It wasn’t a bad way to die. Car smashed to the point of unrecognition by a big truck, an easy and simple death. From the amount of blood around him he must have lost a limb, but the blow to the head is what really killed him, fast and easy. He died before he even…
D. S. Calgary, 2022. Featured Image
Our voices. Words. Sentences. Melodies. A scrawl of characters on a page. Our voices. They are a tool by which we can shape the world around us. They give us power and meaning and the opportunity to share our stories. They are the way by which we protest the greatest injustices, the way…
My older brother is graduating this year. Watching him make important college decisions has got me reminiscing about our past childhood together. Here is a piece of creative writing I wrote in light of my memories. To Rob: Remember when we used to ride our bikes in the summer time? Mom and Dad would stroll…
The best part of a weekend is naturally Friday evening. There’s this sensation that you have all this free time before you. In fact, I think it’s quite remarkable how far my mind is willing to stretch in thinking about the ways in which I could leisurely spend the weekend. (Of course, the converse is…
Fluorescent lights, pale and sticky Illuminate by their ignorant light A small bare room In it A girl of lackluster frame Sweat on her brow Sits with her back turned to the door The smell of tin and stone and paper, Familiar in her desolate corner, Invites for the seeking of truth …
My skin is metal bronze. it is made from ashes and fire and the breath of the Earth. it Iron forged rigid and sweet People say it is the color of Filth. They call me “colored”, as if to say I am discolored. But I am the face of my ancestors, I carry their nose…
To the person I will be tomorrow: You inherit these memories of mine and every fibre of my physical self. You are like me. I too have inherited the persona and body of my predecessors, and my experiences will become your experiences in a mere few hours. Yet you—and subsequent you’s—will have experiences I—and preceding…
I am awake at eleven in the evening holding Woolf’s To the Lighthouse open in my left hand as I sit with my right leg crossed over my left, uncomfortable, still staring down at the pages mindlessly—what a strange book this is, I wonder. Words glide before my eyes and what is the point of…
One of my first posts ever on this site was a post about beating writer’s block. That post suggests that if you’re feeling drained, take a break and consider using a prompt to get the juices flowing again. Amidst the hustle and bustle of the college applications process, my creative well has been pretty drained—I…
I used to make up a ton of short stories when I was younger, but over time I stopped writing them. Probably because I don’t have that much free time anymore, but also because I feel like I’ve lost some of my creativity. I’ve been writing a lot, but mostly essays, book reports, and so…
Saturday: a notepad sat on my desk. The paper’s slick surface reflected a curious yellow hue from a lamp. A clear resin pen, filled halfway with a dark grey ink, lay atop the notepad, a conspicuous accessory. I was up late at night, but the late-night writing did little to help with my insomnia. Rather,…
After an emotional goodbye to my brother a few days ago, I wanted to relive my experience of him getting into his dream school last December, so here it is! I hope you enjoy! My stomach dropped in anticipation of the news as if I were in a high-speed rollercoaster, though this was his…
Writing poetry is like a roller coaster All is well as the roller coaster begins to build momentum for its uphill climb It builds and builds, But sometimes That roller coaster gets stuck Losing all momentum and will that it had People get disappointed as they are ushered off Ruining their day With one…
Introduction (because I’m a civilized human): Hey, y’all! Hope you’re doing well! As the title suggests, if you’re a noob at poetry, you’ve come to the right place. For this blog post, I wanted to take a shot at poetry. I might also admit that I wrote this poem for school a while back, but…