Behind the Scenes
- Reads 186
- Votes 12
- Parts 1
Complete Tue, Oct 15, 2013<5 mins
Obviously a poem. I wrote this a bit at a time. It was inspired by one of my friends and the way she was acting was how she was "supposed to", but in that moment it seemed so obviously fake it made me think about how we all do that. Some more then others. We all make up a character for ourself and then act them out in the play of life.
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A Collection of Poems
These poems are just some of the little pieces that make up my life. Whenever I get inspired by someone or something, I write a little story about it in the form of a poem. In a way, it helps me express what I have in my mind in a very vague way. I'm not that kind of a direct person, but there are things that are sometimes, better to kept secret. Here, these poems are what I wanted to say to my friends, to other important people, to people in general, to the world around me, to life and each detail it possesses. Each poem has a central theme, and around that revolves a certain story that I want to impart, something too delicate to be expressed directly, something too complicated. Here, I want to share who I am. That's ... probably all ... that I need to say.Complete
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The day when the rain began the bitch said to be dead, I didn't know whether it was true or a lie but had no choice or traces but to assume that bitch was alive. Everyone pushed to believe that bitch was dead, killed, or else suicide. Police were investigating whether the bitch was killed or kicked the bucket, but some external things pushed them to investigate it. Whatever it was going to be, bitch's gone.Complete
Echo of the Past
A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.Complete
My Past Mate Rejected Me
"You rejected me!! Not the other way around!!" I yelled at him, tears streaming down my face. "I know." He says, he head hangs low. "And I'm sorry. I should never have rejected you." He went to take my hands into his but I turned away from him. Tears were still going down my face. How could he, after all this time, have the nerve to come here. He knew that he had hurt me. Now he is sorry and wants me back? No. "Please. Believe me. I messed up big time! I didn't know what I had until it was gone!" He said. I heard every word. They cut through the wall of my heart and placed themselves on it . It hurt. But what he did to me had hurt even more. "That's right. You screwed up. Consider me lost." I said. Then I walked away.Complete
The experiment.
They used my vulnerability against me. They used that weapon, to make me accept their stupid idea. And I of course, accepted it, I didn't even know what they were going to do. They tugged and poked and even shoved their disgusting finger in your wound, just to see you cry. To see you change. No pitty in their eyes. They just continue. They drag you around with metal chains, hit you and turn you into a experiment. But I had enough of the tugging, the clawing, the moaning, the crying and pleading for them to stop, but simply feeding them with our pain. They turned me into something, that neither do they know what I am. Their afraid of me, of my reflexes, my strength. I killed a lot of them. They say I have a cold heart, that I don't feel nothing. That's why they call me: Death -----------------------------------------************************************--------------------------------------------- Death. A teen girl, pitch black hair, black eyes, white skin. Her height is 5'8. People are scared of her, not just because of her strength but because of they way she kills. She lived in this hell hole, where they take her to rooms. Examine. Fight. She knows she won't be able to entertain them for long. She decides to run. Soul. Brown hair as mud, blue eyes as the sky. Hight 6'2. Tanned and toned body. Death's best friend in the hell hole they're in, he's as cold as she is. But shows a bit of sympathy. Well... More than her at least. He's been there for her, ever since she entered this place of crap. They're the two most feared. As some people say, they're a perfect couple. Killing. Fighting. Cold hearted creatures. Also known as D and S. Why? That's what your going to find out, joining this adventure with D and S.Complete
Reject (mxm)
