As you all know I am very interested in getting into a Creative Writing Masters. But I have needed some inspiration and some pushing to create the way I want to create; the way I need to create. These poems are a beginning. I always used to write my feelings out in poetry such as this when I was a teenager and I haven't for awhile. So please enjoy, comment if you like, it really does help me edit and refine my work. I am taking a couple Creative Writing classes, now, and in the next year to build a portfolio for my Master's. These poems I will hopefully submit for class when we get to poetry. Currently, we have just started fiction. I wrote my first fiction story ever, which I will fix up a bit and submit to you at a later date. It has been awhile since I posted, sorry I have been so busy finishing up Architectural Design and my boyfriend was down from up North last week 🙂 I am taking Google Sketch Up after or while this course finishes off so will be quite busy with that but I hope to have some Flurt articles for you all soon as the magazine has undergone some editorial staffing changes lately.
that I would need to own.
that makes me buy jackets, skirts, jewelry, and design.
And if I had it my way I could buy as much as my credit card would clear.
But debt is a load that's hard to bear.
And I've a closet that's full, with nothing to wear.
Full of fashion, what's chic, that which only fits.
And I want to look stylish I want to look hip.
I want to wear what I want, I want to wear it well.
But my closet is built on the guilt of no savings account.
On money tightly saved, spent once to clear the debt away.
In closet and on card.
I'd love them more if I had somewhere to wear that swank.
Not just some evening out, once a month.
Not just to a class one evening or two.
to nights you had your clothes to wash at home.
I'm not 155 lbs slim anymore.
today I'll buy and buy online and in store.
still can't make my blood pump without passing out.
every time I get that feeling to just buy a little more.
to be reprimanded by my conscience's defiance.
It's the only place I'm ever free, the place that I most need.
An epiphany that I'd never seen.
she said, redo it, I liked it how it was.
adding new thoughts to paper and rollerball pen.
a story once told and soon replaced.
alter the words until my voice is unclear.
you won't hear me anymore.
I am the voice silenced by anger.
Don't change my story, isn't it the same?
my clarity, those words aren't mine anymore.
I watched and I waited, painted the world with emotion.
Anger, disloyalty, loathing – those words are mine.
Stop cutting, stop characterizing, stop changing.
But then I'd never learn if you didn't comment once or twice.
because I don't know it anymore.
you don't like how I say it, but this is my voice.
How dare you change my story!
they see what they see, I see what I see.
you like me know nothing.
And few people older know; we are small in this world.
We can dream big, but eventually we need come down to earth.
that splash and soak into my paper.
Leave the peace be, and leave my piece alone.
But the words once more came crashing down.
Who knows if their mine, or if they are yours.