Although I do write non-fiction and articles I also write fictional short stories, poetry, monologues, and other creative writings. In this category, I will be sharing all of my different creative self writings.
Who do I do this for?
Who will win from my hard work?
Who will smile as I undress,
displaying my wonderfully curvy body?
Me, the answer is me.
I will win,
I will smile
and I am doing this for me.
I do not strive,
I do not fight,
I do not struggle
not for anyone,
except me and God.
If I do not do this for me,
then it is for God.
If I do not win,
then it is for God.
If I do not smile,
then I lost sight of God.
Who is all this for?
It is for me,
but if not me than for God.
I do not want to live this life.
I want to dance with the pixies,
laugh with the werewolves
and maybe meet a fairy or two.
I do not want to live this life.
I want to see my thoughts
in air bubbles that are
taken away by the evening’s breeze.
I do not want to live this life.
I yearn to be free.
Free of things tied to reality,
where there is magic.
I do not want to live this life.
Yet, I know I have to.
I guess I will just depend on love
to be my magic
and honestly that is enough for me.
Kitty is a character in my novel, who can not talk. She finds different ways to communicate and share knowledge. There is a lot to her, but she can’t always get that across. This monologue is an internal monologue taking place inside Kitty’s mind to Noah, one of the other main characters and the person she is closest to.
I do hear you. I do understand you. I do deserve my position. I really do and I know you know I should be where I am. I just wonder if the others think I belong. Sometimes I know that I don’t, but then you look at me and I belong. Your brother seems hard and protective of his mission. He can’t see that it is my mission too.
I am locked inside my mind. I wish I could just tell you and your brother. Really I wish I could tell everyone what is happening inside. It is like the neural pathways connecting my voice and thoughts are missing. With every trauma or change they are erased and I must relearn how to make sounds that would be considered words. To make matters worst my memories are misplaced. They are not lost, just misplaced. This makes it hard even know what I know. All my memories are intact, but they are hidden from me and it seems like just when I find a memory or way to connect my vocal cords and thoughts together they are erased or jumbled up.
I hope you understand that I am doing my best. Your smile makes me think you know, but how? I never know until I start reconnecting things. Maybe that is why you’re with me; to help me remember that I am not permanently broken just different with misplaced memories.
Hopefully one day I will get to thank you. Hopefully one day everyone will understand. I am smart and I am worthy of helping. It may be a long time, but I do hope.
I hope you like this and if you follow my blog you will learn more about the characters of Duality, since I am pretty focused on it. At least I am trying to be really focused on it.
I walk multiple paths in life.
My life is a combination of journeys,
all taking place at the same time
all taking their own time.
I look at the journeys I walk
and try to see where I’ve been
to see where the path leads.
I look back to see where I’m going
seeing the past as hints to the future.
On one journey
I am an artist;
dancing towards acting
while I write my paintings,
soon I’ll sculpt my imagination
trying new ways to shine my mind,
but always keeping pen near paper
to pour my emotions out with ink.
On one journey
I walk and journey
alone and with friends.
We talk in the silence
and let the silence talk for itself,
with my voice starting soft
growing as I crawl along,
only being able to be heard
when I discover myself around a bend.
Then love like a flood starts to pour out
and I learn to love by loving;
I learn to be loved.
On one journey
I am alone.
friends beside me,
Family supporting behind me
and God leading ahead of me,
but no one of my own.
On this journey there is an air of not knowing.
not knowing,
Is this how it will always be?
I look at the journeys I walk
looking back to see where I’m going
seeing the past as hints to the future.
I see a loved artist,
a strong, loyal friend,
and a happily single adventurer.
The inspiration for this post comes from my weekly writing prompt series. The prompt is ‘Write a poem or short story with the sentence, “I didn’t want to tell my dreams to someone new.” ‘
I didn’t want to tell my dreams to someone new.
I wanted you to be the only one who knew.
But like a bird away you flew.
Leaving alone to see you in a new hue.
No, I didn’t even want to tell you my dream.
I wanted it to be my scheme,
but you pushed saying we will be a team.
Yet, you still left before the sun even shared a beam.
