Short Story: Just, ok.

I don’t quite know how I could have been so stupid.

I let myself believe that this time it would be different, that I wouldn’t cave but I guess that deep down I knew I always would.

It’s not that I don’t have strength, because I do. I’ve never needed anyone’s approval or support, I don’t ask for help or guidance because I am independent. But when it comes to him, I just crumble to nothing.

Nothing.

Nothingness is what I feel. Empty, used and drained of all emotion. There’s only so much one person can give and only so much that can be taken from them before it all gets too much.

I hate this feeling of vulnerability, the constant clouded judgement and belief that things will change. No one can change a person but themselves, so who am I kidding? I’m not one to give up when the going gets tough, so why do I feel like it now? I’ve lost the fight that was once in me, the burning desire to do well and achieve, to prove I only need myself to rely on. I feel weak, feeble and I hate myself for it.

A few months ago I didn’t have a care in the world. Everything was going just how I’d planned it, I was genuinely happy. And now, I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself through my own choice. I allowed things to go as far as they did and watched myself burn in flames.

But for the first time in what seems like forever I feel ok. Not fantastic, or brilliant not even happy. I feel ok, and for now that will do.

Short Story: Clean Break.

It wasn't a clean break.

Everyone could see through her bravado. The way she walked was different, as though something was missing, and that's because something was. A part of herself was gone, perished in the cross fire to the point of no return. a part of her had been destroyed.

She'd tried to hold on to it, to keep it together but with each knock her walls got weaker. She was crumbling slowly and no amount of  "It's okay" and "You're better than that" could save her now.

The hurt was all just too much, she had been drained of all emotion.

She sat staring at the white wash wall. No tears flowed down her face, no screams gurgled in her coarse throat. She felt empty. She wanted so much to just cry, to hurt, to feel again but nothing came out. Instead she sat staring blankly into space whilst feeling her heart break into a thousand pieces.

Free Verse Poetry: Definition.

A society’s definition of acceptance

how we should act,

how we should be.

Should we be

a certain way?

Voices blaming and fingers pointing.

Not wanting to own up and accept responsibility,

to admit defeat and seem weak.

 

It’s like a melody without a song,

A bird without flight,

A cure without an illness.

All pointless in retrospect.

If you cannot be yourself

in a world of free speech,

who else can you be?
 

Is “All the world a stage” and

are we “Merely players”?

Short Story: The Path.

A mist was beginning to settle; the houses ahead were barely visible, even though they were lined one after the other all the way down the road. The street lights shone through the murkiness down on to the sodden pathway, a hop scotch of puddles and discarded cigarette butts. She could see that the road ahead was dimly lit and she knew being alone at this time was not a good idea. The trees on the right side of the road loomed over her, swaying in the growing breeze.

The walk back was to be a cold one. Not only because of the wind that whipped at her face and the droplets of rain that pattered down on her leather jacket, but because of the coldness she felt within her once beating heart.

Every little noise sent her in to a panic. The rustling of leaves in the nearby park, the whine of a car alarm in the distance.  Her pace quickened and the tap-tap-tap of her high heeled boots grew louder. Echoing.

She passed the motorbike that was always chained up outside of a derelict looking house and wondered to herself “does anyone ever actually ride that?”

The rain grew heavier and the wind blew harder, but she pushed on knowing her destination was just past the trainers that hung down decoratively from the telephone pole.

It was during times like these when she saw with real clarity. She’d been through enough hurt now to recognise this feeling, but she found comfort in knowing that nothing more could be taken from her because she had nothing left to lose.

She was once a bright, happy young woman who needed nothing other than herself to remain that way. She relied on no one and asked for nothing. She did well at school, at college, passed her driving test and held down a steady job for two years whilst studying. She was a proud person who cared for others and would always do what was asked of her even if it meant putting herself at risk.

It was inevitable really, that one day she would just… break.

Reaching home she unlocked the door and walked in to the flat. All was still, everyone was asleep.

The feeling of sadness swelled inside of her as she sulked to her room, alone again. Turning the key in the lock she longed to be greeted by something other than a cold, empty room. She wandered to the mirror and caught a glance at her reflection, a broken girl with tangled wet hair and smeared eye make-up, was this a true reflection of who she was now?

Perching herself on the window ledge she flung open the catch and raised a cigarette to her cracked lips. Bright embers of orange burnt as she inhaled deeply and blew clouds out of the window. She looked back on the path she had just walked, the path that would once again lead her back to him.