Истории Observational

Questions I try to answer

A poem about my struggle being raised by an abusive parent(s). Rough-ish first attempt!

Observational Synopsis of recurring dreams.

Ceira Hartwell is a young woman with a desire to becoming a teacher, just like her nursery teacher Miss Davis. She begins her career as a teaching assistant in a large primary school in London. However, life in Drayton Road Primary is far from being anything like the pleasant memories of her childhood, as Miss Hartwell soon discovers.

Observations about a young woman leaving home. A vignette follow-up to "SAM BUSSARD: Used Animal Dealer".

a collection of poems by me i hope you like it but you probably won't be critical please, destroy me. I'll do the same.

The people are left feeling according to their beliefs that everything allowed has been accomplished and that there is nowhere else to go or any way for birth to be procreated any longer, this is an excerptive rendition with references of accruing interest about those people's natural selection activity after they feel they have burnt through their leader's expense and actually feel remarkably rectified and freed.

A collection of poems I write when I'm bored. Poem Headings [Allegory] - A piece that uses both subtle and explicit reference and metaphor to explore an idea, such as a system of beliefs. [Dialogue] - An explanation or exploration of a personal fault, shortcoming, or trait. [Metaphysical] - Generally romantic or philosophical; touches on a common human trope in a new metaphorical way. [Observatory] - A pastoral designed to invoke imagery. [Philosophical] - An examination or exploration of a common human trope. [Romantic] - Exactly what it says: addressed to another in loving adoration. (Prose) - Written without rhyme or verse. (ref.) - Borrows an idea as indirect inspiration from another piece, either poetry or prose.

Hi... My name is Emily Blackmoor. You've probably stumbled across this novel hiding in the corner somewhere and thought, "ooh this sounds like a cozy novel to read!" Well, you'd be right. If you're also prepared to follow the tales of a university student who observes the world in wit - and declares war with a feline - well you're in for a treat! Don't worry if you find Lilycote's walls to be covered in cracks! They've always been there...

Some people remember things so nothing falls apart. Some people notice what needs doing before anyone asks. Some people carry responsibility so quietly it starts to feel like air. And some people do all of it - without ever agreeing to. I Didn't Agree to Be the One Who Remembers is a quiet, companionable book for anyone who has become the keeper of details, timing, emotional smoothing, and unspoken follow-ups - and isn't entirely sure how that happened. This is not a book about fixing, optimising, or improving your life. It doesn't offer advice, strategies, or conversations to have. Instead, it moves through the ordinary, slightly absurd moments of over-carrying - the things that don't get written down, the effort it takes to explain, the relief of staying silent, the strange tiredness that lingers even after rest. There are no villains here. No dramatic awakenings. No pressure to do anything differently. Just a steady noticing of how responsibility becomes automatic - and what it costs when it does. Written as a series of brief scenes and reflections, this book keeps you company rather than pulling you forward. It doesn't ask you to change. It simply names what's been there all along. For readers who sense that "doing everything" stopped being a choice somewhere along the way - and want recognition without obligation - this book offers a place to sit for a while. Nothing needs to happen next.

Poems I wrote when I'm bored. Feel free to read and join me in my adolescent years 😆

People are complicated. But, are they? "The kindest hearts have felt the most pain. The brightest smiles often hide the deepest sadness. The prettiest eyes have cried the most tears." - Unknown Everyone has a role they're known for. This is about the ones who are never asked what it costs them to keep playing it.

A poem about the world, and though it sounds cliche... I believe the world is very small, and that's what this poem has to say.

Greasy windows into a world we all know.