Minds Alike Through Differences - Creative Writing

Mathew

As the light dapples on the leaves of a fig tree… I see a figurine-sized me on one of the leaves, tilting as the wind blows my magic carpet this way and that. The beauty of nature: how it can create simplistic metaphors for life, and that regardless of how havoc-set one might seem to think life is, there is still that beauty, that slow-motion humble stance that makes it seem all so bearable and attainable. If only social acceptance was like that.

Having two mothers, no father, and two half-brothers is very hard to explain. Having homosexual parents seems to excite the kids at school, though not in any good sort of way. The boys in my year get violent, the girls get giggly, all busy gossiping over how alien and unthinkable it is.

My brothers don’t get it as hard as I do. Their year is more accepting. I suppose it is because when they get picked up from school by mum, it is actually their biological mum. They have that family support where spiritual bond doesn’t quite make it. I know my parents love me, and they have a good life; they have all sorts of groups they hang out with and their own little social circles within them. Yoga, The Violet Quill (a gay writer’s group), and dance marathon seem to be their favourite.

They want me to start coming to The Violet Quill. They think it will help me. I am unsure as to my sexuality, and my parents are all embracing that I should be whatever I so desire. They want me to be able to make an informed decision (Jesus, that sounds like school) and so want me to understand homosexuality. I don’t understand how going to a homosexual writing club is going to help, but they seem determined. However, it will only make the situation at school worse. To hear that I may also be homosexual is not going to make the kids any kinder in their treatment of me.  

But that is a problem for tomorrow. The brightening of the sun brings me back to the trees, the grass blades as they sway in the wind, and the sudden downfall of leaves as they are knocked off their branches by a gust of cool air. Today I shall relax, forget myself, enjoy the breeze as it tousles my hair and relieves my face from the stifling heat that surrounds me. I can see my fate, a ball of sting, tied in knots and tangles throughout, bundled into a confusing looking nodule. And as the wind sweeps my hair off my forehead, and tries to pull my clothes away, I can see that perplexing little ball untangle, freeing itself till it is just one long strand, blowing happily in the wind, insignificant to anyone who might pass by.

Maria

The light is so down trodden. How can nature taunt and play with me so. It is cruel for Mother Nature, the pixies, the fairies to enjoy the weather, the sunlight, the tranquillity of life surrounding them, when I myself am suffering the greatest loss one of such life can. I see them, the fairies, fluttering, dancing over the leaves of the fig tree in front, living life to the fullest.  I can see him, Alfred. His grey, silvery hair, only wisps of it left on his head. As he sleeps in the living room chair, so handsome in his tweed brown suit. How I spent hours memorising every wrinkle on his face, the hair coming out of his ears. He reminded me of Einstein, just as crazy and exuberant, though perhaps not quite as bright.

He used to love the milk and cookies I would make him. He was a slightly portly man, liked his morning and afternoon tea. I miss that, the sense of purpose. That destination I always had, the kitchen. The house feels cold now, alone, haunted by the silence. Though outside is never any better. I can see him everywhere. But it is the moments when memory, imagination take over, and I am with him again, in a seat, or a field, or even a cinema, that I am most happy. Those moments when he is again with me.

The sunlight seems to brighten just a little… and there he is, my dear Alfred. He looks so happy, walking towards me. I cannot help but smile, and as he draws closer, I can feel my cheeks burning in streaks, as tears roll from my eyes. He is here, my Alfred is here. He sits beside me and I wish I had brought something for him, some cake, or a mug of hot chocolate. But he does not seem to notice. He caresses my face, brushing my grey hair behind my ear. I lean into his hand, rejoicing in its touch, the one I have missed for far too long. He is here.

A leaf catches my eye as it blows in the wind and sparkles some of the light back to us, upon its waxy coating. And then he is gone. All in one moment, my Alfred smiles, and he is gone, swept away by a gust of wind, like all the leaves above. The wind tears at my clothes and I pull them closer. The light it gone and I feel cold. I am in a forest, but there is no light. And it is raining, all on my cheeks. I open my eyes and see the day. The tears keep streaming, though they have lost their hostile connotations.  The sun is still there, as are the fairies, and they smile at me. Though no longer are their smiles ones of torment and malice. They smile in sympathy… and I smile back.

***

Mathew

I get up to leave the park, feeling more prepared to face the days ahead and the issues that will rise up against me. I notice that the old woman, who has been sitting near me, is crying. I pick a daisy from the park’s flowerbed next to me and walk over. I smile at her, and pass the flower. No words pass between us, nothing but the flower, yet I feel I have brightened her day, maybe only by a small portion. And she has brightened mine. The smile she gave me after our passing has made me more confident. Who cares what other people think. The kids at school can do as they please. I care no longer. 

