Purge. Purge the poison. Purge the lies and the hate and the disgust.

That is not me anymore.

That is not the god I worship.

Cleanse the shame. Embrace the soul.

It was never wrong. It was never ugly.

God made it beautiful. Human fear thought it not.

Fray. Fall apart in the arms of a dear friend.

Tell them you're sad, but you don't know why.

If all is good, why do you cry? Grief. Grief for what should have been.

I will not return to that poisoned land.

I will stay here where it is safe, where it is peaceful, where it is home.

The love back then was blighted.

And I have found clear springs.

Last night I wrote a simple love song,

A melody that made me feel all right.

A love song to a dream that had stolen my heart.

A melody had haunted me, now that we're apart.

It touched my soul then my heart.

I wrote it for a old lover

Even though the years had driven us apart.

The melody was as soft as the cool ocean breeze.

The words were only a memory,

From somewhere deep in my heart.

The music sprang from my being..,

The words took a life of their own,

Behind my tears, a melody was born.

I realized then what I had never known.

This was something more then just another love song.

It was something more then a melody of the night

It was a reflection of the emptiness I've known.

It was a reflection of the man I am now that I am alone.

The melody was so haunting, teardrops pulling at my soul...

Yes last night I wrote a love song and dedicated it to a dream.

Darkness was falling all around. The sounds of screaming filled my ears, drowning out all other sounds. Why was I here? Why had I come to this place? Why did it hurt so much?

"I can give you hope!" he had said. "It'll be better this way."

It hadn't been better. Hadn't even been good. The image of absolute glee on his sadistic face as he pulled the blood-stained knife from my bleeding heart was still burned in my mind's eye. His grating laughter began to fill my already throbbing head, swelling into a horrible symphony of hate and despair.

I had had no hope. I had been living (if you could call it that) in a constant cycle of regret and loneliness. I was searching for hope in a world that seemed devoid of life itself. The backstabber had come promising me the very thing I was searching for. Hope. He'd lied. Now I was more alone, and more hopeless than I'd ever been before. Writhing in pain and crying tears of anguish, I cried into the darkness; searching for just a fleeting glimpse of hope. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to heal my broken and dying soul.

"Help!" I cried, weakly. I felt my soul draining away; fading into the darkness enclosing me.

"I'm here." whispered a warm, gentle voice. "I've got you."

I didn't know who it was, but I knew he was there to help. His touch was different from the one of the hateful demon of false hope. This savior's touch was one of real hope. Tangible and bright.

"Trust me." said the gentle man, lifting me in his arms.

Strength and power emanated from him. I felt myself resting my faith in him more and more. Somehow, his very light was healing my deepest scars. I felt a rush of something I hadn't ever felt, but knew what it was immediately. Like a ray of sunshine peeking through a bleak winter sky, it warmed my heart and soul.

It was hope.

Is creativity a skill or a gift? A skill can be developed over time, honed or taught. But a gift; kind of just bestowed upon at random. Chaotically and stupidly, people just get gifts, but skill takes discipline and practice. So what is it? Was Picasso just a crazy-lucky lunatic or was he a skilled at creation?

Creativity: what is it? Well, in short the definition is to use one’s imagination to create. Using only the original thoughts that come to mind to produce something. So really the question hinges on imagination: a gift or a skill? Can you sharpen your imagination? Can you train it? Can you control it?

Rabbit hole: What is imagination? The ability to fabricate new ideas, images or concepts using only your mind.

Okay, so far we have this: Creativity is to create using imagination. Imagination is to create using you.

I’m still really not sure whether creativity is a gift or skill. It could be a skill that most people don’t care enough to develop or it could be a sparsely given gift. I have absolutely no clue.

I really like this challenge. I adore writing. I know I'm not that great yet but what I do know is that I like writing, I enjoy writing because it is the only place I can be myself. I can pour all of my emotions and mould them into a character or a situation and I love the power it gives me. The only place I feel powerful is when I write because I get to decide what direction I want to give to my stories and characters, which I hope to publish someday.

I got diverted. I feel like none of my friends understand me. We used to be a group of seven friends at my university, we used to do everything together and it used to be so fun. These people made my college life worth it. Among these seven friends, we had an inner closer friend group of just 4 people. Me, my roommate let us name her 'Pam', my neighbour 'Danny' and our friend 'Amy. I loved this inner circle of friends. I felt like we understood each other so much and that this group would remain forever. My dreams were evidently short-lived. There was a huge fight between my roommate, Pam and the rest of them. I was left hanging in the middle. Left to handle both sides. I know I can never leave my roommate alone because I do not think she was in the wrong. I think one of my other friends 'Sarah' poisoned the minds of my other friends and suddenly they didn't want to talk to her anymore. Sarah has always been jealous of Pam, the way she had an inner circle that Sarah was not a part of. Sarah envied her, and still does.

