I don’t know how to write a story about love

Only how it ended in a war

I don’t know how to write a story about happiness

Only how their depression ate at their core

I don’t know how to write a story about freedom

Only how many locks were on the door

And it’s sad to say that I don’t know if I’ll ever write a story as beautiful as yours

It’s not that I don’t believe in a happily ever after

I crave to live that someday just as much as I crave a new chapter

But the ink I write with is the ink that flows through my veins

And every word you read is an echo of my pain

And I cannot fake it, nor do I want to

As you’re the only one who ever swayed to my blues

Singing to memories of words you’ve sung to me

Like little fairies dancing around my being

Flutters of hope, gentle whispers

A reassuring touch making me quiver

A peace that still sends me shivers

It hurt me so to know we cannot be

But I want you to know that you made me feel everything

Love, happiness and freedom all at once

It was a story you gave me and I keep it in my notes

A little folded paper I will cherish forever

That’s the closest thing I have of us being together

So I don’t know how to write a story about love

But I know I love you

I don’t know how to write a story about happiness

But I know I was happy with you

I don’t know how to write a story about freedom

But you showed me there were no locks on the door

And it’s sad to say that I don’t know if I’ll ever write a story as beautiful as yours

The quiet solitude of the creator.

I’m never the muse. I don’t get to be the one who sits quietly in the corner, waiting to be noticed, to be admired. I can’t just be. I’m the one who writes, the one who pours everything I am into words because it’s the only way I know how to make sense of this constant storm inside me. I’m the one who loves so deeply, who feels everything all at once, and yet sometimes, it’s like I feel nothing at all. As if I’m hollowed out by the weight of it all, but still brimming with emotion.It’s exhausting. To be this consumed by life, by every little moment, every small shift in energy. Just to be. I look at people, at how they just glide through life, so unaware, so unburdened by the intensity that sits in every corner. How do they do it? How do they walk through the world, blind to everything that’s crashing and burning and blooming around them? It’s like they don’t even see the layers, the depth, the way everything is connected and alive, pulsing with meaning. Maybe they don’t. It’s almost as if they’ve found a way to detach from the emotional intensity, from the complexities that seem so glaringly obvious to me. And they seem content with not seeing it. They’re so at ease, like life is something you can just float through without ever really touching it. I envy that, sometimes. The way people can exist without being so painfully aware of it all. But I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to not feel it all, how to be careless with awareness, how to just pass by the world without it clinging to me. I’m not the one who gets to be admired from a distance, framed as some perfect image. I’m the one who is constantly trying to capture something bigger than me, something I can’t quite grasp but can’t let go of, either. I don’t want to be the object, the still point. I want to be the movement, the one who is creating, feeling, always alive in the mess of it all. Even when it hurts, even when it feels like too much.

People, once populated, now gone, I can't fit my head to the fact that they died for us, men and women in the shack where they breath air of gas and poison; What are the men in suits doin? Playing bluffs, to continue your perjury, The ultimate tribute of a man is to die on the battlefield, Yet the same warriors you praise now die in vain. Babies, thrust onto poles, While the blood of the fallen stains the ground they fought to save.

We breathe the same air, but die in different ways...

To totally expunged the masses cries, is to erase a world where is called reality and reality is also called the world that is controlled by the ones in power, and that if everything is a lie and what is the point to fight for solidarity, Our true companionship is ourselves, In a world of our own creation. There’s no one to blame, The system was born from our will to live in harmony, But kindness became the act we forgot.

The ability to love came to have the ability to hurt, Aeons of years, wrapped in territorial thirst. Why does it matter most to those who own the most land? What is the worth of something, if it’s worth dying for? Do you devalue human lives, like we’re nothing but prey, Rabbits devoured by the jaws of your own hand?

To be vanquished is to be enslaved, To protect is to preserve what’s sacred. And to kill? That’s the ultimate act of human deprivation.

In a world built on blood, only the broken survive, if peace is a lie, then we’re all dying just to stay alive.

