Remember those mornings and endless nights 

When I waited for your call

Those tall tales and lovely lies,

Oh, how I miss them all.

Every second I spent with you,

I felt like there was no tomorrow

But all those days have disappeared, 

And have now drowned me in deep sorrow.

You cannot leave me incomplete,

Your love isn’t something from what I can abstain

But if you were just a euphoria,

Then why am I still in pain?

Those broken moments and stolen kisses

Will I have them back again?

You were the serpent weren’t you,

In the garden of Eden.

Still everyday I wait here,

Hoping that you will arrive

But if lust was all you ever wanted for,

Then burn me down alive.

Can you hold my hands for one last time

Like how you used to do?

For all my life I have lived so far,

You were all I knew.

oh. hello. (i walk through the door to the roof) i see you're up here on the roof too. probably looking for some fresh air? (i approach you slowly) or maybe you just want some alone time? in that case, i hope you don't mind sudden company... is this seat taken? (i sit on the edge of the roof next to where you stand) you know, i really do love the city. especially at this time of day. don't you? (i ignore your lack of response) when i was a kid, my family used to visit the city on occasion - you know, for events and stuff - and i'd look out the window of our car and admire the sights. there's something about the architecture that i find so... beautiful. and when the sun is setting or rising and it reflects on the windows, it's like 'ah, yes, this is what heaven looks like.' not that i believe in heaven. do you? (one again, i ignore your lack of response) i've never given it much thought. what happens after death, that is. i mean, other than the sudden crippling existentialism that comes with every quiet night. but that's all just part of the human experience, right? look... i'm not gonna pretend i know why you're up here, standing on the edge of a seven story building but- just know that once you fall, you may never get back up. and i'm sure that must sound awfully appealing to you now but... you never know how many people are actually rooting for you. i don't know your circumstances, i don't know anything about you or your life or what drove you to be here today but i do know that there's light at the end of the tunnel. trust me, i've been there, your life may not seem worth living at the moment but death isn't the only way out. if you live a miserable existence then work towards making it less miserable. and it will get better, i promise. (i stand and hold out my hand to you) so please, step down from there and come inside. it's freezing out here.

In-laws are so, so funny to torture over the holidays. Especially if they’re not yet your in-law.

Ren Liufang stands in the doorway stiffly, looking as pristine as she usually does. Yan Siyuan, also as she usually does, allows herself fifteen seconds to take a physical catalogue of Ren Liufang. She’s an objectively attractive woman, small face and sharp eyes, and since Xiu Ying is also an objectively attractive woman, she has to make sure that Ren Liufang hasn’t done anything to herself, since it would be a shame if all those looks went away if they ever had a child tog—

“Yan Siyuan,” Ren Liufang calls. “Where would you like me to...”

“Oh! Right,” Yan Siyuan chirps, wiping her hands on her reindeer patterned apron. She hurries out of the kitchen to the doorway, smiling at the younger woman apologetically. “Just set the boxes down right there, Ju-mei. We can take them to Yue Fei’s room later.”

Ren Liufang nods obediently, setting down the boxes full of Christmas lights and decorations onto the tile floor. She clears her throat when she rises, shoulders squared as she looks at Yan Siyuan expectantly. Almost timidly.

It’s so cute, really, Yan Siyuan thinks, how nervous Ren Liufang is. I mean, she should be, because she expects some winning over to be done if this woman plans on seriously dating and eventually, of course, marrying the literal miracle and best girl that is Xiu Ying.

But here’s a secret: Yan Siyuan’s already won over. Ren Liufang is...good for her younger sister. She’s pragmatic, logical. Persistently caring, when very few in Xiu Ying’s life have bothered to care enough about her to be persistent. She’s quietly thoughtful, knows how to talk to people. So yes, she’s already received Yan Siyuan’s stamp of approval.

But Yan Siyuan thinks it’s funny how nervous Ren Liufang gets. And besides, she can’t seem easy to the other woman. What will she think of her Xiu Ying, then?

“Aish, Cheng Bowen and Zhang Wei are out on the lawn right now,” Yan Siyuan muses, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “They should be clearing the snow off the pavement, but from the looks of it, they just started a snowball fight.”

