Creative Writing

Valentines’ Day

Warmed by a nightlong rest,

we whisper the common riddle. The eager zest

of love quietened by morning, sleep, speech

and indulgence shared hours before. Now, heavy-lidded, reach

for an arm or fingertip. A sound, and we rise to leave

that sanctuary. The bed cools, the two halves cleave.

Now, armored with boots, scarf, a hat for my head,

I wonder at life which wrenched me from that bed

(and you). Is it not cruel that we are called

from the warm pressing of our bodies and hauled

to trains, trams, buses by necessity? –

Forced to numb our feelings in freezing February.


Rant #3: So I actually wrote a fucking poem.

I haven’t blogged in a while because I’ve been scared to. I’m scared my ideas aren’t good enough, my vocabulary isn’t wide enough and that I’m not intelligent enough. It’s my stupid lack of self worth that does this to me. It’s crippling, and draws me into this self-centred, self pitying state of mind where the world is OBVIOUSLY going to END because I CAN’T WRITE A PRETTY STORY or THINK OF AS MANY IDEAS ABOUT A PIECE OF LITERATURE as some of the OTHERS in my ENGLISH CLASS.

I’ve been trying to blame not writing on lack of time, but balls to that. If I were as driven, inspired and passionate as I am willing myself to be, nothing would stop me.

So you know what? I’m going to do what I’ve told people I’m doing, and I’m going to adapt The Yellow Wallpaper into a play. A bloody, actual piece of theatre with characters and a set I’ll design in my head. I don’t care if it’s never performed. I don’t care if nobody reads it. But maybe – just maybe – when it’s done I’ll feel like a person who’s worth something to the world.

Anyway, I’ll upload my poem, ‘Valentines’ Day’, on a separate post.