It’s been a while

Short and sweet, and an attempt to get me back into writing. It doesn’t really work as a piece, but you can have it anyway 🙂

“It’s been a while, you know.” He says softly, moving hair from in front of my eyes.
“I know.” I mumble, and shake my head so the hair falls back into place.
He stiffens, knowing the gesture.
“But you didn’t miss me.” He says. It’s not a question, it’s a fact. I didn’t.
I sigh, quietly. “I have stuff on my mind.”
“Mm. Like what?” He says, and I resist the urge to scowl. He has no right to intrude on my privacy.
I breathe out loudly. Calm down, Nielle. “None of your fucking business,” I spit, and turn my back. I will not deal with his guilt trip shit today.


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Runaway Summer

A poem that’s really weird and doesn’t really work as a poem, but it’s 1am and I’m gonna post it anyway cuz I’m like that. 🙂 The name, runaway summer, is runaway summer because the entire thing is one sentence so it’s a sorta runaway sentence, because it goes on and on, and it’s about summer. Yeah I suck at names. Go judge me. Whatever. It’s 1AM! WHY AM I STILL AWAKE!

Grass is cold against
my bare feet; I don’t mind it,
it’s like they say:
it’s not cold, it’s “refreshing”
on a hot summer day,
with the sun burning tracks down
many women’s backs
and the day lasts forever,
though you wouldn’t
know, to look at it.

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Tick. Tick. Squeak. & A wish.

It’s been a while. Again. I have so much shit going on in my life atm. So have a crappy poem!

one or two wishes,
came true,
with one smile,
two tiny kisses,
three words,
and me
and you.

Told you it was crappy. :)This next piece has terrible language and equally terrible cliches. Try not to snicker too hard at my inability. 🙂

Tick. Tick. Squeak. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Squeak. The sound was as steady as a metronome. A smile flit across my face.
“Will you stop that?” Snapped Josie.
“Sorry.” Muttered Cal, as he stopped his pacing and slumped into a seat next to me.
I shifted, placing my elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
“If you get me in shit, Chris, I swear I’ll fucking kill you.”  Said Josie, glaring at me.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Shit happens, Jojo.” I smiled.
She rolled her eyes. She was letting herself get riled up. “My name is Josie. Don’t be a dick. We’re in deep shit here.”
Once again, I couldn’t resist a grin.  “Josie, calm the hell down. We have done nothing wrong.”
“Then why are we here?” She retorted. “I know you, Chris.”
“Really, Jojo? Then why so worried?” I smirked.
“Stop. fucking. calling. me. that.” She said tersely.
Cal leapt up. “Both of you shut the fuck up! In case you’re forgetting, somebody DIED.”
I bit my lip. Callum was right. As fucking always.
Maybe that was why I was joking, though. Nobody knew about me and.. and her. Josie suspected, but Josie was a jealous bitch because she loved me and I loved teasing her.
But I had loved Laney. And Laney had died. And it was all I could do not to cry then and there. Because Laney had used me like I had used Josie and the irony was that it was my fault she died and I fucking LOVED her.

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Shiny Black Shoes.

I am proud of this more because it’s the first thing I’ve managed to write and finish in this past month due to family problems killing any sense of creativity rather than because it’s any good. So be kind. 🙂

Walking down the hallway,
in shiny black shoes,
Skidding round the corner,
Got to keep moving,
But no,
She’s not running from you.

Her eyes point downwards,
her hands buried deep.
She slows to a halt,
by the boy, asleep,
the boy,
who’s like a brother to her.

You watch her as she sits,
on the plastic chair,
she shuffles up to him,
and wakes him lightly
“Hi Lou.”
Tears shine in her eyes.

“He screwed me over. Twice.”
you hear her speak.
“There’ll always be another, lou.”
And that’s your signal.
“Hi, Lou.”
And now it’s your turn.

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I wasn’t originally intending something quite like this… but I rather like it. 🙂

The room is full of old chairs. The dustcovers have rotted away, leaving nothing but dust. The room is like a chair graveyard. It’s empty, devoid of life, and seems almost in mourning for the stacks and stacks of green plastic chairs that came here to, for lack of a better word, die.

I stand in silence, in the centre of the room. It takes a moment for me to remember why I’m here, but I know I have to do something. I can’t just stay here.

As I begin to tug at chairs, manoeuvring them into a wall alongside my path, the whispers begin. First one, then two, then more and more as the sound rises to a cacophony of crackled hisses.