Describe your desk or work are where you write. Is it clean, dirty, or cluttered? Is it organized? What objects or decorations are on it or around you while you write?
This is a writing prompt from my weekly writing series.
Where do I write? I write at my black wooden desk that once was at a Target. It now is assembled with its one drawer almost always staying closed and stacks of notebooks, papers, pens and random artifacts from my days spread across its flat matte service. It is like a cozy cocoon where my creative ideas hide away.
It is clean, with hardly any trash or spills on it. It is cluttered and appears to be a mess, but if you ask me where a certain note is or where my favorite pen is I can tell you. It may seem like there is no order to my writing space, but just like my brain I know the rules and organization that is in place, even when others can’t.
I cannot, will not lead you.
I cannot, will not tell you what is right.
Yet, I will walk beside you.
Yet, I will talk with you until you see some light.
Answers will come after questions;
who asks and who answers we’ll have to decide.
Some times the conversation will be made up of facial expressions.
Still no matter what I will be on your side.
This was just a quick little poem, that actually came from one of my prompts. Which weekly prompt I do not know, so cannot link you that blog. Still, I hope you enjoy this poem.
I find myself asking why do I love you? I know you’d never ask. You’re just happy that I do and I am very happy that there is love between us. Still I ask myself why do I love you? What makes you so special in my eyes? How did I get so enthralled with you so fast?
My answer to myself is because you are a challenge where I can learn something new with each visit. You push me to be my better than my best and some how at the same time you show me that I am better than I thought. You show me that I can achieve more than I thought I could but show me that it’s a journey that I just started. You give me confidence even when I am beaten down. The best thing is that you don’t let me give up because you know I can do more and when I do do more I am all the better for being pulled through it.
After our time together I find myself getting stares and I am not completely aware as to why. It could be because you make me feel beautiful especially when my hair is a mess, so I go out looking a bit crazy. It could be because of the giant smile you put on my face. Either way I will happily accept the stares if it means that they are seeing a fragment of you.
You are becoming my happy place and a shield of protection even when I am not in my comfort zone.
So yes you can kick my butt, choke me out and twist my arm along with any other body part because Jiu-Jitsu you give me so much and I learn every time I am hurt.
Thank you for being hard and pushing me. Thank you for breaking me away from my comfort zone and showing me that I am tougher than I think. Most of all though Thank you for teaching me about a different side of myself and giving me new journey to explore. Thank you Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for being awesome.
The words are bubbling. They are brewing. I once danced with them on the beach with the setting sun. Now the moon reigns and the words are a mush of over cooked strew. They are just bubbling and brewing no longer dancing in my mind.
The beautiful melody of fantastic descriptions and deep pondering has left my side. I now sit wishing and wanting for the words I needed to say to arise again. I wait for them to dance out of the sludge like stew that is now taking over my mind.
Tiredness slows down my thoughts and the need for sleep mixes all of them together. At sunset with the cool breeze whispering words to me, my mind was perfectly poetic as it pondered a pure poem. Now only random ramblings can be rattled off as the stew thickens and traps the dancing melody of the pure poem inside.
I battle with you
as if the war was needed;
as if I had no feet to stand on.
You tear me down
and I let you,
and I feel defeated.
You whisper awful thing
like I’m not really loved;
like I cannot stand on my own
My heart and happiness is real
but you tell me to ignore it;
but you tell I’m ignorant.
You know my every weakness
and you use it for my harm,
and you use it to keep me down.
But I am strong,
stronger than the war you wage
the defeat you push
the hateful whispers
and stronger than your lies.
I know if you were anyone else
I would push you away
spit in your face
or just turn my back.
If you were anyone else
I would be stronger,
but you are the little voice
the one the is buried deep
trying for weakness to keep.
I can not spit in your face
or turn my back.
I can not push you down
or choke you out.
Yet, there is this little box
it has a lock.
You little voice can go in that
and be buried very deep.
Where you say I’m a fatty
I choice to see a beauty.
Where you see hurt
I see my healing.
You see struggle as failure
I see it as a lesson.
Where you see loneliness
I see self-love.
So go in your little box
and I lock you up.
I will bury you deep
because your lies I don’t want to keep.