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Hey, I'm Anna, or you might know me as prototypical-nonconformist. Either way, this is where I'm going to put all of the things I write. That's pretty much all it is.
~ Monday, June 11 ~
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Softly, wind whistles
Branches twitch in the breeze
Stars set fire to the earth below
While the water of the moon distills their light
Flowers close their eyes
I know I should too
It’s just so hard to sleep when the night is so alive

Tags: night sleep poem poetry creative writing writing
~ Wednesday, February 22 ~
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I’m not depressed. No, too many people are “depressed”. Too many empty pill bottles wrongfully handed to the chapped, fragile hands of the invincible youth. Give the teenager the internet, and they suddenly contract everything. So I’m not depressed, because that term is used far too loosely nowadays. But I do know that I don’t feel the same any more. I’m hardly happy anymore. I’m filled with this overwhelming dread for the future. I’m filled with this overwhelming dread for the present. I’m stressed, I’m anxious, I’m exhausted, and I’m confused, but god dammit, I’m not depressed. Maybe this is all just a side effect of life. But I’m not depressed. I’m just not really all together anymore.

Tags: depression teenagers life writing creative writing
~ Sunday, February 12 ~
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Come one, come all-
we are gathered here today
to bury our sorrows.
Dearly beloved,
where have you gone?
You left long before
all our promised tomorrows. 

Tags: Poem Poetry Creative writing Writing
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~ Friday, February 10 ~
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"This is how my heart was broken."

It was as if the whole world had stopped. Everything changed in an instant, but I couldn’t see anything changing. I could feel it. One phone call. That’s all it took. And you didn’t even say much. You didn’t explain anything.
"We can still be friends!"
The daggers hidden in each word stabbed straight into my heart, and it began to pool with everything I couldn’t say or never did. It wasn’t fair. It happened too fast. The air hung dense with my self-defeating cries reciting that it was all my fault. I had done something, I had done everything wrong. All the smiles, your hand warm and big, caressing mine, my fingers twisting in your heap of brown curls; the kisses, the embraces, the shared laughter and passion- all of it, in an instant, gone. I had convinced myself that I had broken my own heart, and set myself up for this. I act like I’m angry at you now. I act like we don’t know each other. But the truth is, every time I avert your gaze, it’s because I know if I look, I’ll break down and start wanting you all over again.  

Tags: writing creative writing heart love
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"Write about leaving."

Since preschool, every single one of the best friends I’ve ever had have left me. They’ve all moved away- some just an hour or two, others, all the way down to Texas. It keeps happening, so I don’t know why I don’t expect it. I’m never ready for it. *-all gone, leaving me here to fend for myself. Everyone still has their best friends from their childhood. They laugh and share pictures and memories, reminiscing on times that I wasn’t present for. So I get jealous, yeah. But then I met *. She’s stuck with me all this time. And now college is a year away, and I’m scared. I don’t want to be left again. I’m not ready for it.

*: (I had peoples’ names written here, but I omitted them for this.)

Tags: friends writing creative writing leaving
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~ Thursday, February 9 ~
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"Look out a window, write what you see."

Does anyone ride their bike in the winter? …does anyone ride their bike at ALL? It seems like stuff like that- biking, jogging, whatever- is on the decline. It’s all fast cars and even faster phones now. I know it’s dumb…and maybe a little self-indulgent, but the bike rack reminds me of myself. At one point, it was probably teeming with energy- bikes coming and going, some staying longer than others. Over tine though, it’s gotten worn down and a little rusty. Fewer bikes visit it now, one or two still from the beginning, and a few new ones. But at the times when there are no bikes at it, it feels empty. Sometimes it needs to be alone, though. Sometimes it needs to just wait. The world has grown bored of it and it has grown bored of the world- but it’s still waiting for someone to give it a fresh coat of paint and to lock up their bike to it. It looks strong, but it can easily fall apart. It sits there, letting the days pass, letting the world go by- but it’s secretly hoping for something more.

Tags: writing creative writing bikes self world
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~ Monday, February 6 ~
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You don’t understand, none of you understand. You all have each other; you do, don’t deny it. You’ve had each other since the beginning. Since preschool, or whenever your cherished friendships began. Maybe it’s my fault, maybe it’s me making me feel like this. It probably is. But it’s also the world’s fault, for being set up this way. In order to succeed in this world, your life is planned out like this: you have to get the perfect grades and be in the perfect clubs, so you can get into the perfect college and get the perfect grades again, so you can graduate and get the perfect job, maybe the perfect boyfirend, who will eventually be the perfect husband, who you will marry and live in the perfect house with and have the perfect family with. Except the ship is setting sail, and I forgot to get on the boat. And so I’m standing on the shore, watching the rest of you sail into your better lives. And I can try, and I can try, but I’ll never swim fast enough to catch up to the boat. The boat is big, but there’s not enough room for me on it. There never was, and there never will be. And on the boat is everything I thought could be mine. Everything I thought was mine. All the people I liked. The books, the movies, even the music. Because there’s always someone who’s made it theirs more than me. So I’ll just stay here, building my sand-castle, waiting for the tide to smash it down once again. I could cry out for help, but they don’t like that. That’s a sign of weakness, and the boat will not tolerate weakness. You can cry, and you can kick, and scream, but it’ll never get you anywhere on your tiny deserted island. The island of Nobody Cares. The world keeps on spinning, so are you going to spin with it? Or is it spinning too fast for you? Some of us are keeping up with it, but then we get tripped and lose track. So the boat sails on. The world spins. It all happens in the blink of an eye, as I stand, blinking, weeping, wondering what exactly am I supposed to do now?

Tags: Writing Life World School Anxiety Boat
3 notes
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Softly swelling
Gently welling
Still untelling
Always dwelling
So compelling
Screaming, yelling
I’m rebelling
No foretelling
what’s to come. 

Tags: poem poetry writing
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