Creative Writing – Page 3 of 6

6Feb

By Emma HollyNo Comments

Creative Writing

A New Heart Moved In

What happened to my well-trodden pathway Of certainty and the pungent cologne Do I not take part, or possess a say? Masculinity is my comfort zone Femininity is cryptic, who knows And, mum, I'm scared shitless at this newness, Because my best friend gives me tornadoes In place of butterflies and I'm clueless. Dad, I thought I knew what was going on Walk me down the aisle to the unknown Won't know who I love 'till I'm too far gone I'm an atheist praying; I'll atone Now I find myself fumbling at the edge of an oblivion only I know. Photo by Marc A. Sporys on Unsplash

6Feb

By Max FlemingNo Comments

Creative Writing

The Boogieman

He is always watching Waiting Wanting to come out Wanting to suffocate You They don’t see him Stirring The pot of pain That brews inside Me Hiding him away from Them He isn’t welcome In the eyes of Others I love him yet hate Him I want him but Want him to go Away He is me and I am him Together Not by choice But by birth Unfortunately. Image: Photo by Josue Michel on Unsplash

7Dec

By A.L WalesNo Comments

Creative Writing

ET EGO BRUT

REBUTTAL I remember you magenta and idle, hiding in plain sight a fidget of rats in a man-suit. Did you not think I would notice? You tremble in polyester and I have no pity for the moths like you - they know what it is they do I imagine you taut and xeroxed stretched out on linoleum your saline drip defunct chewing on consonants like coaxial cables your world in laminate left-slant font

7Dec

By Zaki ChanNo Comments

Creative Writing

i am

i am, as a man and asian and cognizant and selfaware and godfearing and afraid and angry and hellbent,incapable of romance, affection, love, lust, touch, being capable of not having being capable in anything of worth,and i blame it on myself and see that my hands are the things that push everything away. i am, as a fragment and chinese and broken and malay and unbending and terrible and aware and tumultuous,capable of belief, faith, friendship, telling someone to the face that they mean a lot to me and that i cannot in fact live without them,and i am in fact lying to them and see that my tongue is black with sinuous twisting lies. i am, as a white orchid and a yellow marigold and a red spider lily and a yellow chrysanthemum and decaying,incapable of thinking trust as a rock in an oc...

i probably just need to get laid and stop being so fucking dramatic

7Dec

By Zaki ChanNo Comments

Creative Writing

i probably just need to get laid and stop being so fucking dramatic

im, quite aware its fairly unhealthy to think these thoguhts but dear god we are made like you but dear god i can see the purpose you gave us plain in the way you make blood vessels break in the way the human body deteriorates in the way im, quite aware perhaps too aware of how you make it satisfying to give in to baser instincts and pleasures i was never raised particularly religious but i said prayers to you every night till that one time my mother told me god is perfect and then she cried at the door and told me to be strong till she came back and i was left with the plate of macaroni no one else but me liked but i liked it because it was my mother who made it and i would always say i loved her to her ...

7Dec

By Alice ClarkNo Comments

Creative Writing

in sooth

in sooth, i know not why i am so sad i miss u in cerulean and orange emotional support jumper in full force one not to be reckoned with but dear god my intrusive thoughts are trying it’s not very late but i’ve got a tired ache brain ache self hate my favourite animal is you i am consumed with insatiability and itchy ankles when i open my mouth songbirds fly out which is actually very inconvenient my mouth is full of feathers and bird shit now damn that analogy i’m learning to exist soundly love vulnerably instead burn incense until the smoke makes it smell safe again i’m too afraid to leave the house most days anxious twitch anxious twitch ghost therapist dear god i feel pathetic in my bedroom tonight Image credit: Ph...

7Dec

By Alice ClarkNo Comments

Creative Writing, Features

MAGPIE

o beaut magpie ! inquisitive brown eyes feathered blue heart i see u everywhere well at least i think i do sometimes when i close my eyes u are flyin above me sometimes u visit at night in my dreams u come to me singin me lullabies u tell me everythin is gonna be okay sweet thing and im tryin hard to believe u but dreams don’t talk truth no more and i can’t see ursa major no more and i can’t hear ur voice no more and i just want to hold u close let me be ur nest but ur so far away Image credit: Photo by Caroline Attwood on Unsplash

7Dec

By Emily WindleNo Comments

Creative Writing

Spiking…

Going out should be fun with lots of drinking, Dancing away, not overthinking. But what can you miss even if you quickly blink? The substance that was quickly put into your drink! Our mums always told us cover it with your hand, And do not become a one man band. Stay with your friends and don't be too late! Otherwise you could end up with an unwanted date. The problem with spiking is it’s not taken seriously. The victims are just looked at pitilessly. We need to do more to stop this crime. So girls can go back to having a good time. Image credit: Photo by Michael Discenza on Unsplash

16Oct

By A.L WalesNo Comments

Creative Writing

I Do Not Write Love Poetry

but memoirs on your arcs pilings of tobacco peppered question marks morning it is raining paraoxysms from my crown wordlessly you pour for me tempers tremors now dusk I am awake again here another drought I silhouette your body softly smoke you out Photo credits: Photo by Robert Ruggiero on Unsplash

16Oct

By A.L WalesNo Comments

Creative Writing

Gutter Talk

early mornings in plettenberg bay five am & the sun was not yet high but it was warm still and bright plett sun is a different breed rich was by my side back then & red flocks flew west when they heard that laugh hingeless & hungered & hollering oorah those ears car doors on a sedan in midsummer left open to cool him down I was in Kensington when he next called midday my time midnight his I heard the tik screech through his jangled mind & lacerate his words discordant until the teakettle boiled into a goodbye & the smack of bone on tile it was a sickening sound at night I dream of africa the waves smash against my mind & the moon is still not high ...