#creative wirting

[usedtobe-writingbyella]

hello, you. in my head, my knees are bruised. eyes wide, looking up at you the same way wolves look at the moon - or, should that say dogs? (they wear collars) - yes. yes. yes, sir. yes, please and thank you. a gentleman must be spoken to properly. reprimand yourself, silently, soaking. a blood red moon makes you think of marks left upon skin. reprimand yourself again. keep it PG. i am accustomed to men ignoring the warning sign around my neck, but they do it with ignorance - you do it.. deliberately. like you’ve been here before. like you know these roads or somehow were involved in their implementation.  it’s all fantasy, of course, i promise. i promise. just an escape; the type of restraints that free. 

[mybubblesofthought]

15. Found Writing

I am consumed, cracked and replastered.

I am hollow now.

I am old.

I am crooked.

I have never been more lost.

I have never been less lost.

I live in the tower that sought to capture me.

Forty years ago it did.

[tinyblips]

I feel the plush carpet under my feet. If I try hard enough, I could be conscious of nothing else, and maybe the pain would finally fade away. If I try hard enough, maybe I could forget the fact that you aren’t here when you should be here. But I know that our days are numbered, and I know that forever doesn’t exist. I know this.

I feel the plush carpet under my feet. I know that forever doesn’t exist. I know that. But the pain is still in my heart, and it feels like you should be here when you’re not. And after all of this trying so hard to focus on the plush carpet under my feet, my mind’s broken open and there’s only one thing blaring in my mind, over and over.

You’re not here. You’re not here. You’re not here. You’re not here.

[writingessance]

uhhhhhhhhhhh so im going to ask a really bizarre out of left field question for y'al,l but is anyone here a poc specifically African American? i want to interview someone so i can make my character like accrete and sensitive. sorry if that's like really weird?

[usedtobe-writingbyella]

i think of you more often than i have ever thought of anyone else before.

[heypocessive]

In Comparison

And why there shouldn’t be

He sits beside me in the crowded cafe. Our arms are almost touching as I sip my tea while he checks his watch from time to time. I go slowly because I want to savor the moment. And as I reduce myself to silence beside him, a million words materialize in my head, filling the gap between us that couldn’t be closed. He was late but he tells me he has to leave in 15 minutes -- so I nod and tell him that I enjoyed the wait anyway.

It is always like this with him: I, an irony and he, a paradox.

He gets up to leave. In times like this, I think of how funny it is that no matter how close we get, how physically near we are to each other, there will always be that space between us that I can never fill. And that’s where words become handy. They provide answers to the questions that arise from that void -- so I write. Short words, long words, common and uncommon. I string together sentences in an attempt to describe him... and me. And who we have become through the years.

Then I smile because it is never like that with you.

With you, I do not worry because distance and intimacy have no direct relationship. I do not need words to bridge the miles from me to you -- instead, I only need them to describe how my day went, or how I think red lipstick suits me well.

Instead of trying to figure out what we are, I use words to tell you that your hair looks great. That I think you are wonderful. That I think the rest of our lives is pretty damn short to be able to do everything we set out to do. I use words to write you poems that I am too shy to give. I use words to whisper good nights and I love yous in those moments when we are in between waking and sleeping.

For the first time, I am glad to be rid of words. I am glad to be rid of poetry and prose that can only go so much. For the first time, I am glad that I do not need them -- that I can sit miles away from you, perfectly silent, and still feel that I am finally whole.

[zoemikel-stites]

If You Like What I Post . . .

If You Like What I Post . . .

Hello! I realized that I haven’t really said anything about my Patreon profile on here. Basically what it comes down to is that I love to write. Its on my mind all the time, and I do it every day. Right now I’m working on my short stories, but I’m also working on a novel under the working title of Mark Of Life, as well as actively writing for a podcast that will be premiering this December. If…

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[aldnnwll]

a cloud of smoke that looked remarkably like you

yeah well it’s not summer anymore

and you’re still sitting on your

porch like some mother fucking

smooth talking cat throwing back

wild turkey you caught in the yard

swelling with all the untamed thoughts

of the day you spew out later on

dragging your nose across some dirty

fuck toilet do another line do another

line spit a line kiss a pretty face tell

her about the songs in your head

your antiquated radio-brain some line some bullshit

transmitting on all frequencies on repeat

like you’ve said it before and will say it again

charming and all the pretty girls all the love

and all the fucking if you can just keep your

dick hard long enough like smashing your head against

the off-white wall not so hard breaks like an eggshell

more than an off-white like you deserve it

like all the little ants that have been slaughtered in

your name didn’t deserve it and they should be

crawling around as you writher on

the floor like some fucking magic trick

pulled out of a hat and held by the ears as

a dirty illusion that never was