Both sides were sympathetic towards me, knowing that I had to balance both friends. I put in efforts, I put in effort for four months and these days I began feeling myself slipping. I've begun feeling that Sarah, Amy, and Danny are very fake towards me, they don't really want to talk to me but they're putting in unnecessary effort. I feel my friendship with them has gotten too 'forced' hence, I've stopped trying. This has left me in a problem.

Amy used to be a really good friend of mine, I still consider her a good friend but she's gone around and made Sarah her best friend. I haven't been able to properly talk to Amy in more than a month and I regret that. She gets me, a little but I've gone and thrown it down the drain. I'm left with no energy to reconcile. I feel I've been giving too much of myself with nothing for myself.

I've also realised people only care about their own problems, they don't want to listen to other's problems if they can help it. Humans are selfish, it is a known fact. We mostly centre our lives around ourselves, thinking of others to be side characters in our movie. We fail to realise that there are simultaneously millions of movies screening and everybody is a side character in one or the other movie. The problem lies in the fact that nobody has time for my movie. I've been watching others movies for a while now but nobody is interested in mine. This is mainly also the problem of Pam, she gets too caught up in her own movie to ever even enquire about mine. She has to say something about everything.

I'm different. I've never fallen in love with anybody (not counting family and friends) I haven't really felt romantic feelings towards anyone. I don't know if I'm aromantic or not. What I do know is that everybody is in a relationship and I don't want to be in one like ever and that makes me different and weird. But sometimes I think that nobody else has really liked me either. I know that for a fact. My friends have been pretty all my life and the story has been so centred around the movies they are starring in that we never got the chance to reach mine. This is the first time I've ever admitted this insecurity of mine.

I'll be okay, I know that I'm okay with being a side character in most movies, I know that I'll be okay tomorrow but I saw this challenge and I wished to write it. Thank you so much for listening. I hope all of you do well and sleep well!

The Eyes are the Windows of the Soul

The eyes are the windows of the soul. Gaze deeply within their owner. Scrutinize each detail. Wonder about the origins and prospects of a future together. Take in all this portal has to offer. But, remember this one fact. Windows are the conduit for light in more than one direction. When you foray into such action, another is also on reconnaissance. Caveat Emptor.

The Eyes are the Windows of the Soul

The eyes are the windows of the soul. Gaze deeply within their owner. Scrutinize each detail. Wonder about the origins and prospects of a future together. Take in all this portal has to offer. But, remember this one fact. Windows are the conduit for light in more than one direction. When you foray into such action, another is also on reconnaissance. Caveat Emptor.

Flames trickle and wave in brightly colored strands

of hair that flows to her small waist when she stands.

I long to kiss her red, fiery, radiant cheeks,

And be branded by her lips whose breath wreaks me.

With white pearls for teeth and an upturned pink nose,

Her gold-dusted skin glows behind modest clothes.

Alluring and tempting to peel off her dress,

Yet there's a scorching forge between her twin breasts.

Her perfume smells of thorny roses, stained red

in bloody crimson hue. Suffocating dread

of falling too deep in her pit of burning.

Hellish illusion. Her laughter is scourging.

To ache for her embrace is death in disguise.

She's far too perfect for all to realize

the treacherous serpent's tongue hissing sparks and lies.

I've escaped just once, with an inch of my life.

I'm far too scared of what lurks within my soul

to brave her fire; I might not emerge whole.

For men such as me, she's a demon in white.

For men she can't burn, on gold wings they take flight.

A, gatekeeper, guard, sentinel, and sentry,

You must embrace her inferno for entry.

The high shining golden gates, are locked up tight

And none may come unless they pass through that fire.

I fall to my knees and curse her in heaven.

My life and my deeds are all wicked leaven!

I can't risk the flames, or brave the blazing fire,

For all that I am is hay, bricks, and mire.

Oh

Would you look at that

The rain is falling

And there's a light show up above

Illuminating the sky

Oh how enchanting it is

How enchanting to see such wonders happening in the sky

Oh

Can you hear that

The pitter patter of raindrops on the tin roof

Calming me so

And the gentle rumble

Roaring through the sky

Oh how soothing to hear the euphonious sounds

Oh

How the storm feels in your chest

How all the different noises vibrate through your body

It’s such a strange

Yet pleasant feeling

Oh how great the rain feel on your skin

And how great the cold air smells

I just love the breeze

And how it reminds me of the seas

Just like the lapping ocean tide

And how it makes me want to lay on my side

And get just a little ounce of rest

An ounce of rest to allow me to breath

Breath once more

Oh how I long for a storm

Just so I can sit and think

Feel the cool breeze on my body

Oh how I need time for peace

So I can just be

Calm in a raging storm

There's something comforting about hot coffee on a brisk winter morning. Not the snowy kind, but the mornings when the misty rainclouds kiss the ground and shroud your surroundings in a thick white veil. The warmth from the old, chipped mug in your hands stamped with the name of a surf shop you've never been to, combats the clouds. You cannot see the sunshine, but the little respite between your chapped fingers reminds you that it will return someday.