Our Little Corner

Growing writer. Growing Nerdfighter. Growing Sherlock-ian and Whovian. Dedicated crazy person. Hi, I’m Jen. This is my blog. It’s basically where I’m going to post up my writings. I love writing prose and I stumble through poetry but still write it anyways. I’m currently (trying to) finish off a novel about zombies and unconventional characters so I may also post up some short snippets of it here and there. I also post up random things from time to time, to keep you guys on your toes :) Have any questions? Feel free to ask. All posts tagged "ourlittlecorner" is my own work, so please don't steal.

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11th June, 2014

Handwriting Meme

Tagged by midnightvalkyrie

Name: Jen

URL: our-lit-corner

Blog Title: Our Little Corner

Favourite Colour: Blue & Red

Crush: Someone with soulful eyes, a wonderful smile and the heart of a lover.

Something in all Caps: I SUCK UNDER PRESSURE

Favourite bands: Macklemore, Daughter, Boyce Avenue, Queen, The Civil Wars, A Great Big World, Momford & Sons, Orla Gartland, Demi Lovato, Ed Sheeran, Jack Johnson, Jhameel, Of Monsters & Men... etc. (I stopped myself before I got carried on)

Lucky No.: ummm... I don't have one?...

Favourite drink: Water (boring, I know), Milk

Tag people: audsten, spontaneous-girl, kitellines

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We dance around the subject until our toes become bruised and our souls become tattered.

.

[ausnfcompliments]

Jennifer T is beautiful and hilarious. She deserves ALL the good things!

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Damien sits quietly on the couch, almost eaten up by the colourful array of pillows surrounding him as his hands tightly grip at a large novel. He’s enraptured by the damn thing, with eyes darting about the page and lips twitching; whispering each word as if he was reciting a prayer. The cute little sight saddens me. He’s been wedged between the pages of that book for three hours and I’ve been bored for the last two and a half. I stare at him intently; thinking, futilely that he might feel my bored gaze and come to my rescue, but alas the fictional story is somehow more interesting than his girlfriend. Which I find scandalous, because I’m the one that willingly sleeps with him.

  “Damien, I’m bored.” I moan into his ear as I slide in beside him. My chin rests on his shoulder and I annoyingly blow into his ear; knowing that above all other methods, this one would catch his attention the fastest.

  “Munroe, just a couple more minutes. Mr. Jolyon is going to get the telegram from Irene soon and then we can hang out.” Damien mutters, softly nudging me and my warm breath away from his ear. I let out a defeated sigh, resigned to now having to take out the big guns. I yank the thick book from his hands, wedge it deeply between two of the numerous couch cushions and straddle his lap, ducking down and giving him a slow deep kiss. I lightly tug at the ends of his dark hair at the nape of his neck, knowing full well it would leave him with an adorable glazed look; and sure enough when I pull away for air his brown eyes are glassy.

  “What was that for?” He murmurs, smiling up at me.

  “I miss you.” “You’re really bored, huh?” Seeing past my half lie and chuckles.

  “Yeah,” I admit, leaning down and giving him a peck. “I want to go outside.”

  “You’re like a needy dog,” He jokes, but quickly tacks on at the sight of my face. “A very sexy, smart, talented needy dog that is all mine.”

“Are you calling me your bitch?” “Yes.”

  “Woof.” I bark playfully then climb off his lap and towards the front door. “Now let’s go for a walk.”

This is an AU of my novel Medusa’s Raft of my two lovely characters, Munroe and Damien. I love them. I hope you do too.

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Yes. Oh. My. God. Yessss!

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Dark Night

Nights like tonight

When comfort eludes me,

When thick smog hovers over.

      Its spindly fingers

Tap, ta-tap

Tap, ta-tap

At my rip cage.

My heart quivers

And with a

                snap

     I relent.

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Callused hands work their way into my soul.

.

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Do I live in a dented mirror?

How do I not see what you clearly do?

I see arms too weak to carry even the lightest of loads.

I see eyes too small to see the mistakes of the world.

I see a body swelling with greed

Sucking away at the vibrancy of life.

How can you not see this when it is right in front of you?

When I, in all my disfigured glory, stand before you.

When I wrap my scarred arms too tightly around you.

When I, take all that I do not deserve

Yet still have the audacity to ask for more.

[notpervymess]

Boobs

Now that I have your attention,

Hello! :)

Thanks for following!

