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Amateur Writing

Can I write? No. Do I keep trying? Yes.

July

Another Day

Her hand flicks through the crisp new book that her father bought her the day before. He said it was because she’d been such a good girl lately. Her parent’s divorce hadn’t exactly been a pretty one.

Continue reading “July”

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June

Waves

She can feel the sand beneath her toes, the soft grains sliding as she wriggles the appendages. The salty air brushes her hair off of her narrow shoulders, strands flying behind her. She is oblivious to the soft stare of the person beside her.

Continue reading “June”

May

Looking back.

This is going to be my first attempt at a ‘blog’ post. This whole adventure of writing is supposed to encourage me to try new things; so I suppose it’s only fitting I give this a go. I took inspiration from a few friends, who honestly are amazing at this sort of thing; unfortunately I don’t have such high hopes for myself…

Continue reading “May”

Tranquillity

The sand slips between your toes.
The wind plays with the ends of your hair.
The sea engulfs the sleeping sand beds.
The shore is filled with ocean air.

A breath, a smile, a sigh of relief.

Finally, you are at peace.

April

Growth Is Okay

I long for growth, something new to evoke my grin

I wish to drink in the sunshine

to feel the heat upon my pale skin. Continue reading “April”

Rain

You know when it’s raining there’s that distinct smell? It is earthy and fresh. It is staying inside at break time, watching it dribble down the glass windows whilst we play cards. It is running in from P.E, changing out of sodden sport clothes with dripping hair. It is holidays in Cornwall, rain drumming on the roof of the tent and dripping down the edges. It is sitting on a bench after being broken up with, watching the snails dodge the droplets. It is spring evening walks, trying to clear your confused and muddled head.

It’s cleansing. It’s familiar. It’s rain.

March

Theatrical Dream

“Shall I speak for thee? shall I say ’tis so? O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, That I might rail at him, to ease my mind! Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp’d, Doth burn the heart to ashes-”

“Sorry, from the top please. It’s cinders, Francis, and maybe a bit more emotion? Your daughter literally has had her hands cut off and her tongue cut out.”
Francis sighs, running his hands through his dark hair and returns to his marker on the stage. The other actors roll their eyes and groan quietly, Charlotte rubbing her knees the best she could with her ‘mutilated’ hands.
Continue reading “March”

February

Interrupted Connection

Scattered apologies,
withered flowers, a box of chocolates.
That is what you offer me the day after.
I return to you a weary smile
a £200 watch and
4 long years of my life.
You put the watch amongst your
mismatched socks.
Continue reading “February”

Ablaze.

My mind feels like the end of a firework,
the slowly fading crackle.
Continue reading “Ablaze.”

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