“It is...not more than what I expected of them,” Ren Liufang answers, almost cautious. She always answers slowly with Yan Siyuan, like she’s taking extra time to carefully choose her words.

Yan Siyuan narrows her eyes at her. Ren Liufang fidgets in place, almost imperceptible.

Then, Yan Siyuan claps a hand on Ren Liufang’s shoulder cheerily. She gestures over her shoulder to the kitchen. “It’s fine! Zhang Wei brought the apple cider, eggnog, and the champagne. I’ll let it slide. But you and I need to finish cooking up the rest of dinner, yeah?”

Ren Liufang nods, just as Xiu Ying pops her head into the room.

“Ah! Jie, Ren Ju,” Xiu Ying greets. “Shi Li and I are almost done with the Christmas tree ornaments! Should we set the table now?”

“Lovely! Go ahead, please,” Yan Siyuan answers, clapping her hands together. “Ren Ju’s helping me cook.”

“Helping you cook? Re Ju, is she overworking you?”

Ren Liufang looks between the two of them. “Ah, I--”

“I am not! What are you complaining about?” Yan Siyuan shoots back, crossing her arms. “You’re the one who eats the most, anyways, so if I’m making food so there’s enough—

“Jie, you have enough food here to feed an army! Did you forget that we already have Shi Li’s ham? Jiaozi? Stuffing? Ren Ju, tell her!”

“There is definitely ample food,” Ren Liufang answers diplomatically. “But making more is always appropriate for the holidays.”

“Ha! See?” Yan Siyuan says, triumphant. She waves her hand in a shooing motion. “Scurry along now, love.”

″Gahh, I’m sorry, Ren Ju,” Xiu Ying apologizes, and the two give each other sappy looks that Yan Siyuan almost coos at. Xiu Ying gives a shy wave. “Good luck, dude!”

“See you soon,” Ren Liufang replies, soft. She also takes Xiu Ying calling her “dude” in stride, another reason Yan Siyuan likes her.

And then Xiu Ying pops out of the room. And it’s just Ren Liufang and Yan Siyuan again.

///

“Ju-mei, could you check on the cookies in the oven?” Yan Siyuan calls over her shoulder as she continues cutting pie crust in precise swipes of her knife. “The snowman one, is it deforming?”

Ren Liufang dutifully does so, sporting red baking mitts. “No, it’s perfectly in shape. The candy cane one looks fine as well.”

“Ah, that’s a relief! You’re really good at this, it’s lovely to have you in the kitchen. Not like A-Ying, pah, that girl...”

“Thank you for allowing me here.”

“Psh, don’t mention it,” Yan Siyuan says. “Come back here, I just need to finish this sweet potato pie, and you can finish up mashing the potatoes, and we’re all set! It’s easy riding from here on out.”

Ren Liufang nods, returning to her place besides Yan Siyuan at the kitchen island. She picks up the masher and, with an elegance uncharacteristic of people who usually mash potatoes, quietly gets to work. Jingle Bell Rock plays over the Home Alexa.

“So how are things at home. Ju-mei?

“We’re settling in well, thank you.” With a pause, and a small smile on her face, Ren Liufang continues, “Xiu Ying drops her laundry often.”

“Oh? Sounds like her, she’s always so enthusiastic about chores that she’s awfully messy about it. You alternate laundry duties?”

“We do.”

“So you’ve seen my sister’s underwear, then?”

Ren Liufang drops the masher with a clank into the metal bowl.

Yan Siyuan, with great effort, stops herself from laughing. She nonchalantly takes a chopstick, dips it into the potatoes, and holds it to Ren Liufang’s mouth. “Anyways, how’s it taste? Soft enough?”

Ren Liufang takes a nibble, doing a good job at not seeming shaken. “...it’s soft enough.”

“Oh, that’s lovely!” Yan Siyuan chirps, turning back to her pie. She happily pats her hand onto Ren Liufang’s shoulder. “I think we’re about done. You should wash up now, love. All in a good day’s work, I’ll say.”

Ren Liufang nods, shifting over to the sink to wash her hands. Yan Siyuan hums to herself.

She clears her throat. “So you’ll be drinking tonight?”

