Writing blahs

Words seem to fail me at times.

I can feel my breath hitching and I can feel the words getting caught in my throat and coming out like a garbled alien language that our ears have never touched in all of our life times.

I can almost grip the words and still, I feel them slipping away. I touch the sharp edges of the blatant and brutal words that slip out of my mouth and I cut my finger on them. The blood turns into the words I never say, soft spoken words of romantic feelings and sharp and jagged words of hatred and spite and blunt words of dejection and sadness.

I can feel them rise again in my throat and I can feel them slowly slipping out. They come out garbled and quick and in a rush like a waterfall down a mountain side. They come out with no control on them, and I grasp at them hurriedly before they hurt someone out of my carelessness.

But they always do.


The colours shone brightly through the window. I pressed my palm up against the cool glass, grinning to myself as I watched the colours dance before my eyes. They moved and flittered around like fairies dancing in the sun. I traced the pattern it caused as it bounced off metal and glass, shining brightly into every part of the farm.

I got up, shakily and slowly out of my chair and over to the door. The door was white and old, pair chipping at the edges of it, and it squeaked every time I opened it up. I opened the door, the squeak if the rusty hinges following me as I walked outside. The slap of my slippers graced the floor, as I followed the path a of light across the front porch. And then I looked up. Up above me, where it seemed that fairies and angels would fly, was a brightly coloured rainbow. Violet, indigo, red, yellow, blue, and all the other colours danced across the country side, fluttering and fluttering. The light twinkled in the glasses of my face, and I smiled brightly. The warmth of the sun enhanced the joy I felt at this point in time, and I walked over to the porch swing and sat myself down on it and sat there, for the rest of the afternoon. Just to watch the rainbow.


Apparently it’s a place of learning.

It feels more like a cage,

Where beasts lie and squabble over every crumb.

Where noises are made,

And louder ones are made to be overheard.

Where the louder you are,

The more identity you get.

It’s a survival of the fittest.

The urges aren’t controlled.

Instead they’re fed on.

Like the food chain.

You’ll be eaten alive.

Watch your back.

The guys are mean.

And the girls are meaner.

No one has any courtesy.

Every man for himself.


They’re a prominent part of the school code.

No matter what the teachers do.

They feed on the lies.


It’s a hardly spoken word.

A word only the bravest use.

And the weirdest.

There’s no decency left anymore.

We’re all,

Just animals.

I’m drowning.

I can’t breathe.

Everything overwhelming me

And I can’t escape.

I need,

Some form of escape.


Roaming eyes

She was distressed. His eyes always landed on someone that wasn’t her. She cared for him, really cared. And she thought he did too. She watched him talk, watched him flirt and roam. She watched with her hand clasped tightly onto her drink, her throat becoming increasingly tight. He laughed happily and loudly, touching the women gently with his hand. It was always on the shoulder, the small of their back, their arm or waist.

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Why I write

The reasons why I write are the reasons why I have coped with all the crap thrown at me in my life.

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The last time

We all end up going through a tough time. I know that feeling. But when someone we have been friends with for a long time hurts us during that time, we sometimes retaliate in the worst ways and hurt ourselves in the process. But we need to let go of that friendship. If they weren’t there for you, they weren’t meant to be your friend. We just need to let go of our mistakes. And when it gets to the point where you are lying to each other about your true selves, you really need to let go. This is a same situation, and letting go of it.

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My last words to you.

These are the last things I ever thought about of my bullies. What I would like to have said, about how they made me feel and how I’ve risen above them. I know they are all going down the wrong path, and I find it satisfying. I know it sounds cruel, but it’s their choices. The choose to bully me, so I have no positive feelings towards them. Just yeah…

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