I fight with the pen
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Ongoing18m
Last published Mon, Nov 9, 2020
"I fight with the pen", recalls writing, which with its power manages to make us escape from the world for a few moments; thus giving us the opportunity to dwell on ourselves, making us discover sides of our being that we did not believe we had since they were hidden under the veil of falsehood, which society imposes on us, as it already positions us in a certain place in the world, making us vanish our identity, our human being and precludes us from following our inclinations.
Writing can also be used as an outlet, a pastime or even as a medicine; with it the senses are calmed and our true soul can come out; we discover our true essence and delve into our thoughts and feelings considered ephemeral in appearance.
This project "I fight with the pen" makes you identify and makes you understand that the human race almost always has the same desires and concerns, you are not alone, you just need to understand and make yourself understood; another goal of this project is to bring other people to write about their emotions and to free themselves from inner evil, which cannot be released without the high help of writing.
In this book I will tell you, through some poems, my life experiences and what they aroused in me, hoping to immerse readers in my emotions and anxieties.
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#327
cruel
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The experiment.
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Twisted
"I think I'm gay." I say, leaving out the part about my... exposing dream about him last night. I watched his expression, waiting for some sign that he was angry. I waited for him to call me a faggot, to curse me off and tell me he never wanted to see me again. Instead, I was greeted with his perfect toothy smile. "That's great man, I'm of proud you." He says, patting my arm as he stuffed another cracker in his mouth. "It takes some real balls to come out to someone." He says, his beautiful green eyes blazing into mine. I felt myself become flustered at his gaze. "Uh, Yeah, Thanks." I stumbled out, "You're not mad?" I ask. His expression turns to hurt as he crinkles his eyebrows. "Why the hell would I be mad?" He asks, hesitating on the crackers and pushing them away. "I just thought-it's just- well... you just always seem so pissed when someone mentions the word gay." I spit out words, scared for his reaction. He sighs, "That doesn't fucking mean I hate gays. Normally when I do that it's because someone's using the word 'gay' to hate on them, it just pisses me off, you know?" He asks, bringing the crackers back into his lap and biting into them. "Plus-" He adds on, "You're my best friend, if anything, you being gay is a blessing. I'll always support you." He says, glancing at me through the side of his eyes. I look away, towards the door to hide the crimson blush that I feel spread over my face. "Thanks." I all but squeak out. And that's the day I realized, I have a faint crush on my best friend. <><><><><< THIS BOOK IS BEING *MAJORLY* EDITED. THERES LOTS OF SPELLING MISTAKES AND NAME MIX UPS, SOME CHAPTERS WILL BE REWRITTEN Also, Please don't be mean to the characters, they aren't even close to perfect, but they don't deserve hate.Complete
I may just be a girl. No one special. Nothing compared to others. In the eyes of the universe, I am just a little speck of dust. My light may not shine very bright, and it may not be of any use, but I am me. Writing is my only escape out of this world. I cry rivers of ink and climb mountains of words. I may not write as well as others, but my writing is just a different style. They're my feelings. I really do hope you can connect to some of the work in here. Please, do not copy any of this work without informing me first. Thank you! "My Escape" I have a supply, In the closet near my bed, Of past memories, Hanging by a thread. A thread, Connected to my mind, That thread, Just follows me around. I have a hole, In the middle of my heart, That hole fills up, When someone's torn apart. I have a tear, Accompanying my lonely eye, Knowing, whenever I'm alone, I can sit in a corner and cry. Even though, These things are there, I still have ink, a notebook, and a pen, To care. I write and write, To my heart's desire, New feelings erupt, By the hour. Writing is, My one escape, In this cruel and careless world, I have the power, to awake. "A Story Without Words" A story told, In a little tune, A golden smile, And a shining tear, Rolling down my cheek. A little breeze, The nice sun, A marvelous day, Turned into a wet one. The memories dripped, Down on my cotton white shirt, Leaving stains, On my malicious heart. Your smile, Worth a thousand words, Can't cheer up This depressive mind. A storm bewildered, Your indecisive mind, Drowning me, In my reckless thoughts. A rainy day, A gleaming lie, A story not told, With words Nor sounds. This story is, But a mere thought, In this universe We share, Every night. This story is, A withering storm, Drifting off, In this careless soul. This story is, Not told with sounds, But a never ending blow, Of swirling emotions, Bottled up inside.
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