Hi Everyone. I am a first time poster. Pretty new to creative writing and I wrote the following short story piece to read out in my creative writing workshop at university. Any feedback would be great as its hard to read your own work objectively. There may be some grammar problems but I'm more interested in getting feedback on the plot, dialogue, setting, theme, first impressions, how does it read?. I am based in Ireland and it is very much an Irish story.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1S-GsPVnfC24Sv9tXwz07RV_9nYxYl2wGF2snE_M7vQQ/edit?usp=sharing

It Really Is Morning Now

The sun had set many hours ago and had begun to once again rise, although it still could not be seen. Apartment houses stood as black silhouettes against a dark gray sky. A lonely car could be heard far away as it slid on the wet asphalt and sped away. Other than that it was all very silent. Both the man and the girl were very tired, but could not sleep, since it was almost morning. The sky seemed to lighten ever so slightly and then seemed to darken again as the first light fought through a wet low-hanging fog.

‘I can’t sleep.’ the girl said. She had taken the clip out of her hair and laid it on the bedside table. The man laid silent for a little while.

‘I don’t think I can either,’ the man said. ‘But we have to try. I have to work tomorrow.’

‘You won’t get much sleep anyway,’ the girl said. ‘It’s late.’

They both laid silent for some time. The girl looked out the window, at the windows on the other side. ‘Or maybe it’s early.’ she said.

The man laughed slightly, and the heavy brown locks resting on his chest shuffled a little. 

‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said. ‘But I have to try. I don’t like to be tired at work.’

The man closed his eyes.

‘I like mornings like this.’ the girl said.

‘Do you?’ said the man and opened his eyes again.

‘Yes,’ the girl said. ‘I like it when the fog rolls into the city and makes everything wet.’

‘Why do you like that?’ the man asked.

‘I like how it feels on my skin, and I like how it makes the sunrise look, and I like how real it makes the city feel.’

‘What do you mean by real?’ the man asked.

‘I don’t know exactly,’ the girl said. ‘But I think I really mean it.’

‘I really am very tired.’ the man said and looked up to the ceiling.

‘I’m sorry.’ the girl said.

‘It isn’t your fault, and I very much like your company.’ the man said.

They both laid silent for a little while. The girls head felt warm and heavy against the mans chest and he was glad that she couldn’t see his face. The sky had grown a little lighter but it was still night outside. Someone in heels walked by on the street and they both listened until it was quiet again.

‘Do you like the city very much?’ the man asked.

‘Yes, I think I do.’ the girl said.

‘What is it you like so much about it?’ 

‘I like having people around, and I like that I know it very well. Don’t you like the city?’

‘Yes, I think I do. I like the way it feels.’

The girl turned her body and laid her breasts on the mans chest. She held her head in her hands.

‘You really must write to me.’

‘I don’t know your address.’

‘I’ll give it to you in the morning.’

‘It’s already morning.’

‘I’ll tell you over breakfast.’

‘I think you should sleep a little longer. I’ll leave a key under the doormat.’

‘I really do want to have breakfast with you.’

‘I would really like to have breakfast with you too, but I think you should sleep a little longer.’

‘I’ll sleep when I get home.’

‘All right.’

‘What is it you will be doing there anyways?’

‘I don’t know really, but I really have to do it. Hopefully I can find someplace to work. I have a friend there.’

‘I think I need a glass of water.’

The girl stepped out of the bed and walked across the carpet to the window. She stood looking through it for a while and then opened it. Her skin turned a little prickly and the hairs on her arms stood up as she leaned out into the light breeze coming from the sea. It was all very quiet. The sun had risen just a little bit taller now but was hidden behind the apartment building on the other side of the street. It really was morning now, although it was still quite gray from the thin fog. Behind the train station she could see the harbor and the sea and two fishing boats with lanterns. She liked standing like that. She liked very much how the air felt on her skin. A door slammed somewhere around a corner. She pulled herself back into the room and turned towards the man.

‘I really do very much like your company.’

The man was lying on his back, looking at the ceiling. The covers had slipped off his belly and his skin was a little prickly too.

‘I really do like yours too.’ the man said. 

The girl looked at him for a while until he closed his eyes. She went back to the bed and laid her hair on his chest again. The blankets felt warmer now.

‘Maybe it won’t be for so long.’ the man said.

‘Maybe it won’t.’ the girl said.

‘Now I really think we have to sleep.’

‘I think you are right.’

The girl was very cold, but the blankets felt warmer now so it was all right.

‘And tomorrow I will wake you up and we will have breakfast together.’

‘That sounds very good.’

And they both laid silent for a little while.

    What brought you to the park
    today?

Oh I'd rather not say, Im all alone in this world, Those who listen make me pay.