Ren Liufang stills. “I will be.”

“Ah, I see,” she intones, playing up the surprise in her voice. “Are you a regular drinker? Is my sister dating an alcoholic?”

Ren Liufang turns to her quickly, eyes wide. “I’m—“

“Just kidding, Ju-mei!” Yan Siyuan steps back to admire her pie handiwork, proud of the snowflake design cut into it. “Could you call the boys in to eat? I think we’re officially ready for dinner.”

///

Yan Siyuan must make it clear that above all else, she is proud of her table set up.

The table on its own is rectangular, made of polished wood. Three chairs are lined neatly on one side, while the other holds a long, elegant couch. The table is decorated with a nice blue and white, wintry themed spread adorned with flowers and blue plates.

Yue Fei’s, er. Okay, he’s seated in an extra chair at the end, because angsty preteens must have their moments. But luckily, in the chair nearest to him is Cheng Bowen, who’s kid-friendly enough. Next to Cheng Bowen is Zhang Wei, who’s currently telling the other man some story that has Cheng Bowen nearly snorting cranberry sauce out his nose and excusing himself. And egging him on to his right is Xiu Ying, who’s choking on a piece of roast duck.

Yan Siyuan’s seated in the couch next to Ren Liufang, of course, who quietly laughs along with the story and neatly spoons mashed potatoes into her mouth. Shi Jinghui stifles his laugh behind his hand on her other side.

“Cheng Bowen, gimme your plate,” Yan Siyuan beckons, reaching her hand out. “You need more stuffing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers dutifully with a salute, handing his plate over obediently.

“Jie, stop,” Xiu Ying groans, chin on her hand. “He’s gonna go into a comma if you feed him any more.”

“A comma?” Zhang Wei snorts, elbowing her.

“Coma, whatever,” she says, elbowing him back. She waves her hand around. “Whew. Too much champagne.”

Shi Jinghui raises an eyebrow, gesturing to her glass. “You had one sip, you lightweight.”

Ren Liufang sighs. “Half a sip past her sobriety threshold.”

“Ah, it’s the holidays,” Yan Siyuan intones, twirling her fork in her hand. “Try to get her drunk, she’ll spill some dirty secrets eventually.”

“Jie!”

Shi Jinghui taps his knuckles on the table, enthusiastic. “My mom does that to my brother, too! I second this motion.”

Cheng Bowen chortles. “Oh my God.”

“That is so messed up,” Zhang Wei says.

“All’s fair, again, during the holidays,” Yan Siyuan answers. She grins at Ren Liufang, who’s smiling fondly. “Yeah?”

She doesn’t know all of the details of—Ren Liufang and Xiu Ying’s complicated history. She knows a few, from when Xiu Ying was sixteen and spoke easily out of anger. But anyways, what she does know is that the people that were unkind to Xiu Ying were, maybe, close in contact to Ren Liufang? And Yan Siyuan doesn’t like that.

The rest of the table has dissolved into a heated discussion on each other’s alcohol tolerance. Yan Siyuan nudges Ren Liufang gently.

“Do holiday dinners usually look like this for you?” She asks, tilting her head.

Ren Liufang swirls her cup on the table, giving a delicate lift of the shoulder in response. “Not so much...cheer, I believe.”

Yan Siyuan hums mildly. These poor girls.

“You’re always welcome here,” Yan Siyuan says, soft. “Our home is yours, Ju-mei.”

Ren Liufang looks at her. She looks—surprised, at first. And then her gaze goes gentle.

“Thank you,” she answers, quiet.

“Don’t mention it,” Yan Siyuan answers, elbowing her. “Just eat some more, yeah?”

///

Yan Siyuan scrubs away at the dishes after shooing Zhang Wei and Cheng Bowen away for the fifteenth time. It’s her house, and she will not allow anyone else to clean these plates.

“I meant what I said before,” Yan Siyuan says over her shoulder, not turning away from the sink. “Whenever you’d like to drop by...”

“I will visit when I can,” Ren Liufang answers, polite.

“I mean it, Ju-mei,” she insists. She sighs, turning off the sink, and waves a hand to beckon Ren Liufang forward. She turns to her, hands on her hips, when the other woman stands next to her.

