I don't write. I create.
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.
The heater is on; my feet are cold. Who would’ve guessed May would be so cold?
All I feel like doing is curling up in my bed and sleeping in.
But it’s May 1st and may I remind myself, I have 30,000 words to write.
Rather than typing, I’m going to write by hand today – that way I know, it’s written and not avoided.
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.
They say to pray every day, especially Sunday!
But what of a day that you wish to remain uncomplicated.
What happens when you pray, anyway? Elaborate further, please?
I think aloud sometimes and alone more often than not.
I remember the last time I prayed; it was back in 2013.
Sunday is the day of rest, but where is rest found in this era?
Viruses are spreading all around us and a resolution no sooner!
They say to pray every day, come together and unite as one.
This is the day that the Lord has made.
I recall asking, begging, pleading for him to save.
I cried while holding your little body in my arms; I cried for your life; you had not been given a chance to live. I cry for your memories – Every heartbeat counts.
I knew then God only existed as a word in print.
They say to pray every day, especially Sunday!
A problem shared is a problem halved.
A heart opened is a form of love life carves.
A blessing on Sunday is like a blessing any other day.
A life that connects with yours forms a part of your destiny, I’d say.
A kiss under the glow of the full moon when it’s pink, is the perfect setting for new love, I think?
A dream so stunning it feels real enough to touch, is a dream worth chasing if it’s not too much to ask?
A corrupt mindset will emit waves of negativity, basking a lone heart in falsity.
Eventually, love will burst open, breaking free into reality, causing the lone heart to crack and fragment, piece by piece in glorious actuality.
“Done dealing with you
Don’t know how to deal with me
Done fuckin’ with you, don’t know how to love me” – Jhene Aiko
I feel much stronger I’ve got this!
With the power vested within, I’ll remain true to myself, and you shall not flood my life with bullshit again.
I imagine yesterday, to be the day you realised I’ve gone forever.
No longer shall your issues plague my existence. No more I will be your crutch, holding you up when you need a prop – user.
My life is my life, and I shall live it as I wish.
You cannot define me.
I’m unique.
Our universe placed me into this world.
I’m the only version of me, in existence.
There are no duplications for you to start over with.
All the replicas never passed beta mode.
I had hoped for better.
I pray that you get everything I could not give to you.
I pray that you do well.
I pray for you.
Crow cackles in the short distance, and out he coughs ‘Liar, liar! Atheist! Atheist.’
His sapphire blue eyes turn fiery red, and he flies down and lands on Unique’s head.
She’s kneeling at the grave of a love that never existed, for she pays her respects. But Crow cheers her for being a hypocrite.
Atheist! He caws before landing on the fresh mount of dirt.
‘Here lies a foolish man who is now home to my snacks, worms and maggots and the odd juicy rat!’
A fake tear falls from the right eye of Unique. Crow turns quickly, and it lands on his beak.
‘I love you, Unique.’
Hey friend! How are you today?
I wonder if you could help me, please?
I have this idea that transpired from an arm stretch, and I wish to bend tomorrow.
I want it to curve and wrap itself around me, as I know it will be tremendous and meshed into the sea.
Tonight I’ll pick five stars from our wealthy universe; I’ll ground them with my elbows and sprinkle them all over your house.
Join me now.
I hate Rona’ just as much as anyone else. But Rona’s presence has caused me to start over – I now go jogging/running at least 3 days a week.
Too much to write.
iRead: Waxy by Camilla Grudova
“The man ordered a whole Golden Syrup Toast from himself and ate it greedily, chewing with his mouth wide open in a grin. I felt ill, and never went back to that café again. It didn’t much matter, the café menus were the same everywhere:
COFFEE
GOLDEN SYRUP TOAST
BOILED TINNED MEAT WITH TOAST
The tinned meat became grey when it was boiled and made the toast all wet; most people just ordered the Golden Syrup Toast with Coffee.” – Waxy (Pg. 43 Grudova, 2017)
As a Writer, we have the super-power to create any world we wish! From the Wizarding World of Hogwarts, right through to cafes all around offering the same menu. I think it’s easy to forget that we are here to create! I inherently know I was born to create, and that’s all I do.
There are no rules to a Writers creation – You are the Creator in your world of Writing. I want you to remember that. Even if you are only starting today, or you started a while ago, you are in charge of your creative pieces, and I implore you to create whatever you wish, in your own words.
Ted Hughes wrote Iron Man
JK Rowling created Harry Potter
Richard Siken penned You Are Jeff
And I created Exit Sasha
Creative Writing isn’t about writing for the sake of it and hoping it’s incredible. For me, it’s about writing from the heart, while remaining true to my mind. My amazing mind that produces unique pieces!
What super-powers do you possess as a writer? What advice would you share in this day and age?
I appreciate everyone who reads my blog, and I hope that you gain something positive from your visit.
Unique
Unique's Blog 
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