Posted in blogging, Creative Writing, Emotions, English Literature, Poetry, Stories, Stress, Student, Writers Block, Writing

Dear Writers Block

I want to know…

why; you blinded me covering my eyes with useless ideas.

Clamped my mouth stopping expression.

Shackled my mind with empty thought manacles.

I want to know why ;

You let me run with stupid nonsensical ideas.

Bringing back the nightmare of my most hated fictional character whilst having an epiphany.

Stopping me …Mid sentence .

Ideas are gold .

Once found treasured.

You stop them ..Thief.

You’re doing it again!

I was running..

Now tip-toeing over faint ideas.

Lost in a maze of jumbled thoughts. Trying to catch the words.

Tripping over them, escaping from my grasp.

Falling over full stops..

There…

Done .

Defeated.

Sorry for my unusual lack of posts, I’ve been extremely busy with coursework , various governors meetings and writers block .Also the tiredness that accompanies it. So thank you for supporting me this far. Any comments would be appreciated.

~SS

Posted in blogging, Creative Writing, Emotions, English Literature, First poem, Guilt, Poetry, Stress, Student, Writing

Invention of the mind

You’re choking me, killing me. 

I can’t hear, see, think. 
I arise to your stare. 
You’re the pang in my stomach,  throb in my head… like venom. 
You’re watching me;
 Hurling me down a spiral of self destruct.

Wrapping around my neck like a noose. 
Halting my breath;
Dragging at my feet;
A halo in reverse. 
When you seal your lips ,you haunt me in a hundred silent ways.

Your stench plummets me into darkness
The rot of animal corpses. 
Housing the souls of unwanted men. 

I’m existing in a Senseless nightmare. 
Entangled in your satanic clutches.

You’re an invention of the mind.
My mind 
A fiend. 
Yet,I cannot escape .

I’ve been so busy these past couple of days ,college work and the extended project is getting on top of me. I wrote this on my old blog it was one of the first pieces of poetry that I’d ever written and got me in to creative writing. I think my creative writing skills have come on a lot since. Please let me know your thoughts.

~SS

Posted in blogging, Cancer, Creative Writing, English Literature, Love letters, Memories, Poetry, Stories, Student, Writing

Locks on a brige

Your name engraved next to mine on the little gold lock , it’d be a good idea. That’s what you said. We attached the lock when we were both young , you seventeen , me fifteen. It was a proposal, the closest thing to one.  Cementing our love.

We were in our youth,naive .I suppose that’s the nice thing about being young, you don’t know a lot about life. Our love like a never ending summer. Cocooning us in a blanket of warmth and comfort.My berry lipstick staining your mouth and cheeks. 
The autumn walks along the barge hand in hand .Summer passing us by like floating clouds. We never wanted it to end.

In a euphoria of happiness you twirled me round and round at prom; like a disco ball.
Ten years later we got married , we’ve had a good life ,successful marriage, raised kids.

John..If you’re reading this, you know this is my note. It was the breast cancer that killed me .You were by my side every step of the way. I love you ,more than words and letters can describe.

I want you to know that in every argument you were right most of the time , even though you let me win. You let me have the best years of my life supporting me throughout. Still having our autumnal walks and kisses ; despite us being in our seventies.

I’ll still watch over you, you’ll need it . I know you’ll miss me; my cups of tea, fairy cakes ,my Sunday dinners.

We’ll be reunited.

One day.
Emma X

Hello readers sorry my blog post is a little late , I don’t think this is the best post I’ve written ; it did make me cry so I suppose that’s a good thing. I’ve been bogged down with college work lately even though it’s been my first week back.Then there’s been the university visits. This poem is pretty self explanatory inspired by some locks on a bridge I saw in Derby and party the ending to Sweet Tooth by Ian McEwan. I’d love to know your thoughts on this good, bad and what I can do to improve.
~SS

Posted in Acne, Advice, blogging, Creative Writing, Dear Past Self, Memories, Poetry, Stories, Student, Theatre, Writing

Dear younger self,

 You’re  probably thinking  you’ll be a different person,  cool, popular and in with the cliqué.  Or have grown a couple of inches. You’re wrong . Still the same old 5ft 1 and a half .
The clique non-existent, the beauty of you; never wanting to follow the crowd ; purposely not liking One Direction everyone else liked. You followed your own interests and still are, like acting. You’ve now decided you don’t want to be an actor , but want to write scripts for the BBC o

r plays for the stage . Cake is your harmartia you could devour all day long; not worrying about a scrap of weight being placed onto your petite figure..Oh and another thing you lost a stone on the Duke of Edinburgh ; you were made to carry the heaviest backpack despite being the smallest. 15kg for 20 miles. Just don’t let people take advantage,you always seem to see the good in people, forgive people too many times.Like your ‘friend’ that you had since primary school who emotionally abused you; pushed you downstairs then you found out several years later they turned out to be transgender and confused. Don’t forgive them this time; some things are un-forgivable.

