Crisis.

Crisis poem mac cactus

She stared wistfully at the computer screen

Endless images of tropical locales reproduced from her Google search

She frantically closed down the tab as her boss walked past

And pretended to look deeply interested that the spreadsheet in front of her

Which was, quite frankly, just a vomit of numbers

One day, she thought

One day I’ll break free into paradise

*

This is part of my creative writing series, Shorts. This lil piece was a result of a writing exercise from the Superlatively Rude Level Two workshop, The Nuts And Bolts of Moving Stories Forward. More little snippets to come soon!

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Woman.


Don’t be loud, don’t show off.

If you love yourself too much, you won’t fit through the door.

Don’t take up too much space.

Stand out from the crowd, but don’t attract too much attention.ย Be smart, but be humble, and be nice.

You are everything and nothing all at once.

Be dominant, but don’t dominate. Be useful, be valuable, but don’t feel enough.

Aspire to the masculine, but stay feminine.

Stay pretty, don’t age. Don’t you dare age. You are here to be looked at, to be touched, to be an object.

Compete, but only with other women. You don’t live up to man.

You are woman. You are everything but Nothing all at once.

But I am strong, and I am capable. I am insecure and secure. I am vulnerable and human and good. I am determind, I am able.

I am intelligent.

I can move mountains with my words.

I am complex. I can challange you, question you, learn from you. Change.

I am strong. I am capable.

I take up space.

I am larger than life.

I demand to be seen.

I am Woman. And I am Everything.

*

Happy International Women’s Day, loves. I thought I’d post a bonus little Short in honour of this wonderous day. Keep fighting the good fight, ladies.

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Stardust.


“Ella!” 

The voice echos as I disappeared into the night.

I was the kind of drunk where I was up and aware of everything, but could barely see. And although my memories of that evening, even while I was living it, were hazy at points, I knew exactly where I was going and what I needed to do.

Next thing I knew, I was banging on the door. The back door that was really the front door, because that’s how student houses work. I was banging on the door, loudly, unapologetically, tears streaming down my face, as I stood in the pouring rain. Actions that sound more romantic and profilic than they actually were.

I had a moment of completely sobering clarity when the door swung open. I realised what I had done just by the look on his face.

He used to look at me like I was stardust, but now, I instantly didn’t matter.

*

This is part of my creative writing series, Shorts. Check out my last one here.

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