Posted in Berlin, Boyfriends, Stories, Student, Writing

The Narcissist That I am.

Hello!

I’ve noticed that since I’ve been away I haven’t updated you on the things I’m now doing what I’ve done in the past year etc. So, I feel that this blog post will finally give me an excuse to tell you more about myself so you can get to know me a little better. The problem with blogging as we all know is that sometimes life can often get in the way meaning we have very little time to blog, once you stop blogging your inspiration goes and your readers follow (Well some of them) not that you blame them. Blogging in a way is like a relationship but without the clingy other half, you have to keep your readers begging for more, like I suppose a romantic partner not that I’m experienced in that department and I’d love to say I took a break from blogging on a high leaving my readers begging for more but quite honestly, I didn’t. I’ve detailed in my previous blogs why I stopped and I’m not going to bore you with that because I’ll become like an old person in the early stages of dementia. So, I’m going to try and condense what I’ve been up to in this blog post, I’ll try and keep it short.

 

1.)    I have just finished my A levels

I have just finished full time education completing three A levels in English Literature, Sociology and Geography. I hope to be at university in September, studying English and Theatre studies although for privacy reasons I don’t want to disclose which university I’m going to go to. I can’t fully tell you what I want to be, what I want to do or where I want to go in life, but life has a funny sort of way of sorting things out for us so I guess I’ll just have to see where it takes me.

 

 

2.)    I turned 18 in February and am now a fully-fledged adult

It seems strange to say that I am an “adult”, although I don’t look old enough I’m told that often enough; I usually get asked “So have you finished school, what are you planning to do next?” and I mean ok, I’ve still got my baby face but come on. I suppose in a funny sort of way I don’t mind people mistaking my age because I’m hoping I look young in my forties. I always joke that “I’m going to get a 20-year-old toy boy” when I’m forty, but thinking about it I’m two years off twenty and forty-year olds don’t seem to appeal to me. Sorry Dads.  For my birthday, I didn’t really want a big party because alcohol and buffets always seem to bring out the worst in people as it suggests in Othello “Why put an enemy in your mouth to steal away you brains” something like that anyway. And I myself am not a big drinker, I’m 5ft 2 (ish) and weigh 7 stone so I really can’t handle it, and I don’t really like paying for it either. So, alcohol isn’t really my thing as I’m an old soul finding nightclubs to be too loud and playing crap music and the alcohol not tasting nice, I suppose that’s not the point though alcohol isn’t supposed to taste nice in those sort of establishments, just get you drunk. For me I’ve not yet gotten drunk, I don’t want to be out of control in a busy town centre and I wouldn’t say I abstain but alcohol isn’t really my vice. I don’t think it’s clever as alcohol is expensive and you’re paying for yourself to be ill the next morning as well as face liver damage. No thanks. For my birthday, I got some lovely presents, I’m not going to post them on here and brag about them because I’m not that type of person and I also feel that it’s too late for me to write about them, maybe on my 19th. For me I thinks it’s not the presents that you get bought that you remember but more the experiences you have with family and friends which really makes it special. My birthday was on a day when I was at college so I couldn’t really do much in the day time, a lot of teachers were surprised I’d turned up, but birthdays are like busses they come and go. Luckily, I wasn’t starting until eleven so I got the morning to open my presents. To celebrate I was bought a bottle of champagne which I still haven’t drunk and we went out for a eat where I had my first legal drink. The next day luckily, I had a day off so my mum took me out to a patisserie for an afternoon tea. The half term holidays are usually quite close to my birthday so we headed up to York where I met my university friend and we went out for a few drinks and I was taken to Bettys tea room for cake. (I have a shocking sweet tooth if you haven’t gathered)

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3.)    I visited Berlin

As part of my birthday present I asked to go to Berlin with college, I’m not a very materialistic person and prefer experiences I remember rather than having gifts. I had an amazing time we visited lots of monuments:

  • Alexander Platz
  • Street food Market: Markthalle Neun
  • TV Tower
  • The Berlin Wall
  • Potsdamer Platz
  • The Jewish Memorial
  • Brandenburg Gate
  • We had a canal ride
  • Visited the East Side Gallery
  • Museum Island
  • Concentration Camp (Swchenhausen Memorial and Museum)
  • Reichstag
  • Berlin Zoo
  • I visited Bowie’s café

 

 

3.)I had a boyfriend

I’m not really going to go into this because I feel I am allowed my own sense of privacy and I want my blog to be a positive place which is like a warm hug. I dumped him but I’ve learnt a couple of things never go out with a man:

  • That is the same shoe size as you.
  • Brags about his “7.8-inch penis” (I never saw it, don’t worry)
  • That makes a crap cup of tea.
  • And votes for an opposing political party.

 

4.)    I voted in my first election:

After not being able to vote in Brexit as I wasn’t old enough I could finally vote for my chosen political party. I voted and I was so glad that the youth vote rose because for a while politicians haven’t really cared about us because they haven’t felt that we could help them win. I feel like it works like this the young haven’t voted because of the lack of policies geared towards us and because of that there’s been even less policies geared towards us, so it’s like a vicious circle. After Brexit, I think we finally got the message and I know I kind of can’t include myself but still. The youth vote allowed labour to win more seats, which I’m very glad about.

 

 

5.)    I volunteer for Girl-Guiding UK

I have been a volunteer for with Girl-Guiding UK for over seven years and I absolutely love it, it allows me to give back to my community and gain good experience around children. I’ve gained so much confidence and have enjoyed every minute of working with them, I don’t have a bad word I can say about any of them because they’re all little stars who make me laugh.

