Discussion Creative Writing Megathread

[Emerita]

Call me emerita, as for my life—

As if it's my name.

I wear it on my soul—

For the time I have endured,

And soon I will go.

It is not suicide

To take my honour away!

So I ask for this name

As a final title

Before I lay with daisies.

So when the sun has dipped

And the night be all—

That mourn should meet,

Where my body rest.

Centuries will pass—

And only the tomb shall I confide

My self—and what remains of memories.

The parts of me engraved

Will erode away the ineffable grief.

As for in the fallen field,

Most of us are forgettable.

It is not legacy I seek—

But a luxury for recognition,

For the labour of my breath.

Before intimacy of the grave

I lived— a survival of pain.

Till I took the day in hand

And instead picked a gentleman—

That his name was death.

[Emerita a Latin term meaning someone soon to retire with honour —used here to signify a name of honour for a life lived that will soon end]

This isn't well written but its my name here so thought I would share.

 

[AnimusLapsus]

A fellow user recommended that I post some of my work in this forum.

Below is a prose poem written last fall, whose substance, although autumnally inspired, remains applicable year round. Hope you enjoy :)

Deliverance


steady murmurs of fate and misfortune condemn open fields into motion. willows weep and reeds frail. a sycamore writhes to the insatiable palate of time. the heron sickens. vultures swarm. knells herald death's drum as silence subsumes the meadow. to the beat flurry emaciated leaves, ushering in destruction with violent dance. autumn - the silent fury, the grim deliverer, the forlorn thief.



in all its crooked, waxing glory, her luminous majesty rises, presiding over an early dawn.

reborn, she musters a whisper, faint like blood on the tongue.



"The great repose is nigh. September has arrived. "

 

[plasticsoul]

oh i am so covered in blood
so utterly soaked
that it is all you can see
no longer in control
not drug nor music nothing synthetic will suffice
when there is no longer anyone there to listen you tell the silent earth i flow the running water "i am" you say
but this world is just a screen to me just a screen like the ones i have been forced to live off of lacking real people real life

tell the fucking water i am
i could scream forever
that is the only noise i will emit from now on how better could i communicate myself
for me
words have never done shit

so i run as far away from the path as possible just to scream forever
but the voices the cars persist
alone always and yet connected just enough for punishment containment reprimand
just enough to make a scene
still can't make the leap order the pill buy the gun still can't do anything at all

oh i am so covered in blood
so utterly soaked
darn the socks why don't you
wring me out like the old rag i am
but you could stand over that sink twisting squeezing for 30 minutes and still
blood
and still the water wouldn't run clear
(on being a young person in the US or just in general right now)
It would not be good to have a time machine
for back when before they really started getting at our minds
to remember, to remember how blissful it is to forget, to live in a constant state of forgetting

the woman who sits at the window in her chair, mouth agape, horrified at the little people below her going about their day like the world has not unbecome itself
catatonic,or worse, annoying everyone with her conviction- brokenclock
is she not better upon forgetting, upon
getting up, humming some pop tune,(..?), that thick brooding cloud covering …doesn't seem so bad, perhaps it was always there

i read the other day that the average concentration of plastic in the human brain has increased 50% in the last 8 years. then i read that plastic production continues to rise exponentially. i try, i try to forget

you were waiting for some new energy some fiery young revolutionaries
fucking idiots
you are what you eat i guess, and oh we have become so consumed by this terrible night that it may never break.
in a sleep deprived semi-lucid delirium, sucking and puffing and shooting up. burning holes in our retinas ai generated everything. a fog has settled over this terrible night so dense that we can barely see two feet in front of us. radiated children stumbling around, groping blindly for a future gone by

oh i am as plastic as the screens they've been shoving at me my whole life

born into night maybe, but i've watched us slip further down
one of the lucky ones bc i can just make out a warm bath and nice meal before bed and a possible future. when 2020 was a flying car on the cover of time magazine. i am a sole jenga piece, held up by almost nothing, but still, behind every cold swipe of the card, meaningless customer service interaction- incalculable pain
from below from beyond from everywhere
would it be better to be born on the ground, scattered among the other pieces, than to topple. it is good, then, that my childhood is a gaping black hole. remembering, remembering in our time is so much worse

 

[hhtroc]

Stabbed

Sitting on a bench outside, maybe the world is beautiful I am thinking. "What about the time your mother collapsed on the floor and said she never wanted children, she did that often?" I get stabbed but I fix my posture. Doesn't define me. "Okay but remember when you got assaulted by another kid when you were 5 and you had horrible nightmares". Nah, let's not worry. "12 years of therapy bro, you still feel the same." Pfft, it will get better, I think, starting to feel some scratches. "What about your weird jaw then". It's not weird I think. "yea it is or you wouldn't have been treated like that!". There is surgery shut up, I think. "Oh you can not afford that and then what about the other stuff you hate about your body?" Surgery? I ask with low confidence as I feel it cutting me. "Remember when you were desperately hopeless, you went to get drunk with someone, disappeared for the night, they called the police and your best friend said you just wanted attention?" He didn't know better I think as I get stabbed. "when your first girlfriend told you she was raped, remember that?" Stabbed. "Let's say you suffer for a couple more years and you make it through and you get surgeries, you'll be old, having missed out on everything, just a hole in your heart." I get stabbed. "your foster mother dying remember?" I get stabbed. "Your dad is terribly depressed yep." Stabbed. "lowkey are you sure you didn't get abused more, think about that!" Stabbed. I push the feeling down. "4 months of psych ward, didn't help at all!" Stabbed. "Someone in there was mean to you, you know why don't you?". Stabbed. Look at you. Look at you. "You have no right to even feel sorry like that, no one gives a fuck, so many people died before you you are not special." Stabbed. SHUT UP! I think. "Look at you, they will feel so sad when you are gone. Probably kill themselves. Look at you!" I go to the mirror to make sure it's not as bad.