[observando]

I’m happy. Which often looks like crazy.

David Henry Hwang, M. Butterfly (via observando)

[midnightvalkyrie]

The Memory of You Lingers

Sometimes I find wisps of smoke where your head was once resting on my left shoulder, clinging onto the fabric of my favourite blue sweater. Sometimes I find ashes sprinkled on the welcome mat of my front door, the remainder of a love that had burned so strong that it eventually consumed itself.

[observando]

The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that the situation is over, you cannot move forward.

Steve Maraboli (via observando)

[notpervymess]

To the Boy on the Bus:

Don’t think I didn’t notice your cool blue earbuds. No, really. I think they’re cool looking. It’s a pretty blue. I think I told you so. You smiled and nodded. You smelled of bacon oil. I wondered if your Morning Eggs were fluffy. Girls deserve post coital eggs in the...

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To the girl in the dress.

You are beautiful.

Beautiful. In a way a skilled writer could only ever dream to depict – trust me, I know.

Today, that fact hit me so hard in the face I truly and wholeheartedly felt my heart twinge. With righteous anger because I see this girl in the dress and I see her from her leather encased toes to the dark caverns hidden beneath those eyes – and I’m angry. That she doesn’t see what I see; she doesn’t see you for the kindness in your words, for the honest art between each thought or for the truly beautiful enigmatic creature before me. Instead all she sees when she looks in the mirror is a miniscule speck of who you really are.

And you know what? I don’t care if you don’t want to wear another dress for another month or year or decade. First of all it’s your choice, and secondly if I see such a sight so often I will come to terms with such beauty… and that would be a crime. Because beauty, whether it be the sight of the stars or the feel of soft grass or the songs of crickets or a truly, truly magnificent girl in a dress – it should never be forgotten. But the thing is we do forget. We forget and we take advantage. We forget and we don’t appreciate.

But what you reminded me of today was to remember it. To notice the speckled starlight scattered across the heavens, to notice the damp green grass tickling at my soul and to notice the crickets chirping their unknown melodies and to notice that you were always beautiful (with, or without a dress) and what’s great about forgetting is the heart-jerking (heart-warming, heart-aching) feeling we experience when we remember the splendour of these beautiful things and we appreciate. We look around and we appreciate.

We spend the rest of that hour, that day, that week, that month. Appreciating.

So, I have to thank you. You don’t know why I have to, but I felt myself begin to slide down a fathomless slope and all I needed was a beautiful girl in a dress to remind me to appreciate. So thank you for being my beautiful girl in a dress.

<3 Jen

[midnightvalkyrie]

I am a fallen star dropped from the void of the cosmos, once surrounded by darkness, breathing in oblivion, until I tumbled down to Earth. You found me and took the  glistening stars from my eyes, the streaming comet tails  that marked my cheeks, and my mind, a hypnotic black hole. With a shatter the galaxies blew out  like an overworked light bulb,  raining glass down in fine sugared particles - for we are all particles - and I was left emptier than  the void I once occupied.

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Beware the Bitch

Prompt from Val: Serial Killer - Lana Del Ray

I hide thorns in my heart like a serial killer hides a bloody knife under their bed; in a deep dark place until someone special enough beckons the sharpened blades forward.

  ***

  A disease courses through my veins, one unable to be cured by miracle medicines and magical machines. It ruins lives. It steals away hope. But it leaves me with a beautiful tragedy and the taste of satisfaction on my lips.

  I frequent the lives of men who have given up hope for love. They’re moths to my flame and with a sweet promise I light up their world and gladly burn up every morsel of it. They don’t notice that; they notice the laugh. The mysterious eyes. The warm body. The devotion isn’t what drives me. Oh, no. What makes my blood sing is when I have them by the heart and they notice my sharp teeth. My dead eyes. My cold heart. I slit their idea of love right in the Carotid artery and watch with a sinful smile as their love and their hope bleed out from their eyes and onto the dirty carpet.

  ***

  I conceal my addiction to heartbreak like a serial killer conceals their bloodlust; behind a smile with too much teeth and not enough sincerity.

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I like

Those safety scissors with the sticky blades

And the rubber grips that pinch a little skin

as you snip along. They make you careful,

Just as you should be, cutting out a heart

For someone you love.

A Perfect Heart

   - Ted Kooser