 

 

So that’s all I have to say for now, I hope you have enjoyed reading my blog please like, comment and share if you so wish to.

 

The Girl With Purple Dockers xx

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Posted in blogging, Creative Writing, English Literature, Heartbreak, Literature, Love, Memories, Monologue, Poetry, Relationships, Self image, Stories, Writing

Lover at the opposite side of the road

Lover at the opposite side of the road..

God , there’s so many things I want to say to you right now.

How the sight of you makes me dizzy, makes my head spin wildly like a glitter ball on constant. Even on your darkest days or the time when you walked into the lecture hungover with a black eye I found presence beautiful like a glowing angel, my eyesight not affected by the flaws in your facial appearance.Or what other people would consider facial flaws. Like your huge forehead for instance to me ,it’s not huge, to me it shows your capacity for knowledge.

 What secrets lie inside there. What do you think when you look at me? Do you find my fried egg boob’s attractive or are you put off by the size. Do you even look there and even if or when you do you shouldn’t! It’s not gentlemanly of you. Do you ever think about me stripped naked? Would you like me to be naked in front of you , lying. Our skin pressed together , feeling our heartbeats intertwined. You skin would feel like gold to me if I ever got to brush my hand upon it once, once would be enough. Your mouth would taste like heaven sending me off to an erotic ecstasy. 

My pain would be melted away by your soothing whispers, like chocolate dripping down sealing every crack.

And when your tears hit your cheeks, they would burn my body,

 causing bullet wounds. 

I would cocoon you in my arms protecting you with my armour where nothing would enter.

When I blink you’d disappear because you’d no longer be waiting for me.I could no longer say everything I wanted to because you wouldn’t be there to listen and even if you were there to listen I probably wouldn’t be able to get the words out. 

Because I mean nothing to you..

Yet you mean everything to me.

Lover at the side of the road.

Posted in Advice, Comedy, Creative Writing, Dead, Drunk, Emotions, English Literature, Free Verse, Growing up, Humor, Humour, Hungover, illness, Love, Memories, Monologue, Poetry, Regret, Sarcasm, Spoken word, Stories, Student, Theatre, Writing

 Hungover on poetry

Hungover on poetry,

It’s wrapped around my eyes.

I’ve drank it buckets.

Now I see the Light.

Head pounding,

Eyes hurting,

Throat sore with speech,

My eyebags are dark.

Like images of words,

that I now see.

Was the poetry spiked?

 Did I lap up too many,

too quickly?

Yes.

Over too soon.

Did I trip over?

The words.

Did they  make a fool out of me?

Yes..

But I can’t remember a thing.

Words , oh words . Oh God please stop!

There’s  vomit  on the doorstep,

My shoes ,

My hair,

The clean bed sheets,

And the toilet seat.

I shouldn’t have mixed mixed  Carol Anne Duffy, with my own special brew.

Or let others give me shots of

Poems.

I should have closed my mouth

To stop the migraine.

The litre of water last night wasn’t enough.

To cure the poetry hang over.

Breakfast might make it better.

Still more words .

On the box.

Sickness is growing and I can’t stop the din.

The words are louder, 

Caving in.

Dead on my bed, 

I can’t find the cure.

Drink some more poetry.

That might stop the sore.

Posted in Creative Writing, Dead, Emotions, English Literature, Love, Love letters, Marriage, Monologue, Poetry, Regret, Relationship, Stories, Writing

Valentine

I’m not giving you a heart or a beautifully penned poem.

Wrapped in a brown parcel;

  an onion.

Like the moon shedding light onto your darkened world.

Multi layered, complex , hard to unravel the mysteries of a woman.

 You peel trying to undress her;

Feeling the curves of her smooth bottom, breasts, hips. Undressing love, until there is nothing but a twig.

Shatter her in half.

You will feel the sting burn your eyes. Tears. Trembling reflection.

The fiery kiss will leave you with an urge for more. An addiction;

 Leaving her breath , the taste of her love on your mouth for days.

Faithful, like we are.

As long as we both are.

Shrink  it to a wedding ring, if you want.

Leaving the perfumed scent on your fingers for eternity.

Everlasting.

Murderous.

Clinging to you.

 Your life.

Your knife.

~SS

Posted in blogging, Creative Writing, Dead, Emotions, Poetry, Stories, Stress, Student, Writing

The Dance of the Dead

I saw them plastered into the wall those heads, those mouths. White eyes reflecting the rays of the sun looking at us as we entered the school gates. Sticks ,stones , old battered text books thrown at their unblinking faces. Their mouths still open as if the plaster had silenced their repeated mumbles.

They were staring at us as if they were trying to give us some message about God, or the meaning of life , or something, something which I couldn’t place my finger on.

Then the darkness came, the sun dipping like a wave , shattering everything. Their eyes blinked, a spark enlightened. The heads along with morphed bodies filled into the playground like a line of soldiers marching.

Haunting music played ,the bodied danced intertwining legs, arms, bodies tongues; In a repeated seductive whisper.

The children watched frozen like ice. Their heads tearing away from bodies, their blood pooling into a river. Eyes popping out of sockets.

The music stopped playing ,the noise ended. The heads, the bodies floated only to be muffled by concrete and dust.Voices silenced, pupils vanished.

Leaving me . Alone.

~SS

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, 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