And get stabbed again.

 

[Imeavie]

I sometimes have these images pop in my head when Im alone late at night in the dark.
They are kind of like a diorama that I drift through.
They always have a story that I just somehow know.
I tend to write out something short, capturing the scene for myself.
I hope to one day make them into a collection of short stories.
This is one them that I wrote about 3 years ago.

We Began At Our End
In our journey to find our deaths,
We found a life more fulfilled than what can be found in any book, or family.
We found the warm sun on a roofless car,
With nothing but the loud radio, bad singing, and each other.

Our laughter soared like a majestic eagle flying high over the forest of lamentations.
The world was vast, and we sought to fill it up with ourselves.
It was in this, we found that no matter how vast the hole within us,
It only took one person to fill it up completely.

Though eventually, we reached our journeys end.
We said farewell not as the strangers as which we met,
But as two souls who became one.

We said our farewells hand in hand,
Never again letting go.

 

[Imeavie]

Flames of Regret

As I walk forward I cannot help but to turn back,
and see the footprints each step has left behind.
Fire springs from each mark upon the ground,
and its light is all that I can take in.

I cannot change where each step was taken,
nor can I see where the next shall be.
For when I turn to the future,
my eyes are still obscured by the smoke.

They sting from the ash.

 

[The Actual Devil]

I am honored to have so many great writers in my presence!

in all its crooked, waxing glory, her luminous majesty rises, presiding over an early dawn.

reborn, she musters a whisper, faint like blood on the tongue.



"The great repose is nigh. September has arrived. "

Such beautiful imagery. It feels like a shared memory from the collective consciousness of all humankind. Excellent pacing (if that's the right word...maybe cadence is better? )

@plasticsoul you're untitled piece 'oh i am so covered in blood' really leans into a breakneck pace with its lack of punctuation. This is good! It mirrors the feeling we get with how quickly it can seem that life passes us by. You really painted that story with all the right words, like an artist feverishly smacking away at their canvas while inspired. Very stream of consciousness!

Sitting on a bench outside, maybe the world is beautiful I am thinking. "What about the time your mother collapsed on the floor and said she never wanted children, she did that often?"

Stabbed is so good. This part I quoted, it happened to me too, friend. All. The fucking. Time. Some mothers use guilt trips the way others use hugs. I especially like the way you punctuate each scene with the same word, like it was your own homebrewed punctuation mark.

The world was vast, and we sought to fill it up with ourselves.
It was in this, we found that no matter how vast the hole within us,
It only took one person to fill it up completely.

Though eventually, we reached our journeys end.
We said farewell not as the strangers as which we met,
But as two souls who became one.

I really enjoyed this theme that combines soul-searching with what it means to be whole. It starts with one perspective and ends on another, yet feels like it could loop back around; an ouroboros of searching and finding; journeys and journeying itself. And 'Flames of Regret' does an equally good job playing with the theme of the future being uncertain and uncomfortable. So many here can relate to it.

You guys rock! Keep writing!

 

[Imeavie]

I really enjoyed this theme that combines soul-searching with what it means to be whole. It starts with one perspective and ends on another, yet feels like it could loop back around; an ouroboros of searching and finding; journeys and journeying itself. And 'Flames of Regret' does an equally good job playing with the theme of the future being uncertain and uncomfortable. So many here can relate to it.

You guys rock! Keep writing!

Thank you! I really appreciate your feedback!!! The first one has a whole summary for the story in my head, and I hope to write the story someday.
I have shared so many of my works on other websites, but most never get any feedback (not many people do, the sites aren't great). I actually have a link in my profile, if you want to read more. I don't want to spam the forum, but I have plenty of others if you're interested.
I am currently working on a website to display my work, but it's not quite ready yet.

Anyway, Thanks again!

 

[The Actual Devil]

I actually have a link in my profile, if you want to read more.

Your profile is set so I can't access it. It's probably set so only people you follow can see it. You can change that so all members can see it (which makes it easier to make friends here ), or you can follow me. :-)

Edit: it may appear that the default privacy setting for "View your details on your profile page" is "Nobody". Sorry for the possible misinformation: I'm pretty new. I guess following people might not be enough to access profiles. :(

 

[hhtroc]

Thank you so much

I am honored to have so many great writers in my presence!

Such beautiful imagery. It feels like a shared memory from the collective consciousness of all humankind. Excellent pacing (if that's the right word...maybe cadence is better? )

@plasticsoul you're untitled piece 'oh i am so covered in blood' really leans into a breakneck pace with its lack of punctuation. This is good! It mirrors the feeling we get with how quickly it can seem that life passes us by. You really painted that story with all the right words, like an artist feverishly smacking away at their canvas while inspired. Very stream of consciousness!


Stabbed is so good. This part I quoted, it happened to me too, friend. All. The fucking. Time. Some mothers use guilt trips the way others use hugs. I especially like the way you punctuate each scene with the same word, like it was your own homebrewed punctuation mark.


I really enjoyed this theme that combines soul-searching with what it means to be whole. It starts with one perspective and ends on another, yet feels like it could loop back around; an ouroboros of searching and finding; journeys and journeying itself. And 'Flames of Regret' does an equally good job playing with the theme of the future being uncertain and uncomfortable. So many here can relate to it.

You guys rock! Keep writing!

Thank you so much for your feedback. At this point I am coming up with a plan and a method and I wrote this so people know what it is to be inside my head. I read this to my therapist and she just looked at me. It's truly fucked if the actual Devil cares more about me than her. Jk haha. Ty.