Remember that boy in secondary school that sexually harassed you? You realised it wasn’t your fault; even though people called your out for saying something.Sexual harassment is by no means acceptable you managed to openup about the experience at an NUS conference. There’s been a lot of attention surrounding sexual harassment in schools.

No you’re acne still hasn’t disappeared, it’s better but still not gone completely. People don’t judge you anymore now you’re at college, they love your personality, your love of theatre and the fact you like being individual. You’re doing well ,you became a student ambassador then managed to get onto the board of governors.Don’t be scared of failure.

You’re happier now , a lot happier ; you still don’t have a good sense of style or taste in music; still liking showtunes.But that’s you, don’t change it.

The pantomimes you used to be in you quit ; the director called you an obnoxious cow and told you that the audience didn’t want to watch you. Good riddance. So you joined another theatre group which you like a lot better.

Finally you’ve realized why your breasts haven’t surpassed a 32A , you still hate the size . You want them to be bigger; you’re a pear so keep loving that bum.

I suppose all I have to tell you now is ,keep being different, follow your dreams, never let anyone tell you you’re not good enough and don’t be scared of failure.
Love older self X


~SS

Posted in Acne, blogging, Bullying, Creative Writing, English Literature, Memories, Poetry, Stories, Student, Writing

Behind the mask.

A festering tapeworm under the skin. A trillion bullet holes shooting through a greasy mirror.

Trapped by porcelain faces , rouge lipped smiles. Pitiful eyes staring their scorching glare.

Razor sharp words crack my face.

Splitting confidence.

Escaping from harsh tongues to a desolated toilet.

Ugly 

spotty ,

freak.

Thoughts dancing like a plague;

Causing a flood.

Concocting potions trying to rid the strawberry blotches.

Smothering imperfections with layers of makeup;

Only to make them greater.

Left with an empty feeling of helplessness.

So having a nearly nine year battle I thought I’d write this poem to express the feelings I’ve been bottling up . My acne is going now but my skin still is red ,blotchy and stained with acne scars which look like craters. I’ve tried everything I can think of to rid myself of them but nothing has worked.I know people think acne is just acne but it’s more psychological than that.I always feel dirty no matter what amount of chemicals I paste on. I never feel good enough. I suppose this is down to me starting puberty extremely early , at the age of nine.

When I started secondary school no one in my year seemed to have developed spots; making me look like a freak that had been created in a laboratory. Giving people the licence to call me names. If anyone remembers the popular Rhianna song “shine bright like a diamond.” The lyrics were changed to “shine bright like your forehead.’ and chanted to me due to the oiliness of my skin.

I remember people avoiding me due to the way I looked, thinking I’d spread some sort of bacteria onto them. Those remarks made still have a lasting impact , the acne scars aren’t just the scars caused by the spots but the scars caused by the past. Each name called is like a lasting bruise.

I know people are told to look on the inside, see inner beauty within themselves; it’s easier said than done.People seem to value appearance more than personality. I suppose the rise of social media hasn’t helped with that .

That’s why I choose to wear the mask ,to cake myself in makeup ;  that’s why I hide imperfections . I know I sound vain ,  insecure.That’s why I hide in a blanket of confidence, shielding myself from venomous remarks.

I know to you they don’t look bad, but you’re not me.

This is why I wear makeup

Posted in blogging, Britishness, Creative Writing, English Literature, Memories, Poetry, Stories, Student, Tea, Writing

An abstract look on tea

Dipping into my favourite book , sipping from my favourite mug. 

Me and you tea , we’ve travelled far danced with commets, played along stars.

You wanted to tag along on adventures,battling orcs, goblins and dragons; for the sake of a ring.

Together we conquered the High Rise.

