creative writing – Page 2 of 3

14May

By Max FlemingNo Comments

Creative Writing

Heroine

I tie the band and Pick up the needle. It’s cold metal digs deep Into my flesh, The icy poison seeps Into my bones. Filling me with false hope, False love. But I can’t take the band off For you wrapped it too tight Around my heart, And left with the needle Still digging into me. The pain growing greater Without you to take it out. Love was never supposed to hurt this much. Photo by Mykenzie Johnson on Unsplash

14May

By Elena-Teodora ChiujdeaNo Comments

Creative Writing

From my window

From my window I stand and stare at the garden over the fence. All the eye can see is a crisp layer of fresh grass. The gardener comes in every Tuesday to mow the lawn and take care of the flowers. A cluster of lilies standing proud. Orchids with their intoxicating scent, bound to put you in a frenzy. Roses tainted in blood or as white as the clouds above. Even the sun stares in awe, hiding behind the apple tree, scared its scorching heat will ruin their beauty. Each branch grows heavy with the ripe fruit. Not one is allowed to fall, or they would land in the crystal-clear water. An old man in overalls is hunched over the opulent pool to collect the stray leaves that did fall in. It’s not their fault. The wind last night was fierce, pulling them off branches and downing them in chlo...

14May

By Max FlemingNo Comments

Creative Writing

Chest Pains

You bring me Hope You bring me Joy But you bring me Pain. A Pain so great It’s like an anvil An immovable object Taking its retirement On my chest You can’t see It But I can definitely feel It Weighing down on me It’s so easy for You To take off But impossible For me to Lift It My breath feels heavier The weight pushing Down on my air But You breath so easy Naïve to the Pain My Pain that You cause Lift It Please. Photo by Akshar Dave🌻 on Unsplash

14May

By A.L WalesNo Comments

Creative Writing

21 candles

i wanted to call in sick that night because i am sentimental still birthdays carry the ghost of the child i was & the ways my parents loved me like opening chords & yolks overeasy maple haloing angel cake the time it takes to wrap a bike in patterned p...

6Feb

By Maddy PopeNo Comments

Creative Writing

A Future Nearby

We met in a riot. We stood at the centre of the universe bathed in colours that sang as we sang and fought as we fought. We were proud and wild and angry, at such a young age We had so much to feel And we felt so much. I noticed your fierceness. How your pink hair was held up by the honey sun Your green eyes glared at a world which closed its eyes when we got hurt for Being. We marched for the boy in hospital and for the boy who sat beside him. You brandished your sign to the sky and to God and it asked ‘how can you hate love?’ It was a carnival of pain and beauty. We held hands in the crowd like children Because we were children really. At twenty we had just introduced ourselves...

6Feb

By Rhea PatelNo Comments

Creative Writing

Touch and go

A sunset is ever-changing, Every minute of it revealing a new face, a new colour, a new sight. Oranges, pinks, and reds colour the sky, Merging to create a new painting every evening. Similarly, how sunsets are constantly altering, So are the people in our life. Every stage of our life contains different people compared with the last, It’s hard to understand that everyone isn’t going to stay. People are always passing by. But that’s okay, Because often through these short encounters with people we learn more about ourselves and we learn new lessons. And perhaps that is their only purpose in our life, The sun sets. And when the sun sets, The stars appear. They are now the light, the colours, and the new sight, But the thing is with stars is t...

6Feb

By Max FlemingNo Comments

Creative Writing

Isolation

We watch our friends find love. In a field or classroom, Whilst we sit in our chairs And watch the happiness of others. We watch our parents laugh. At the dinner table, Whilst we stare at our plate Wanting the affection of another. We watch strangers embrace. In the dim lit street, Whilst we hide in our rooms Isolating from the danger of others. We watch our siblings happy. With their normality, Whilst we stare in the mirror Wondering what is wrong with us. Photo by Sasha Freemind 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 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 ...