“You’re a good person,” Yan Siyuan continues, meeting her gaze sincerely. “You’re good to my sister, but you’re...kind, overall, in the quiet ways. It’s been nothing except lovely to have you here.”

Ren Liufang nods, lips parting to no doubt say another polite thank you, but Yan Siyuan beats her to it.

“You’re my family now,” she says, firm. She reaches a hand out, ruffling Ren Liufang’s hair. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

Ren Liufang gives her a smile, grateful. “I will. Siyuan-jie.”

“Aw,” Yan Siyuan answers. She turns back to the sink. “Alright, get outta here. I think they’re watching a movie in the living room.”

Ren Liufang nods at that, turning to walk out of the kitchen.

“Oh, also, Xiu Ying might think she’s pregnant.”

She trips.

#lianhuaslices

Down, down, into the sea,

Someone’s pulling me in

Taking me more deeper,

To a world called underwater.

It’s not hard to breathe anymore,

The sea, she isn’t salty or sore

Her whispers seem like an enchanting wine,

Yes, she is divine.

Taking me to the deepest depth,

She has found her place in my breath

Caressed by her mighty tides,

It’s time to explore many more blue skies.

I am not afraid of my life anymore,

For she won’t let me to get back to the shore

Now it’s time to discover the skies underneath,

Many more blue skies waiting just for me.

I have scoured the Internet to bring you what I feel is a quality list of publishers for those of you who are ready, or near-ready to submit and have your manuscript published. I have omitted those who are either out of business or no longer taking submissions. None of these will charge you a penny to have your book put to print.

Black and White Publishing

What they publish:

commercial women’s fiction (chick lit, saga, romance)

crime and psychological thriller

children’s fiction and Young Adult

celebrity memoirs

sport (UK and Ireland in particular)

humor, gift, and activity books

food and drink

https://blackandwhitepublishing.com/pages/submissions

Chicago Review Press

They are interested in publishing high-quality nonfiction that will sell year after year. They look for books with a well-defined, passionate target audience.

https://www.chicagoreviewpress.com/information-for-authors--amp--agents-pages-100.php

Chronicle Books

Chronicle Books publishes an eclectic mixture of traditional and innovative children’s books. We are looking for projects that have a unique bent—be it in subject matter, writing style, or illustrative technique—and that will lend our list a distinctive flair. We are interested in fiction and nonfiction books for children of all ages, as well as board books, decks, activity kits, and other unusual or “novelty” formats.

On the Adult Trade side, we publish a wide range of books, stationery, kits, calendars, and novelty formats. Our list includes cookbooks, fine art, design, photography, pop culture, craft, fashion, beauty, home décor, relationships, lifestyle, and innovative formats such as interactive journals, kits, decks, stationery, and much more.

https://www.chroniclebooks.com/pages/submissions

DAW Publishing

They have been around forever. They are exclusive to the science fiction/fantasy genre.

https://submit.dawbooks.com/submit

Felony and Mayhem Press

They publish mystery fiction for adults.

https://felonyandmayhem.com/pages/submissions

Quirk Books

They are always on the lookout for strikingly unconventional manuscripts and book proposals. A well-written novel with an off-the-wall editorial premise? That’s Quirk. A playful cookbook or craft book with cool photography or crazy illustrations? That’s Quirk, too. They publish across a broad range of categories—always with the goal of delivering innovative books to discerning readers.

Put more simply, they publish books that are smart, original, cool, and fun.

https://www.quirkbooks.com/page/submissions#

Source Books – Casablanca Imprints

They are actively acquiring agented and unagented Romance fiction for their Casablanca imprint. They are looking for strong writers who are excited about marketing their books and building their community of readers, and whose books have something fresh to offer in the genre of Romance.

https://www.sourcebooks.com/sourcebooks-casablanca-submissions.html

Erewhon Books

Relatively new (started in 2018), they appear to have a lot to offer. Sadly, they have not been taking new submissions since 2019 other than to Black writer’s as it states on their webpage, but I put this here as a reminder to you, that they do offer updates on their website and appear upbeat and positive.