And Atoned for our sins.

You encouraged me to continue; despite being beaten ,gagged and tortured.

Your warm hands embracing me after every metaphorical bruise endured.           My Savior.

You never let me down.

Ever. 

Always sailing  me through the pages.

Tea, my trustworthy companion.

  My first in command , never cracking.

After many adventures, sleepless nights you became my alarm clock.

 Morning stimulant.

 Shaking my body into reality;  Becoming the chopsticks in my eyelids.

On a cold winters night you were my blanket of calm;  

 Caressing my throat with warm, tender kisses; 

Floating me to the land of dreams.

Eventually becoming my sixth sense.         An essential to  functioning.                  

Your aroma reviving memories of the gossip between friends,                                   Grandma dancing with the kettle attempting to make the perfect drink.

You became the voice when no one wanted to speak. The mediator in every argument , strengthening relationships.  The matchmaker in a coffee shop reuniting two unknown lovers with your beckoning steam.

Tea. 

The language  loved and shared.
     

I hope this has given you something enjoyable to read with your Earl Grey/ Darjeeling/ Chamomile/ Green/ Peppermint or reliable Builder’s tea. Throughout the poem I have hinted at different types of books , if you can guess what they are please place them in the comments and a box of China tea and M&S biscuits will be on the way to you. 

As briefly mentioned tea is a sensory evoking memories of the past and creating new ones ;speaking of which I have one to share. During the early stages of mine and my ex-boyfriends relationship he took me out for breakfast every Saturday morning. Due to his insistence and gentlemanly attitude he always paid, despite my telling him not to.One particular morning I asked him to get me a cup of tea, to my disgust he brought me over a white milky substance; the tea bag barely touching the sides ((I like my tea strong)). 

“What’s that?” I asked “Tea?” He  replied bluntly.  I shook my head shoving the tea over to him, making him drink it. 

After that day he never made me a bad cup of tea again.

If you have any tea related stories I’d love to hear them . This is my first creative poem I’ve written so if you have any writing tips, comments , critisms or advice ; I’d appreciate them.

~SS
“You could never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.”.                                                               ~C.S Lewis.

   12.09.16

Posted in blogging, English Literature, First blog, Student, Theatre, Writing

The daunting first blog

I stare at this blank screen, not knowing what to write; Questioning will people like me? Will they want to read my blog? Am I good enough to be a blogger?  

Daunting questions tiptoeing around my mind like small child doing something naughty. Knowing they shouldn’t be present but still are.

I need to think positively,keep writing!

I will start from the beginning;that’s a very good place to start ((I’m sure you had the sound of music track in your head)). I am an A level student, I will be starting my second year of college *yay* on Tuesday. I am currently studying English literature, Sociology and Geography ((hard stuff)). Basically I know how to talk to people,how to find places on a map and read .

I have a passion for English literature. You can usually find me housed in a library skimming my fingers over the spine of novels, listening to their seductive whispers.

I love the smell of old books;  when I  open the novel the dusty cinnamon smell of the pages wafts up my nostrils like a welcome home gift; instantly making me feel at ease.
I love being curled up in bed ,late at night with a marsh-mellow hot chocolate beside me ;nestled snug under the duvet between the brown pages of a  novel.There is something romantic about it; imagining I’m part of MI5 taking part in a mission to stop evil cats gaining dominion over the world, or a woman having a good romp with her lover..Only to find out ten years later he’s gay. 

Theatre is another obsession of mine; I feel like Victor Frankenstein zapping thousands of electric currents into a corpse; or in this case giving life to a bundle of words scattered on a page. I lust for creating characters ,making them seem as believable as I can. I want to create imaginary worlds on bare boards.I also enjoy watching theatre whether it be musicals,comedy ,horror or a drama.

I’m not particularly going to give my blog a theme; I will feel restricted.  Being an Aquarius I hate that ,I like to feel free. The only thing I am going to put on here is things I am devoted to writing about. I will try to write two blog posts ((Maybe three)) depending on how busy my schedule is.

To say I couldn’t think of what to write ,I think I’ve done a pretty good job of getting things down on the blank space. The final thing to say is thank you for reading ; if you’d like to please give me a cheeky follow .
~SS

“Literature is mankinds response to the world around him or her.”.                            ~David Nicholls, Starter for ten.

11.09.15