reflecting on stuff; it’s not for other people’s sake, it’s for your own – are you actually projecting the things you want to, or is there something that needs to change? The point is, you can’t know until you actually look at yourself from a different perspective. 

(And if you look in the mirror and find out people are staring because you’re rocking some awesome hairstyle that’s out of the norm, and you totally meant to have that hairstyle from the beginning, well then rock your hairstyle and reflect a lot more so you can enjoy yourself!)

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

Misperception

He has no true being, no appearance strictly his own.

He hatched as something indistinct. Too much mixed blood to track any certain ancestral lines: Kin of a being with no form of its own; a skin cast only to look desirable for one at a time. The essence of his sire indecipherable; a metaphysical plane of existing fused with his physically present body. He’s young still and neither anxious as he was newborn, and as he will be again as he ages, nor is he yet hopeful or hopeless. He will never fully understand his nature, will never belong or connect in the way he does not yet know he craves. Too tangible, too solid to be a deity, less or more, too abstract and inconsistent for a being – too inessential to have real influence and too all-encompassing, too powerful to ever be considered anything other than a threat. Misperception is in his genes, his blood, his bones – it’s in his history and in his future, and it will stay.

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

Do you remember the last time you were terrified?

Maybe you don’t.

Maybe terrified seems an exaggeration to you, a childish notion reserved for incomprehensible fear in lack of understanding or perhaps a horror movie-like scenario. Maybe you know what scares you: The black-legged thing on the wall and the distance, from your office floor to the street, simply has you afraid. The age of your parent, and that friend you haven’t heard from yet, merely makes you worry.

There should be nothing terrifying about the things you understand, and yet maybe you do remember. The dulled hollowness of returning to the place where you’ve lived alone for years, of ending a call with your dad as he starts a long drive home, of telling yourself that accidents happen, time heals all wounds and don’t lie to yourself.

Maybe you remember your heart like a sewing machine, the lingering doubt of your bike downhill in busy traffic, the cold droning static of a TV show that no longer excites you, your life within four walls and beyond those; another four walls and another person cursing their internet, feet on the dusty floor they haven’t had the energy to vacuum, as they google the persistent headache they are sure is a sign of hereditary illness.

It’s in your power to change and yet your smile stings in your chest at yet another question of where you’re headed in the future, while you remember days of to-do lists stretched thin, thoughts on your pillow you cannot face and unknown deadlines looming as you queue one more decision on your playlist.

You age a day and wait by the mirror for your face to become unrecognizable, recalling the fast, rapid breaths of something you’re about to be late for, your bare feet on cold tiles and many hands freezing as they pass each other on the sidewalks: All of them and you, moving faster than even the world you were born on, yet falling behind as you sprint to catch the bus and tell yourself, you are not terrified.

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

Mågeskrig

Vandet hvisler mellem sten, sang bag tænder: Hvor længe må man længes efter et mågeskrig? Med hvidt skum i sjælen og koldt greb om ankler der trækker væk fra horisonten. Tungt sand og tørre øjne væltes omkuld i en by fuld af hjerteslag, vender hjem hvor vinden synger i vand og sang mod klipper.

[addicted-to-bitter-tea]

Commitment

Commitment.

Simple in theory; it gives you point of reference. A center around which your values and decisions must take shape. A single unshiftable nail in otherwise erratic behaviour.

Imagine this.

A sheet of fine silk. Transparent. Laid out on the ground. Unsettled, corners flicking. In a moment, a strong gust of wind will whisk it off the ground, carry it away, crumble it. Perhaps it will get caught in a tree. Perhaps it will be sucked into a lake. Possibly it will drag along the ground until it tears. There’s no telling what will happen.

So we nail it down. In a corner, or in the middle. It can still dance freely with the wind – only now it is tethered and even though it will eventually wear down, at least we know where it is.

Time passes and we discover more nails. Ornate ones. Ones of gold. Ones that are inherited. And well, the less the silk moves, the less it will wear.

Where we put those nails, shape us. Do they leave us free to roam or are we stretched tightly across the ground? When that strong wind finally comes, will we rip or give? Will our tethers hold or leave holes where they once kept us grounded?