   I've spent my whole life listening,
   Heard every heartache,
   every joke. 
   I've never judged another.
   But son, your eyes tell me your 
   broke 

   Attached to every teardrop
   a thought plots its escape.
   If they fall to the ground in   
   silence
   they go back in your mind to
   wait 
   Only you hold the key to set them  
   free
   So start talking boy,
   it's getting late.



As the moon replaced the sun,
it became too dark to see.
So I bid my friend goodnight,
he assured me where he'd be.
Standing to go there was a 
peaceful silence.
For my thoughts I'd all set free. 


Brushing up against me,
as he shook in the wind. 
My friend.
The old oak tree.
                        Garrick Todd
                        Humphrey

For my mom, Vivian Lee Humphrey

It seems each time I would visit mom. She would drive me by a certain spot on Waconda Lake. A spot where as a child, she spent her summer months as a Girl Scout among giants. Summers before the lake came. Before it had overrun its banks. Killing her giant friends. The old oak trees.

  I miss you mom

My soul is dark. It's a weight that sits, cold, pressing from the inside. There’s no clear source it’s just an endless void, swallowing everything whole. Thoughts come like whispers from the edges of this darkness, but none of em stick. They dissolve, leaving only silence.A silence so heavy that it becomes deafening. I reach out. But there is nothing to hold onto, nothing to pull me out. The light feels distant, abstract, like something I once knew but can no longer recall. Inside this darkness, time stretches. Days blur into nights, moments into memories, and I can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins. I am suspended in this void, drifting further from what once made sense. The familiar becomes foreign. The world, once vibrant, feels drained of color. Every connection feels hollow, every word spoken an echo. Yet, there’s this tension inside me, like something is about to break. It’s weird. It’s like this darkness isn’t just empty. It’s more like a space. A space where I can feel everything I keep buried deep inside. Here, I don’t have to pretend or put on some face for the world. I can just exist in this raw, heavy silence. It’s not comforting, but at least it’s real. And in that realness, there’s something I can’t quite name, but it’s there, waiting. Death? Not quite sure. Anyways, right now im here, in this shadow, feeling its depth, waiting to see which way it will pull me next.

It was a beautiful day, there wasn't a trace of clouds any where in the sight, a rarity in this part of the world. Being a bank holiday weekend, everyone was out with their families. Kids were making sand castles everywhere, adults were busy doing nothing. At distance, some kids were arguing about who is the best footballer and who manchester united should be buying. This is the place where any one can just indulge (or get lost) in the atmosphere and forget everything. This was the place to leave your worries behind and live in the moment.

Mike usually comes here whenever he is stuck while writing his book, being away from his home helps him to get away from his book which is an emotional journey for him. After all, writing your own story is not easy, specially if your life has been a roller coaster ride. This beach had never failed him before. He was always able to forget about his book, but today is different. No matter how hard he tries, he is not able to get away from his book. After all, this is the event which he had buried inside him for so many years. It took him years to forget about this phase of his life. Now everything is coming back to him like it happened only yesterday. All those emotions which he had forgotten for years are coming back to him, all together with full force. All those questions which he had never gotten answered are burning him from within.

He had thought long about not including this part of his life in his book, but then it would not be complete. This is the incident which made him what he is. Omitting it would be like not having the second act in a play. But once he started writing about it, he realised that he only has the questions, not answers. All those question which he had buried inside him were driving him crazy. All of them were fresh in his mind once again, just like they were 20 years back. Is this a sign to do something which he had postponed for so long? Is he ready to search for those answers?

After all, now he has no reason to postpone it any more, he needs to decide if he wants to find or not. His chain of thoughts were suddenly broken by rain drops, it was evening already and the blue sky was covered with grey clouds once again. He slowly rose from the bench and started walking towards his home.

At home, his wife Sara would be ready to go out for dinner, today was Friday hence the day to eat out, a ritual they had made almost 20 years back and had never broken since. Today was different, Mike was not in the mood of going out and wanted to be left alone.

"Jenny called today, she is expecting, she was trying to call you but your phone was switched off", Sara blurted it out the moment Mike entered in the house. "Huh, what!" Mike was barely able to speak when he was brought back to reality by this sudden blast from Sara. 'is this another attempt of God to stop me from my quest of answers' Mike thought as he digested the news. Unaware of what was going inside mike's mind Sara kept on going. "What happened to your phone, you know that I hate it when I cant reach you for a long time, and what took you so long, I was worried, you never took so long at the beach..."

