CREATIVE WRITING
"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." - Oscar Wilde
I was walking quicker than my normal pace; the trees were moving faster with each stride.
I was trying to leave the city without a trace; I knew he would recognize my face and had to keep my pride. Despite the rain and fading lights, I held tight to my chest and damp shirt. My hair was matted to my face from the tears, but I felt the five hundred dollars and was unhurt. My hands were shaking and heart was breaking as I remembered the earrings I stole, too. I want to forget him and how he left me so I took back my gold and gave him my blue. The memories of the smashed window haunted my every thought. I tried to quiet them as I slipped off my pink panties and turned the bath to hot. Steam blurred my mirror and helped me to forget him but every time I closed my eyes, I pictured his arms and his thousands of comforts and sunk lower in the bath with each cry.
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My dearest sister,
There are little to no words to express the pain I experience with each word that I write. How do I take back the past two years of my life and experience them again, this time right beside you? How do I forgive myself for neglecting your help when you saw my skin slowly deteriorating, my bones weakening, and my skin chilling? How do I express these regrets to you without shedding a tear? I have so many questions for you and, somehow, all I desire is your forgiveness. I knew the second I started to run I would become addicted. I would rush you so I could get home early and finish my infinite exercise. I would watch you eat and love yourself as I quietly loathed you for not caring what others think. It is hard for me to admit, but I am jealous of you in every way, some that you cannot imagine. I put you through hell and back when I was gone for thirty-two days, but you came to visit me nearly every single one I was absent. I am sorry that I could not be there to give you advice through your first love, through your senior year of high school; a year you never thought you would see. I am sorry I was only a ghost in perhaps the greatest year of your life. Instead of walking through Hershey with you, I was walking towards my grave. Instead of eating an ice cream cone with you, I was planning how I would starve myself the following day. Instead of going to school with you, I went to treatment. I am sorry for all the times I told you that I had too much going on to help you. I am sorry for all the little times you thought you meant less to me than my eating disorder; however, I thank you for showing me light. Thank you for helping me remember who I used to be before I was possessed by Ed. Thank you for helping me along the journey to my purpose and for guiding me through the darkest of days. As much as I am sorry for these past two years, I am equally thankful. I love you. Sincerely with love and gratitude, Anna I watched you walk across the room.
The smile on your lips was in full bloom. You were shades of yellow and orange, too. Hot like summer, like my morning brew. But though you were fire, you were bitter. I told you I loved you; you made my stars shimmer. Every time we talked it couldn’t get better. But you threw away my heart and left me at winter. I was frozen in emotion but you cut me open and made me a writer. It was cool outside and the sun was hiding.
The stars were constellating and the moon was circling. I felt my life flashing like a red siren light At the sight of my darling on our new Harley bike. She shone and shimmered like rubies in a chest. I strapped on my helmet and pressed his back to my breast. My hair, a flapping flag, feeling my best. When he bought me that Harley, we drove out to Cali. I love going west. Her skin was rough but perfectly pink.
Her stubby legs made her waddle softly. The sound of her grunt encouraged giggles. But she loved giving kisses and being tickled. She was saved by two lovers, passionate for justice. Their vegan hearts fluttered when she found home in their place. Her snout snuggled up against her new bed. She was tucked in each night jovial and well-fed. There is something about the relationship between human and pig, It is so special to find someone to share a barnyard life with. pumpkin
soft skin falling until this season ends latte hot day takes all my pain away By Anna Novakis Twigs were twisted, turned and tied
Around the rusted, metal cage. A tree hung atop its ceiling wide And leaves were rotted, revealing their age. An enormous tank filled with gas was covered In the dirt of the Earth. It sat quite tranquil, humming lowly and hid Behind the overgrowth. Among the branches that were still alive Grew petite, red berries. They hung low enough that one could just Grab their backs as red as cherries. Inside the cage, it was dark and cool. The ground was tan with dirt and weeds. And though the cage door was opon ajar Not a thing inside it seemed to breathe. Inanimate and silver poles ascended From the ground to the cage’s roof. There were three, as thin as one’s wrist And all appeared sleek and smooth. The ground was like an untamed nest; Leaves of tan, brown, and garnet stuck in the dirt. A slight dance of the breeze brought upon the scent of metal and grassy earth. The cage was untamed like a wild tiger And it was easy to miss. It is no wonder one could slip by it Without a second glance. A girl’s mirror began to talk.
He grew a pair of lips and would not shut up. He procured a pair of glasses that blurred the girl’s eyes. They told her mistruths and horrific lies. One summer evening, the girl started to believe everything the mirror had been saying. Her arms were like Christmas hams; her legs were like balloons. She started to hate every part of her; even parts she once loved, too. A month of summer transpired, but the girl was ice cold. Her skin was a misty gray and her eyes a blackish stone. Her arms were like chopsticks; it made her mother think she could break. Her legs could barely carry her, and her mind could not stay in one place. She fumbled through her fridge, but nothing seemed safe, so she left the kitchen empty and felt her tummy ache. The mirror that she so trusted complimented her curves. Meanwhile, her heart was silent and beating lesser. Soon, the girl stopped craving food, or much of anything. Her body was skeletal and beyond the point of starving. Her eyes sunk into her head and her hair was falling out. Media was her gasoline; with it, she could not break down. It was the saddest story the girls had heard, and tears were flooding faces. Their mother took a bite of ice cream and smiled at the taste of it. She told her daughters they would rather swallow one more bite of food; Do not let the standards of beauty swallow you. |
About the author.I love creative writing, especially poetry and short narratives. I hope expand my career as a poet and to always be reading something. Archives
April 2019
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