Post-Modern Poem

The grief that is trapped inside,

It runs, frantic, it hides.

As you slowly slip away,

I can feel reality sway.

Replaying all the love you have shown,

I hear, from the abyss, a terrifying moan.

How do I know that my decision is right?

Am I doing what you want me to?

Can I ever be certain?

I can see a spiral of eternal regret,

It is spanning out in front of me,

Slowly winding around and around,

Like a never ending circling staircase,

Each step a new doubt, a new confusion,

A new terror slowly making its way into my unsettled mind.

Am I to run and hide,

To slowly slip from my mind?

To crawl and then run away,

Far too afraid to stay?

Have I shown you all I feel,

Have I given enough for a simple meal?

If all my love were turned to food,

I would have a banquet set for your mood.

But the time is slowly ticking by,

The clocks count out the hours as I lie,

Catatonic, with none by my side.

As I waft in and out of my dreams,

All is so hectic and none what it seems.

If only I could stay in one place long,

To tell what is reality and what is wrong.

I seem to stumble, regardless of place,

And all are wearing masks, not their true face.

My eyes hurt, my limbs are weak.

The gold and silver, they slide across my vision.

Dancing and making fun,

Mocking my gloom, my despair, my distorted vision,

Of reality, of longing, of everything that was.

How has it all changed such a great deal?

The silver of the mirrors, of the faces, of the masks,

I cannot tell them apart.

And then there is the gold.

It shimmers as it dances in and out of view.

The two together, displaying the new world,

Hard, cold, metallic and whitely bright.

I stumble in and out of the dark,

And though the world wavers from truth to art.

How easy it is to become lost,

The world being covered by frost.

All is white, like another mirror.

And the masks…

The masks, they haunt me, as I stumble.

They are cold,

White, silver and gold.

And when I reach for my face,

It seems too soft, too smooth, not real.

I walk to a mirror close by,

My vision blurry, but I cannot explain why.

Then I see my face and escape a scream,

It is white, it is pale, and it has a certain gleam.

A mask

I am changed

Reality is true

Things are not what they seem

Just a mirror reflecting a beloved dream

What is it?

Definition of Sadness - Creative Piece

Sometimes, though I live through my words, they fail me. Those are the times when I know that I am lost, without my rock to lean on. Words have always been my friends; they comfort me, talk to me, and allow me to create. Without words…. When I feel alone, isolated, depressed, and cold, these are the times I most need my friends, and the times they abandon me. For not even these words can explain how I feel.

Alone, yes. I feel solitary. But not just from people and animals and plants and living things, but from metaphor, meaning. From words and other things that it makes no sense to suggest you are removed from. I feel… removed from life, and soul, and this dimensional existence.

Isolated, all the time. This is different to being alone, because you can have people surround you, and know they are there, have people acknowledge you even, but you cannot connect to them. You are boxed into a tiny space in the corner of your mind, and though they are close, the distance between you seems a lifetime. There is no way to reach out for help, or tell someone you are there, because you cannot contact them… but they don’t know that, they never understand. They push you and talk to you like they know everything, when just one look inside you head would blow their minds to the point of insanity. This is pain, this is isolation.

Do I feel depressed? All the time. Like god is looking at my crumpled, curled up attempt at a soul, watching my actions… and he is disappointed. Not laughing, or mocking me. That would be bearable. But he is sad both at my state and my failed attempts to help those around me. So why not just end it? This would only cause further disappointment. The only redemption is to try and help others, though this usually leads to further disappointment as people watch you fail. As he watches you fail.

And cold. That is the one I feel most of all. It is like feeling nothing but there is a general negative connotation to how you feel, so that you are unable to describe it, but it is there. I feel this a lot. Most commonly when I am put in a difficult situation, when I know I should be sad, or angry, or upset, but I don’t want to be. But I cannot feel anything positive… so I am left with a negative nothingness… Cold.

There are people who believe that the worst situation to be in is one where you have no friends. I disagree. I believe that there is nothing worse than having friends, and having them push you away, having them need your help without you being able to do anything to benefit them, disappointing people who count on you for support and hope. That is …

But then, after mulling all this over in my head, I realise… my friends have not forsaken me, but rather they carry me. I have just explained all this, in words. For, though my words are not spoken aloud, or written down, they are there, in my mind, and in my heart. 

Introduction to Violet Lightwing

Ok guys. So, to begin my blog I would like to explain a little about myself. I am a writer of fiction. I write comedy, sci-fi, drama, some depressing pieces, teen-fic, historical fic, and almost anything in the fiction category really. I love to write. I also take photographs so you may see some of those coming along. Most of what i post will be creative writing and of all kinds. Enjoy, and I look forward to hearing back from you. :)