Paranormal Romance (Werewolf) You know that movie Jerry Maguire? It's about this sports agent who got fired for suddenly having a conscience. Anyway, there's this very romantic scene by the end of the movie when Jerry made this very heartfelt and passionate declaration to his wife. Those words would melt you into a puddle and make you burst into tears thinking, "I want to have that kind of love!" Well that very sweet scene did not happen on this story, not all of it anyway. Don't get me wrong it was heart wrenching, very much so, and there was a passionate declaration. But instead of saying the oh so loving, oh so sweet and oh so scripted "I love you. You complete me..." like Jerry did in the movie, my 'mate', the other half of my soul and the one who 'completes' me said, "I hate you. I wish you were dead!" He said it with disgust and anger burning in his eyes. He didn't run into my arms like he was supposed to, he ran away from it. But who could blame him? Jerry Maguire was right. We live in a cynical world and we work on a business of tough competitors. Why would my mate want to be with me? He'd be shunned and be forever laughed at. Aside from the fact that I was male, I'm basically useless to him because I'm a werewolf who can't phase. He's an alpha. He could have anyone he wants. And me, well, I'm on the bottom of the pack, the runt of the litter. The council didn't know what to do with me. They couldn't kill me since it could drive my mate insane, even if he didn't want me. I can't kill myself because it would probably have the same effect on him. I have to live but I can't be with my mate and my pack. So I made it easier for everyone, I ran away. I always believed in the saying "Out of sight, out of mind." What I didn't consider was the possibility that they'd come after me and forcefully bring me back.Complete
Thoughts of a Juvenile
Words are sharper than knife they say. Yes it is true. Some perfectly moulded good words can both make and break a heart easily. A poem is a group of such perfectly moulded words given wings to fly. They fly through the mind and heart easily. A hobby is an activity we do to express ourselves, our beliefs and our thinking. For example through drawing, dancing, singing, etcetera. Writing a poem is one of such hobbies. Here words are used. These words and messages are far more twisted. A poem hits the mind, a good poem hits the heart. Thoughts Of A Juvenile is just a collection of my poems.I started writing poems when I was 8. I may not be a great writer. But yeah I write to express. There have been times for me like many other teenagers where I thought I was lost and helpless. There have been good times too. I'm standing on the edge of teenage now, telling you that you can survive this. You can survive everything. All you need is to find your strengths. There are sad nights and then there are mornings full of opportunities. Don't give up. I'm here and I'll always be here. Whenever you feel down just remind yourself "Be stupid". Go out in public and the eat the food you like alone, ask out your crush, flirt like there's no one watching, dance like a ghost has possessed your body, prank people, have a little chat with the nerds you know. Surviving is an art not many can master. Be a Master. There are mistakes in this book and I tried my best to correct them. But couldn't correct them all. I would really love to receive reviews and criticism. Vote if you like it. Comment your views. And follow for more poems. Add it to your reading list or library.Complete
Loving Merritt Forever
Part 1: Today was supposed to be my fairytale day. My perfect wedding day. I made my way to David, he took my hand in his, walking us closer to the long faced man who would be marrying us. The officiant started, greeting the room full of all my family, all of David's family. Going through the first reading easily. Giving their peace on the joy of marriages, it was bland, but acceptable. Moving along, the officiant announced in a loud voice, "If anyone here knows of any reason why these two should not be lawfully wed, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace." The officiant boomed over the crowd. I was caught off guard. This part was supposed to be just a formality, just a box to tick. No one was supposed to say anything. The world started to go in slow motion as Verity moved behind me a flicker in the corner of my vision. "David, I can't hide anymore." He said. As David's eyes went from me, to Verity, filled with concern. David looked over my head at Verity while he was holding my hands in his. I heard the crowd gasp, before everyone started to whisper. David dropped my hands. The whispers increased in intensity. Making the room sound like it was full of hissing snakes. David's attention wasn't anywhere near me. I looked up to see him looking over my head at my brother. With a look I had thought he had saved just for me, my heart breaking as my fairy tale became a nightmare. Part 2 also complete July 2023.Complete
These poems are just some of the little pieces that make up my life. Whenever I get inspired by someone or something, I write a little story about it in the form of a poem. In a way, it helps me express what I have in my mind in a very vague way. I'm not that kind of a direct person, but there are things that are sometimes, better to kept secret. Here, these poems are what I wanted to say to my friends, to other important people, to people in general, to the world around me, to life and each detail it possesses. Each poem has a central theme, and around that revolves a certain story that I want to impart, something too delicate to be expressed directly, something too complicated. Here, I want to share who I am. That's ... probably all ... that I need to say.
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