Pretentious Stories

I'm not a poet. I'm not really a writer. But I decided the little things I write shouldn't go unnoticed. I hope you get to see a little bit about another individual you've probably never met. Leave a comment. It's nice when people appreciate the little things. :) thank you **********************************************************************************************

A piece of flash fiction that I wrote in half an hour. Keeping to the theme of nature here.

A book of poetry that makes you feel bad at 3 am.

Original Concept by: Lina Velos Cruz Sa mundong puno ng kasinungalingan, galit, sakit, kasakiman, kaguluhan at pagpapanggap. Magkakaroon pa ba ng puwang ang katotohanan? Mabibigyan pa ba ng lugar ang kapayapaan? May puwesto pa ba ang paghilom ng bawat pilat? May makakagawad ba ng pagpapatawad? At may tatanggap pa ba ng salitang "pagmamahal"? Hanggang saan ang kaya mo mapagtakpan lang ang tinatago mong dilim? Kaya mo bang magmahal ng taong nababalot ng napakaraming lihim? Anong maskara ba ang kaya mong suotin matanggap ka lang ng lipunan at magkaroon ka lang ng katahimikan? Mahal mo siya. Ngunit, matatanggap ka kaya n'ya sa kabila ng napakadilim na nakaraang mayroon ka? Mahal ka niya. Ngunit, handa ka bang baguhin ang mga bagay na kinalakhan mo ng gawin para lang maging bagay kayong dal'wa? Isang taong may madilim na nakaraan nagmahal ng isang taong dugo at karahasan ang kakambal. Magkatagpo kaya ang puso ng dal'wang taong parehong hindi naman buo at walang bahid ng pagpapakatotoo?

So this is the second poem ill be posting hope yall like it feel free to critique it. Just make sure your critique makes sense ^~^

A sad weirdos way of expressing why he's sad and weird

{STOPPED} Meet Zaide Renaissance Kaitlyn Lurksper, a girl who never knows the world of boys in her entire life. Boys never liked her company, not even her physical appearance, and most of all, her voice, which is like a boyish type, and loud. There are only few boys she hang out but, sooner they forgot their friendship with her. There is one boy named Moe Austin Mercedes. He is a shy-type jerk. His anger towards somebody is indescribable. He is also a jolly type of boy, but once you anger him, he will ignore you to death, as if you're a stranger to him, and he got an amnesia towards you. What if the anger of Moe was experienced by Zaide one day? Can she handle it? Will she regain his kindness back? If not, will Zaide move on from him? As for Moe, will he let go of his anger one day towards Zaide? Will he realize that she ain't that bad as long as he forgives her? What if one day, she will just disappear if he is ready to forgive her? Embark on Moe and Zaide's journey in their roller coaster ride, and find out if they will let go of the anger on themselves or not.

pain slowly waking up the demons inside me

That title's a mouthful. Anyway, this is deep? somewhat? I just read through all the chapters and tried to find one that doesn't scream "pretentious". Key word 'tried'. Also, 'read' is a loose term. So, grammar, spellings or anything of the sort might not be correct. edit: it's been 2-3 years and i opened this baby up again. but like pretentious? young me, if this was pretentious then we're meant to be. and as you can see, im writing this in lowercase. that's what i call, Growth.

a collection of short stories, poems, and general sh*te. don't have high expectations. please note some of these are old as h*ck and don't apply to me any more, i might just think they're good. // cover art by pascal campion //

Who would have thought that life be a mess. She wakes when all got in chaos. Lost, it got too damn serious to be neglected. Bombarded by frustration, perception in her mind was ruined. The future was bright for her, all were planned accordingly. Family, a picturesque, career -a successful in her field, friends- she have them as the supportive caring and lovely ones, partner- oh, that girl got the best man, ideal man, like almost every single girl would dream of she's got him on her hand... Yet, the cruelty of circumstances took all of 'em right in front of her in just a snap. All were lose of worth and she's got nothing to do. She can't fight it. Asleep, yes she is, at the state of daze as all her gems were little by little been stolen by the robber of life. Was it even destiny? Asked that poor mind full of sorrow? too tired as she has stopped wailing. As if she can make her cry loud... She struggles too much for it. Tears dropped but no voice can be heard, she was, yes definitely is taking a hard cry. Note to Reader: Please be informed that all characters, roles, and events were all fiction and is from the authors imaginative mind only. Be aware that any similarities of this work to real situations are all coincidental. P.S. Enjoy reading the story but be reminded that PLAGIARISM is a CRIME. RESPECT BEGETS RESPECT. THANK YOU AND GOD BLESS YOU.

Destiny.... A word most people say and hear but only few believe that it's real. But what if you meet an unknown person in a very stupid way who will shatter your silent innocence and calmness? What if suddenly his presence makes your imagination come to living reality? What if his smiles make your stupidity to reality? Then, probably destiny comes to play.

Poetry context regarding society, life and withered mind

Here at Eastview we have the riches. The gold and the medals. The glamour and the prestige. The fame and the awards. But that isn't all... Because what story does have just a little bit more? Mystery. Cover ups. Betrayal. Lies. Money. Murder. Welcome to the Eastview Academy. You can try, but you will fail. You may think you have left, but you're never really gone. Making it out alive is the hardest part.

Short story. "Write a scene that takes place immediately after a tragedy. Don't mention the tragedy"

items of shade and cover in evolved and created, personally redefining new perspectives of emotions and personalities.

Would it be arrogance to suggest that my failure is more interesting than your success?My intellectual competence is proven, my potential, vast. And yet, here I am, documenting yet another day spent meticulously preparing to work instead of actually working. This journal is a chronicle of that glorious failure. It is a pretentious, self-aware, and laughably profound analysis of why I-a person who thrives on complex synthesis-am rendered utterly inert by the demand to simply 'sit and read.' I will draw the perfect schedule. I will create the optimal environment. And I will, with breathtaking genius, find a way to sabotage it all. This is not a story of redemption. It is a autopsy of potential, performed by the potential itself. Read it if you dare to recognize yourself.

I TRY TO PUT COSMIC INTERCONNECTEDNESS INTO WORDS.