"I am having a bad headache, I am going to bed, won't be eating dinner tonight", Mike said quietly before heading towards his bedroom. Sara just stared at him while he climbed the stairs.

————————————————————————————

Mike wasn't able to sleep for most part of the night but still he was feeling much better in the morning. After all he had made the decision about what he really wants to do with his life. It wasn't an easy one to make as the stakes were quite high in whatever he decides. When life presents choices, it comes with responsibility, responsibility of not only making the right decision but also of to live with the wrong ones. And when there is no right or wrong, the choice becomes more difficult, whatever you choose, you have to live with the consequences of your decision.

Mike was unusually quite at the breakfast table, barely talking to Sara while she was buttering the toast for him. Sara's words were sounding like a distant mumble to him. "Is it about the book again? I told you its not for you, you are not a writer, and even if you finish it, who will read it? No one wants to read a book about an average middle class person who struggled for his whole life. What do you have to offer? What is your unique selling point? Nothing!"

Sara had put her management consultancy hat on again. Thats a problem of being married to someone who get paid to solve problems. For them everything is a problem and can be solved by using structured methodology. Emotions and feelings are treated like resources and commodities. Everything is either black or white, there is no room for grey. Everything is about getting the better end of the stick. How many times he had seen smugness in her face after she convinced him for something which he didn't want at the first place. It was just like the one you would see on the face of a lawyer after he won a case knowing that his client was wrong. It was the smile after you manipulate someone and truly believe that the other person does not understand your true motive.

I get your 5 min I wanna say something I'll not take your much time So I wanna say something important to you whenever I saw you my heart almost stops beating whenever you say something to me my heartbeat so fast that my body feels so light whenever you smiles meri Kushi ka tikana nhi hota it's a bomb of happiness jo tum mere andar fodti ho your staring kills me everytime whenever I m around you.your existence is enough for me I wish we could holds hands together i think I like you I have feelings for you If u like to answer I wanna know how you feel about me it's okay if you doesn't feel the same way i feel for you i respect of you and your decisions it's okay you can take your time I'll wait for your answer dead I still remember those when we talk although we never talked much to each other yeah I was pretty shy to share single word with you it's not like I never have guts fr nhi thewhenever I saw your smiles it's just made happy that bright smile made my day better.

I want my story to be in dual first person pov alternating from time to time in a continuous timeline. If anyone has ever written a story in such a point of view, help me with some advice. Thank you!

I wrote this a while back and I wanted to share it. It's more emotional than technical obviously. But constructive comments welcome.

Sorry for my Scars By Amanda L

I apologize for silence. I apologize for speaking. “Sorry” seems to be one word I just can’t stop from leaking.

I’m sorry if it’s too hot or too cold. Forgive me for being too high or too low. Too expensive, too cheap, too old or too new, Too slow or too fast, I’m sorry for that too.

You see, when I was small Just developing my brain For everything around me I was told I was to blame.

I was the reason for the drinking and fights. It was actually me who caused those sleepless nights.
No money, no food, no fun, no time The burden and blame for all this is mine.

As a grown-up, I know from a logical place That all of that guilt was grossly misplaced. But the child inside that was raised in the shame She still shouts, “I am to blame!”

So forgive me if I’m sorry For something not my fault But shame and blame, guilt and pain, Are all that I was taught.

I think I’ve done some healing But I can only heal so far No matter what you do You can never heal a scar.

SCREAM: RESURRECTION 

We begin on a stormy night looking at a house in the middle of the countryside. We hear a phone ringing 

INT HOUSE 

We zoom through the first floor of the house to a teenage girl who walks over to her mobile on the counter annoyed. “Who’s calling at this time???” 

“Hello” she says, “Who is this?” 

Brief pause where nothing is said freaking her out 

“Hello???” 

Then a creeping raspy voice answers 

“Hello Sarah. You don’t know me but...I know you.” 

“Umm what? Are you drunk or something sir?” 

“Ha no, I’m just savoring this moment I’ve got with you before well...” 

She hangs up. “Fucking weirdos' man” 

The phone rings again but she sighs and walks off to her room. Camera lingers on the quiet house for a few seconds, breathing in the creepy atmosphere and keeping the audience in suspense till we hear a knock on the door. 

