I don't write. I create.
In the depths of a great book I see a word I do not know, I grab my green highlighter and highlight like a pro!
Some lines grab me, pull in and beg me to remember. I highlight and I shine spotlights on words that warm old embers.
From the classics through to modern text, I’m interested and I wonder. A world without Writers would be horrible, what thoughts to evade sombre.
When I first met you, you were always cold and unwelcoming. I clicked switches and turned hobs and you just wouldn’t turn on.
I eventually saw your bright red glowing rings. So beautiful!
I placed a saucepan on the stove and warmed up some oat-milk, mixed in some oats and sprinkled some sugar.
The Stove, electric. Unknown to me before that day.
The stove, new and a learning curve for me in the ways of the kitchen.
The stove, I burnt a lot of food at the start. The temperature too high always too high but felt too low, to begin with.
Now that we’ve had some time together, I understand what you want and you know what I need.
Our shared memories and the nights you’ve witnessed my greed.
The Stove, are we in this?
Yes! Of course, we are. I’ll cook with you and they clean with you, your elements are my fire.
A roof over your head.
Food in the fridge.
Stop complaining!
Access to hot water, hot and clean may I add.
Stop complaining!
Fresh fruit and vegetables, the word fresh being key.
A warm bed to sleep in, but you want more you see.
Stop complaining.
We’ve been asked to stay indoors, the way I hear many of you moaning, you would’ve thought you’ve been asked to go to war.
Home sweet home.
You can work from home.
You may find love.
You can sell your soul.
If you have a soul, you can do all of the above.
I read online there are 101 ways to tell someone that they’re a crap friend.
I heard from a friend an apology that they’re a shitty person.
I imagine new people to become acquaintances and real friends – ones that aren’t trash, like the friends around my ends.
I real online there are 101 ways to make an omelette, I try to stay away from the idea of it.
I heard from a friend that people who eat eggs are cruel.
I imagine new rules for the people that set rules.
I read online there are 101 ways to say, ‘I love you.’
I heard from a friend that only one of 101 is often used.
If using was an occupation, 101% of the ignorant population would be hired – Well recorded as volunteers.
Online a web that’s sticky.
Soft.
Fragrant.
Bright.
Tulip exudes all the love I have inside for you!
Sensual.
Appreciated.
Adored.
Tulip is all the beauty I’m looking for.
It was on a dating site we matched, chatted and exchanged numbers.
We went on to exchange sounds.
Exchange feelings.
Exchange memories.
Exchange love.
Exchange resentment.
Exchange life.
Exchange disappointment.
Exchange expectations.
Exchange new desires.
Exchange old likes.
Exchange lies.
Blocked.
Deleted.
A simple phone call.
A basic text.
A brief e-mail.
A letter, what next?
A twenty-minute walk, outside whenever you like.
A bite into a homemade brownie, two bites into warm delight.
A hot bubble-bath filled with pink-himilayan salt and essential oils.
Chilled Cow playing on YouTube and care is all I know.
I was waiting.
I had waited, years upon years to meet you.
You arrived warm and beautiful.
I wish you could’ve seen you.
Holding you tightly for a moment, but never forever.
Tears fall silently onto you – My baby, one day we’ll be together.
Can you show me your heart and I’ll show you mine?
I want us to compare love, especially at this time.
Can you show me your mind and I’ll teach you about life?
I want us to compare thoughts, even more so this time.
Can you show me your memories and I’ll tell you my story?
I want us to compare history, although history is history.
If ever there was a day to reflect, I hear Saturday is the worst day to select.
It’s usually busy and predictable.
But would you bet on a Saturday to meditate? Mediate? Or simply to differentiate from the time we already have allotted to us?
I guess that’s a question for you to facilitate?
I’ll always love you.
I asked myself, ‘Can I cry for a minute?’ Then proceeded to cry for five more overtime.
I told myself, ‘Be strong.’ Then continued to complain via text.
I opened my bedroom window and placed my face into the influx of raindrops.
Rain is real, and the clouds are real, Unique is real! I’m here.
For three whole days, I’ve been feeling down, low, lethargic!
I’m not sure what caused this, but I remember where it started – three days ago!
I woke up and thought, ‘Meh!’ in fact I may have made the sounds to go with it.
For months I’ve been trying to write a short story, it’s in my head. I know everything about the character, but I can’t get her to speak. She’s a devious woman, don’t feel sorry for her.
I guess it set it further and deeper than before, my PhD is now HD, and I feel the pressure even more.
All I wish to do is improve upon my grammar and punctuation, the way I speak words with my voice, my pronunciation and elocution. I know my strengths, my weaknesses, my opportunities and threats! I know my friends from my foes, to the superheroes above me.
I see my pathway, my purpose and feel my heart roar inside of me.
Little did I know that I would fall in love with the pen.
Blue ink pressed on paper, with Crow as my main friend.
I feel the jagged edges of the mountain pierce my skin, I know the literary world was destined for me – the only world I fit in.
I don’t speak much about how I feel, or why I feel how I feel when I do. Because people often hurt me and I don’t want people to form part of you!
I know myself.
I hear my mind and see the clarity within my heart.
I know Creative Writing is the only writing I’ll love eternally every part.
I have a backpack, and inside I packed: A black A4 2020 diary, a hippy print diary, pack of sanitary towels enclosed in a floral pouch, pack of spicy noodles, four highlighters, one blue pen, two red pens, one black pen that has run out of ink, a 50th birthday card, half-eaten cheese sandwich, hairbrush, a book by Chuck Palahniuk, a beige glasses case with green glasses enclosed, iPad, overused iPad charger, hand cream, a tub of basil and tomato pasta-bake, cherry flavoured Carmex, a tiny wooden duck named Jane, a bottle of water, a pack of Biscoff biscuits, a used PostIt note some random guys number barely legible and a jar of hope.
I’m covered in skin.
Why do you fall over and expect someone to help you up?
Why do you drink whisky from a mug and not a glass?
Why do you think about me when you’re lonely?
Why do you think about me when you’re cold?
Why do you think about me, as if I exist? I died a thousand hours ago.
The earth has spun, I’m now on the side of the sun. But the rain came down this morning and washed some debris away.
It’s a new Monday, one we’ve never had before! Isn’t this amazing?
I had oats with oat milk, and it was delightful.
I’m currently sitting in bed with my laptop on my lap. It’s cheap, but all I use is Microsoft Word.
I’m thinking about what I’m going to make for dinner, and already I know it contains broccoli.
Half the world is on the dark side now, sleeping perhaps?
I wonder why a lot of people hate Mondays?
Should we not be grateful that we’ve made it this far?
Just another Monday, you say?
I say thank you!
Cherry in my smoothies.
Cherry on my lips.
Cherry kisses for my new love.
My new love…
The sweet sensations you deliver to me, through conversation and genuine talk.
Cherries in hand, a squeeze or two with you.
Cherry.
My future love he exists.
My heart is healing from fake love in the near past.
Love is near.
Cherry.
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