As I’ve experimented with creative writing throughout my high school and college years, one inescapable truth became quickly evident: my writing just drips with melodrama. Everything is overblown and grave, with overwrought adjectives and intense mood. (This is probably why I love Florence + The Machine so much.) With that fact firmly kept in your minds, I present my latest piece of poetry, inspired by a throbbing headache yesterday that I could not shake. Continue reading
I am not a poet. I’ve always wanted to be one, deep down, but I just never put the time and effort into it that I should have. That, however, doesn’t stop me from trying.
For this little ditty, I wanted to move beyond the limitations of the haiku form, but I wanted to stay with short, three-line stanzas. The whole poem stemmed from the title line, which popped into my head while I was writing an email to my friend Kelcie. It wasn’t intended to be so dark, but it developed a mind of its own while I wrote it, and I just went along for the ride. Be gentle, Internet-world. I am but a fledgeling poet; young, and enamored with melodrama and wordiness. Continue reading
This morning, I was going about my daily routine, packing my bag and brushing my teeth, when I happened to look up, where I noticed a FREAKING centipede clinging to my ceiling.
This is the dramatization (in screenplay format) of my ordeal.
We open on our HERO, a young, dashing twentysomething. He’s in the process of getting ready for work, eyes still a bit bleary from the alarm that recently went off, waking him from a particularly entertaining dream. He’s freshly showered and dressed, brushing his teeth in an endearing fashion: one hand working the brush and one attempting to pack his messenger bag. He heads back into the bathroom to spit and rinse. Continue reading