They are primarily considering novel-length works in any speculative fiction genre including science fiction, fantasy, horror, and other sub-genres, but we’re also open to other works of interest to the community of science fiction/fantasy readers.

https://www.erewhonbooks.com/submissions/

Also, in my book, Creative Writing, I give a list of other publishers and where to find their guidelines. You can find that here:

https://theprose.com/post/229114/creative-writing-phase-fourteen

If you found this interesting and/or helpful, I can continue this at a future date.

Crimson red roses bloomed at night,

In that peculiar house, the only house with a light

I looked up at the sky and saw the moon shine,

And I howled and howled as if the whole world was mine.

Was I too loud? For I saw something come out,

It was from the house’s window, a woman’s silhouette

Wearing her nightgown, she walked to the balcony,

Half man and half wolf, she was surprised to see me.

Then something unusual happened, something hard to believe,

As I saw perfectly carved horns and wings come out from her body!

“I am Angel,” she said “the only one left behind.”

“I am Alpha,” said I “the last of my kind.”

The clock struck twelve and the church bells chimed,

We said nothing else, we just stood there and smiled.

So there’s someone like me, yet nice and suave,

Someone like me, someone I love.

If any of you read my wtw before I left (and then came back because I'm a lonely sucker for writing praise and online friendships) you might have seen I responded to one of their prompts which was to list my quarantine playlist. Fun prompt, it might even still be there if you want. But anyway--what if we multiplied that, hmm?

What if we did that? *snarky smile*

Act i~ Coming of Age Kind of Picturesque/Young, Wild and Free (January 1-March 18, 2020)

i'm so tired by Lauv ft. Troye Sivan- Dear Carly, thanks for turning the beginning of my roaring 20's into a roaring, Great Gatsby style wonderland where every light is purple and every drink is held with pinkies up. We always listened to Lauv and Taylor Swift, especially her lover album. You might've loved Taylor Swft more than me. That's crazy. But we shouted this song the loudest in your car that the people next to us might've heard.

We made so many plans for the year, remember? We were going to go outside of Annapolis to that slam poetry bar and you'd tape it and Mel and I'd be the youngest poets there but we'd get the most applause. You were going to take me to college just to see the big library, and then I'd help you study to get your white coat.

I saw on facebook that you got your white coat and I'm really proud of you. I wish you'd return my calls.

Dear Winter by AJR- Dear Mrs. Lohr, I miss you. I miss the quiet moments in the back of the theater room and painting six foot fiddles. I miss saying my lines really fast so I could just go sit with you and this song. I miss you teaching me art techniques and if I ever see you again I promise I'll let you hug me--I feel bad now that I didn't before, but how could we know, right? Thanks for looking at pictures of my crush and my prom dress and my prom plans with him that he broke my heart before, thanks for not telling my mom all of that, and being there during my existential crises and breakdowns over paint. I'll fix my sculpture someday.

I'll let you hug me if I see you again--I might hug you first. I miss you, Mrs. Lohr. Thanks for being the best teacher in the world.

Before You Go by Lewis Capaldi- Dear Aunt B, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'd rush through my lines in your play to go work paint sets. I'm sorry it probably seemed like I quit theatre midway through the year and the only thing there was my presence. In my little brain I liked to think you were all-seeing. You saw everything, my emotions and how I was growing and changing and I thought by quitting theatre I'd just found myself, that's that. It was just a step.

I was so scared to tell you everything. We're talking again, but you still don't know what feels like anything about who I am.

You are not all-seeing. If you were, you'd have seen me crying in the bathroom the day you left teaching. You never said you were leaving the co-op, but I knew. I just knew. I blamed myself for that and put this song on repeat for hours when I got home.

You're not mad at me. I don't think you ever were. But it's still okay to say sorry, and Aunt B, I'm really really sorry.

Location by Khalid- Dear Sidney, you gave me the best morning of my life on February 10, 2020. I think you always think I'm joking when I say that because you tend to remind me that the whole sneaking out thing got me grounded, but it was only the rest of the week, and besides, it was so worth it. The mist and the popcorn you stole and I hummed this song and talked about having my heart broken and you told me about how you're sure you'll be a pastor's wife and I was fresh off of the flu and five pounds less and everything feels like a fever dream now.