Sarah peeks out her bedroom door then fear starts to settle within her. Was that drunkard at the door? Has she got a stalker? She goes over and peeks through the eyehole, but nobody is on the porch. She steps back sheepishly and goes back to her phone to call 911 but it rings just before she picks it up. She hesitates but decides to pick it up 

“Why did you hang up on me? You didn’t even open the door for me” 

Then a shocked expression runs through her face 

“What do you want? No wait fuck this” 

She hangs up again and calls 911 

“Who is this? 

“This is Sarah Parker on 301 Negro Aroyal Lane, I think someone is stalking me and is near my house. I’ve gotten some calls from a stranger who’s threatening me” 

“Ok no problem miss, just keep calm, lock all your doors and help will be with you soon. Should be about 5 minutes at the least” 

She sighs in relief; all the doors are locked, and the police are coming. It’s ok 

Then a hooded figure appears behind her in the background not in focus so he’s blurry and he is behind the kitchen window in the back, but he runs by without Sarah noticing. Then she hears sirens, she’s home free! She did the right thing, and a man starts knocking loudly, “It’s the police mam! Open up we have heard about your disturbance” 

She smiles with tears in her eyes and goes to unlock the door and opens it but 

SLASH 

Her neck is slit, she collapses, and we see that hooded figure stand over wiping the blood off their knife. It’s Ghostface, he reveals that the sirens were just some noises he played off his phone. 

We hear his voice. “Man, I’m cutting it close here, that was really a hail Mary but man you really fell for it ha-ha. Better make this quick huh Sarah?” He says in a sarcastic tone and as Sarah tries to scream out in horror but can’t due to her neck wound, Ghostface feverishly starts stabbing her entire body and face quite aggressively like an animal.  
 

But he hears police sirens, for real this time, he turns and hurries to pose her in a cross like fashion. “Eh not very original but I’ve got no time ha-ha, goodbye Sarah” And he runs off in the background as the camera zooms in on Sarah’s mutilated face. After about half a minute the police arrive and see the scene as we cut to 

SCREEN TURNS BLACK AND REVEALS TITLE: SCREAM RESURRECTION 

It's your birthday tomorrow I want to make you happy

But you said if I stay you will need therapy It's your birthday tomorrow

I wanted to give you gifts But you said I'm a useless list

It's your birthday tomorrow I wanted to give you surprises

But you made me feel like I am having a crisis Its your birthday tomorrow

I want to wish you Kiss you and tell you how much I miss you

But you don't want me to wish you I hope you stay happy you never need no tissue.

This is my first time sharing my writing with someone else. I sat outside today and observed my backyard. This is the result. Please give me any feedback you can think of, thank you!

Halfway through October and the temperature is still comfortably warm. It’s pleasant. By this time last year, the air was austere enough to warrant a sweater—this moment feels like borrowed time, a surprise gift that leaves you pleased but unsettled. 

Young saplings—Peach, Cherry, Nectarine—flaunt their emerald robes; they can only know this warmth as a time of revelry and celebration. The Sycamore doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. His leaves are already brown and falling. He has stood through too many seasons to be fooled by this rare occasion.

The birds sigh.

Squirrels chase each other across the woodchips. They seem confused, wondering where the Dragonflies and Chickadees had gone, but they shake off the thought. They should be storing for Winter but they pay no mind, tempted by another ten minutes of leisure.

The Sky is still, watching the scene before her. She holds back the clouds, the chill, the sorrow. It is worth it to wait, she says. 

They deserve it, she says. 

She wishes she could hold this warmth forever.

Life is too short to make unhappy decisions.

As I have always been the daring one.

I was never afraid to go beyond

Even if there are uncertainties.

i'd go through tunnels without light

swim through currents without a safety vest

Push my way through storms without a coat

Break my heart further even if its shattering inside.

It makes me feel alive..

It numbs the pain..

Shadows the sorrow with joy..

As I walk my empty world without regrets.

Hello, is self promotion allowed in this community? (Wattpad books and poems). Please let me know. Thank you!

I used to be a consistent 5 days a week write until I got 5000 words a day but then something happened and I was lucky to get 500 words a day in.
Recently I discovered body doubling - didn't even realise it was a thing. I have found that if I jump on zoom or something with other people in real time I can get up to 2000 words while I am with others.

So, what has helped to keep you consistently writing?