Posted in Advice, blogging, Confidence, Life Lessons, Love yourself, Memories, New Year, Self image, Speaking Out, Student, Teenager, Uncategorized, Writing

The cliche New Year blog 

Hello! I’d just like to wish all my followers and readers a Happy New Year and I hope you all had an amazing Christmas. I’m not going to make this cliche, well all know what 2016 has been a very big ,historical year there was Brexit and Trump winning the US presidential election along with a lot of celebrity deaths. However I feel like I’ve grown up this year and learnt a lot of valuable life lessons.

1.) Change happens for a reason

I know this sounds cliche but I swapped my acting hobby for writing . I never thought that I’d enjoy it but I’ve been able to create a blog , write more poetry and gain more confidence in myself as a writer. As a result I have performed my work at an open mic in my city and even got recognised for it which was lovely and I never expected it to happen.

2.) True friends will stick around

Most of my friends are older and have moved away to university. Despite not seeing eachother, we’ve still kept in touch and met up several times in the holidays. Exploring the city and adventuring into independent restaurants. We still have the bond that we did before they moved which shows that if your friends are true they’ll stick by you.

3.) The only person who decides your self worth is you

This year I have learnt to throw away the negative labels that have affected me and learnt to embrace myself.

4.) Red lipstick 

Is a girls best friend ..Bring out your inner femme fatal.

5.) Never put myself under too much pressure.

I am an A level student ,currently studying for 3 A levels. I am one of those people who revises constantly and never gives myself a break because I want to do well. Sometimes things get too much and I’ll cry over something because I’ve overworked myself. I have learnt to break my revision into 25 minute chunks ,take regular breaks , take time for myself  and don’t feel guilty about taking breaks.

6.) Confidence takes time 

Most importantly I have realised my self worth; beauty doesn’t always come in forms of aesthetic appearance but it can come in forms of intelligence,honesty,kindness,I could go on. I have realised that I am beautiful ,my imperfections are beautiful and show the wars I have battled throughout my seventeen short years. I may still have my bad days but that’s alright everyone has them and you need them to be human . I have learnt to throw the negative labels away and embrace positive ones.

Goals for 2017

Possibly make my blogs more diverse and not just poetry.

Give myself more self love;take time to relax.

Don’t doubt myself 

Say no to things that I don’t have time for.
Thank you for reading and being my followers thus far .I’ve been amazed how many likes and views I’ve had on my blog ;thank you for each and every view, comment or like it is really appreciated. If you have any things you’d like to see on my blog please let me know .

~SS

Posted in Byron, Creative Writing, Dorian Grey, English Literature, English puns, Free Verse, Humor, Literature, Love, Oscar Wilde, Percy Shelley, Poetry, Relationship, Spoken word, Student, The Romantics, Writing

The man made of literature and technique


Caress me with caesuras, but don’t break in two.

 Kiss me with ballards, my heart will beat in tune,
With you.

Finger me with free verse until moans escape my lips,

like Enjambment,

Never ending

Oh God , don’t stop this.

You’re Wilde,

Like Dorian,

Be my Mr Gray.

Romantic,

Like Byron,

A Stag who never stays.

Drowning me like Percy,

In a lake of admiration.
Your love never ending,
Like their sexual frustration.

The Bad Boy of Literature 😍

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 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, 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