I was talking about it yesterday and my mom didn't even remember at first, it seems so long ago. But it was real. I know, you know. It was real. It was the best, realest morning and I want to be able to live like that again someday.

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince by Taylor Swift- Dear Seth, our relationship fell apart and I think I learned a lot from you. You were the first relationship that was more than a crush--we weren't quite together but we weren't just open for the taking. We were reserved for each other and it was so comfortable. I miss it still sometimes, I miss the staring and the careful-talk and the screaming and fighting over the fact that you won't read a book--I see now we only wanted the best for each other. I wish you all the best still.

We can finally be friends and talk and not feel sad now. It isn't weird anymore. I'm glad it happened, though. I'm glad it ended slow and painful. I'm glad we're alive, and you can be my first love,

This song got me through it all. Now it just makes me dance--New Year's Day reminds me most, but it's not sad anymore. You never liked sad. I'm not sad, you'd like that. It's nostalgic, we still see each other in the stars at night just like it used to be, but we aren't in love.

The last of the happy ended. Our relationship, and the world.

All the best to you all, stay safe and healthy, okay?

xx- Riley

Saturdays in quarantine are just so disappointing, honestly, like you don’t want to do school so you look forward to the weekend, and then once it gets there you’re just bored because there’s literally nothing to do.

God, what a depressing way to start today’s post.

I really contemplated just rambling about mental health today, just because I knew that’s definitely something that could fill a lot of page space. But I figured that if you’re bored in quarantine, the last thing you want to do is listen to some other person who feels the same way. I cleaned out my closet today and found last year’s box of notebooks. I’ve been writing stories and things like that for forever, but I only started writing poetry in July of 2019. I got my laptop last year for Christmas from my parents, so there was a long stretch of time there when I kept all my poems in hard copy notebooks. That went on until about March of this year, honestly. It just felt unnecessary to keep up. Anyway, I’ve got one and a half poetry books full and the first one is...rough.

I hope this makes you smile today. I know it made me crack a smile, and today was rough. Some days all you want to do is buy a nice purse (The Real Real is a godsend, I found it last week and maybe now I’ll finally be able to afford that Michael Kors bag I’ve been dreaming about since I was six) and lay in bed and cry. But remember: these days pass. Tomorrow might be better. Also, wait for that purse to go on sale lower--it’s not like you’re going anywhere.

Okay, let’s go.

Vsco girl

This is not the first poem I wrote. Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy of that. This is, however, the first one in the book, which means it’s the third or fourth. I remember being really proud of this one and actually giving it to the boy I liked at the time. But that’s another story for another time--if you want all my love stories as one of these days be sure to tell me down below.

This poem doesn’t have stanzas, so I’ll just stop it and talk when I feel it’s convenient I guess.

Caught between the worlds

of vintage and modern

and I’m not sure who

I should choose to be.

Hm. This feels...stoic. Like, it’s got an idea, but it isn’t really conveying it well. It’s blocky and very hard to read, like it kind of just feels like a block of text, and the fact that it’s supposed to make you feel something but doesn’t sticks out like a sore thumb.

Things seem to change so quickly

if I blink

it’s all suddenly different.

Nothing’s the same anymore

but my face hasn’t changed since

elementary school.

Something I really look for in poetry is a distinct sense of style. Even more important than that, an understanding of that techniquue. This was my third poem, so I obviously didn’t have that style that people recognize me by today, and I won’t hold that against younger me (though that’s why the poem feels that stoic-ness). But technique is also something I really don’t have a grasp on here, either.

Now, I’m seventeen years old. I’m in high school. I won’t pretend I’m a master at technique because I’m just not. However, looking at just these few lines I’m seeing the area I was especially unsure of was, more likely than not, punctuation. I can’t tell if I truly didn’t know though or if I was trying for a specific style, so can I just...I’ve seen this on prose and wtw as well--it’s okay to punctuate poems. it’s okay to use commas at the ends of lines. Punctuate the crap out of that baby, you’re not breaking any rules. I do write a lot now with different punctuation styles, and that’s cool to do as well, but I recommend learning to write poems with proper punctuation so at least you know it.

