My Dreams, My Thoughts, My Words

I need to write a short story for a class and I have no idea what to write about…

Any suggestions?

clover91:

Wow, this was extremely flattering

bellasteffani:

Always running to solitude. i’m

Never just hanging, or in the mood

To be a part of the crowd;

Is it such a sin to want to be

Secluded from

Others? maybe i just can’t stand the

Company, or maybe

I don’t feel like handling the noise.

As astounding as it may seem, maybe I just

Like to be alone.

             

(via shadytheology)

Always running to solitude. i’m

Never just hanging, or in the mood

To be a part of the crowd;

Is it such a sin to want to be

Secluded from

Others? maybe i just can’t stand the

Company, or maybe

I don’t feel like handling the noise.

As astounding as it may seem, maybe I just

Like to be alone.

Peace.

That is all I ask for.

A time for my thoughts to just settle instead of having to be on constant overdrive, the pedals working overtime as you roll on… and on… and on…

Only aggravating yourself with your inability and causing me excruciating pain to my frontal lobes with your inconsistency.

But instead of actually being considerate of others when you are in the house day in and day out doing not a daggone thing, you have to beat your nonsensical mess that you call rock and roll into the minds of the less fortunate who can’t help but remain in the house with your constant noise.

God dang it, man, it’s 11:45pm.

Get the hell off of the drums. 

Christmas is supposed to be the greatest time of year,

Full of love, happiness, and cheer.

All the pretty colors and multitudes of pretty lights,

Mugs of hot chocolate for those cold, wintry nights.

As I look around at all of the preparations,

I can’t help the aberrations: 

I can’t feel a daggone thing.

Where is the joyous feeling that this season is supposed to bring?

Why don’t I feel the love and blessing

That usually happens when I hear a Christmas tune?

All I can think of is that school is starting soon.

Heck, even my writing is taking a hit;

This poem sucks and I just want to quit.

Something is absolutely wrong.

I don’t know what is the matter with me.

I just want to feel the love and be happy.

I’m not used to this depression; it really feels strange.

I want to do a 180 and completely change

My mind, my attitude, my overall being.

I guess for now dismal is all I’m seeing.

I just feel numb.

poeticallyundead:

I’ve fallen in love with the ink that drips from your quill
Bleeding the deepest desires of my heart
Pen lovingly strokes paper
Fingers trace passionate letters on my skin
Kissing the wind that blows your poetry to me
Staining my soul with intense visions formed from your words

by mygypsyshepherd

Bright lights were flashing from every corner of the room, the wild designs created by the vibrant violets, bold blues, and gleaming greens showing up brightly against the blacked out walls. The bass pumped throughout the packed building replacing heartbeats with its rhythmic hypnotic booms. The smell of alcohol and sweat created a sweet musk scent that masked the aroma of sex and hormones. Men and women alike were on the dance floor jumping and grinding against each other and responding to the upbeat music, releasing their cares, fears, and everything in between. There was hardly a filled seat in the place, everyone on the raised platform in the seemingly sunken in space, and the only place more crowded than the floor was the bar where drinks were flowing like milk and honey. It was a typical Friday night at The Juke Joint, one of the hottest dance clubs found in the heart of New York City, and anybody who was anybody tried to find their way inside just to be able to say they made it in to one of the few dance clubs where dancing actually took place.

So why was I sitting in a booth of red leather surrounded by mountains of purses, jackets, and keys looking down at the dance floor while fooling myself into attempting to read a book I’ve read millions of times before?