They all go quiet as I move the last chair to the sideline. I turn to survey my handiwork, realising only too late that I have inadvertently barricaded myself in this graveyard.

And graveyard it is, I think to myself as I turn once more to look at the coffin that called me here.

With each step I take, a tremor runs through me. I’m shaking, but I can’t back out now. As my fingers touch the edge of the lid, pain turns them rigid as the scream tears through my mind. I shut my eyes, determined to make the scream stay in my mind. A gasp trickles out, hanging in the musty smelling air as I reach forward to trace the letters on the coffin.

There is no going back now, I know, as I fight to keep control of my mind. My eyes flick open as I ease the lid upwards, trying to ignore the pain.

I glance down, gazing at the milky blue eyes that opened when mine did.

I can’t hold back the scream, this time, but it’s okay. It doesn’t last long before a cold, powerful hand stops it in my throat.

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I’ve been feeling particularly inspired lately. This is the latest piece. Warning, contains fairly heavy language.

“Hey you.” He says, dropping his bag next to me.
I glance up at him from behind the thin veil of hair that is my shield.
“Sasha asked me to talk to you.” He says.
I scowl from behind the hair. “Fuck Sasha.” I say.
He shakes his head, glancing at me. “What’s happened to you? You’re different.”
“Lots of things.” I say, remembering how different I’d been, barely two weeks ago.
He stares at me. “Talk to me. I’m your boyfriend, remember?”
“Ex-boyfriend.” I say quietly, and just like that it’s done.
He frowns. “Sorry, I must have missed this. What the FUCK are you doing, Amelie?” He’s shouting now, loudly. The other early arrivals are glancing at us, me slumped in my chair at the back of the class, and him yelling at me.
“I knew you’d be like this.” I say, the first fully formed, fully thought out sentence that had come out my mouth.
He swears at me, practically frothing at the mouth. “What happened to cool, popular, cheerleader Amelie? It’s like you flicked a fucking switch. You changed overnight.”
I smile bitterly. If only he knew. I tell him so, of course. “If only you knew. You’d understand. Or maybe you wouldn’t. You haven’t exactly got the greatest IQ.”
I’m alienating, I know I am, and that’s exactly what I want. Underneath the new hair dye, the dark attire, is a version of me that just wants to be fucking left alone, okay? And it’s taking all of my energy for me not to scream that at him.
“So tell me then.” He says, as I knew he would. So fucking predictable. “Help me to understand.”
I sigh, and shut my eyes for a few seconds, nothing more. When I open them, Sasha has waltzed in, and is watching us. Shit.
“My dad died.” I say eventually, leaving a pause just long enough for it to be awkward. He’s the first person I’ve told, but he doesn’t deserve to know.
“Jesus. Shit. I’m sorry.” He says.
I frown, tiredly. “No, you’re not. You just don’t know what the hell else to say.”
He shrugs, uncertain. “But why does that require you fucking dump my ass?”
I look him in the eyes for the first time, and he pulls the hair back past my cheek, stroking my face with his hands as he does so.
“I just want to be left alone.” I say, weakening. “Please.” I say, beginning to beg as a tear trickles down my cheek.
He stands up. “See ya ’round, bitch.” He says, as he walks to join Sasha. She cocks her head at him, obviously preparing to ask for the details of our encounter.
Two weeks later, they hook up. I don’t give a shit, but everybody thinks I have a right to.
It was expected. She was always prettier than me.
Damn he’s so predictable.
Seven months later, I give birth to a baby boy. I name him after my father. Poor kid’s dad doesn’t give a shit.

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Leave me alone

Once again, written in class. Can’t remember which. It’s kinda sucky, but yeah. Deal.

“Leave me alone!” I hear myself scream, from the part of me that is currently utterly detached. They won’t, I know they won’t. This part of me has stopped caring, but the flighty, temperamental, hurting part of me just wants to be left alone. That much is clear.

I take to my feet and run- it’s the same routine played out day after day. I just can’t bring myself to give a shit. It’s funny how weird that numbness feels, I reflect, as my feet pound the concrete floor and the taunting yells draw nearer behind me.

I’ve hit the steps. I could go up them to some kind of safe zone, but the risk is too great. They’ll catch up, and I’ll be tossed down the stairs like some kind of ragdoll. Maybe then they’d stop bullying me.

I make a decision, smiling grimly to myself, as I turn around and face the bastards.

I just don’t care anymore.

“Do your worst.” I say.

And they really do.

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