“Learn the rules like a pro so you can break the like an artist.” -Pablo Picasso

Tell me my aesthetic is old news

so I have to go find a new one

until that too is

today’s yesterday.

Filter my pictures and

filter my life.

“I’ve got more issues than

Vogue.”

Why do we say it? (Not sure, but I’ll say it too.)

Now I think we can all tell that this is where I really started to experiment. On one hand, I look at this and go hfygdjufkyflihatemyyoungerself but on another hand it’s kind of cute. Bad, yes. God, it’s awful. But it’s like watching a toddler finger paint. Messy, bad, a lot to pick up, but sweet.

That said: Notice how I decided to start varying line length here? Yeah, that can work sometimes if you do it right, but it’s hard and I just didn’t have the skill level at this point. Better luck next time, little Ri. Also, the quote. Putting a quote in a poem is something I’m still not exactly sure the rules on, but whether it’s writing faux pas or not, it is something that’s really, REALLY hard to do. I still can’t really do it and keep the flow of a poem. This feels so out of place--like, it’s not, the subject is fine, but it just feels wrong--and the way I put “Vogue” as its own line is just. Not a mood. And the parentheses? Well, I’m still a bit guilty of using too many parentheses, but these ones feel very heavy on the end of this line. They’re fine I suppose (like, there are worse things to worry about in this segment) but I say give them a line of their own.

People say I’m pretty

but I don’t know. If people were pretty

why would we need filters?

They call me basic,

a vsco girl.

When I try to be deep,

I fail.

It’s all meaningless.

I’ve trained myself

to be meaningless

and a fake

and a copy.

Huh. This honestly all feels...incredibly fake to me. Like I’m sure I felt some of this to an extent, but...I can’t really tell. Maybe I used too many cliches to make it feel like it’s actually a person’s feelings?

But on the other hand, now that I think of it, nobody in my entire life has called me basic. Vsco girl? Okay, yes maybe a little, but nobody’s called me that. That’s something I’ve done myself. Also, I never remember thinking people “needed” filters.

This is something I’ve learned in writing--if you don’t feel what you’re doing to some degree, it’ll show. Feel it. Own it. Don’t halfway do it, embrace the emotions. That’s one of the joys of writing and why it’s so therapeutic to so many people.

Whatever. (Not like I have

feelings. I don’t.)

As vsco would say,

Guess I’ll die then.

There I go again with the parentheses. Also, what’s inside them is just...r/imfourteenandthisisdeep, but I was actually fifteen. And where I broke that line feels really awkward. But I’ll give myself this--I kinda dig the snarkiness in the last line. That’s kind of cute.

All in all, this poem is...rough. If this wasn’t already bordering on 1500 words I’d try and rewrite it in my style today and with slightly better technique. Oh well, another project for another day, perhaps.

I hope you enjoyed this because I know I certainly did. I’d be more than willing to do another one of these or maybe make a throwback thursday series in the new year (hmmm...) but that’s all for now! Hope your day went well and thanks for hopping on the crazy train for day three with me. All the best Saturday night vibes to you.

xx- Riley

You wrote our names on the seashore,

And the waves washed them away

You wrote our names on the windowpane,

And the lashing rain laved them away

You wrote our names with water droplets,

And the sun dried them away

But I sealed your name in my heart,

And now, you have scrapped it away.

My heart was beating, “Run! Run! Run!”

As I saw them aiming at me with a gun

The sound of gunshots made me freeze,

Yet I ran into the forest, hiding among the trees.

Suddenly a bullet pierced through my skin,

And I turned back to see an armed man grin

My mind was in chaos, my mind was in a rush,

That I fell like a coward, beside a bush.

I was bloating and bleeding, seized with terror,

As I heard them yell, “Find her! Find her!”

I held my breath tight, and heard one say, “I guess she died.”

No, I was alive; well, I had survived.

We never broke into a house, we never stole a dime,

We did no harm, we did no crime

Our hard work made you good buck,

And to be shot, is our bad luck.

Do something to change our fate,

Or we shall all soon vanish at this rate.

It’s time to change this prejudice,

For this isn’t for you or me, but for justice.