if you guys could spend a moment of your time and read my piece and cast your vote , I am really proud of this piece and the way it came out , I hope You enjoy it as much as I do , the contest ends February 26 you win by votes , the Link is down below , just copy and paste into the search bar and it will take you to my piece

Voting for some reason is still.opened through the 28

https://woobox.com/fzybjc/gallery/ISE3DEnQWMk

Poetry link for contest

I don’t speak

Its been a tough week

It’s hard to speak up

So I sit here quietly, I won’t interrupt

I’m scared of what people think of me

And it gets so hard to breathe

I could be standing in a crowd, they could be saying nothing

But their presence is so loud it feels like they are judging

I can feel this fantasy rejection

And just like wifi, I’m losing connection

They blame it on society

That it is the reason I have Social Anxiety

But that’s not the matter

Because I feel as if I’m about to shatter

And that feeling of nervousness comes creeping quietly

Followed by the rest of my anxieties

I am a really nice person but whenever I think to say hello

My self-consciousness comes in, and its something I don’t think I’ll ever outgrow

And I see judgment in your eyes

My mind keeps producing these lies

And I’m on a steady decline

that I wish I could define

My voice I do not own

So I stand here alone

Choking on my words

While I watch my tiny world burn

Sometimes I wonder what happened to me. Why am I like this? I mean, everyone asks what my favorite childhood memories were, but... I don't remember having one. That's not to say it wasn't fun at all, but there was so much loss and heartache when I was younger that it was so hard to look at those bright times. People claim I'm an old soul, but I don't think that's true. I rather think that my soul just hid itself away so not to get hurt, but every time it begins to get comfortable, something else happens. So, I'm not an old soul. I'm just a young soul that's hidden in grief. Looking differently at life because of what it's seen. I tell you that I used to smile truly, but now my soul can't bear to find hope, for everything around me is gloomy.

And it's gotten better. It certainly has. But, sometimes you realize that you're treading water. Stuck in these minecraft cobwebs. Slowly sinking back down. It's a miserable journey.

And then that special person coaxed something real out of me. I was terrified of it at first. How could someone do that when I couldn't even do it myself? But I felt so... safe with them. Yes, past tense. Felt.

I miss it. Those arms wrapping around me and holding me safe and sound. But I'm not the only one life decided to break. So then they were gone, and I was left worse off than I was.

So, truth is, I'm not okay, but I will be. I truly believe that.

#rant #sorry #sad #anxious

_________

Simple footnotes:

Yeah, It's Christmas Eve and I'm not feeling too great mentally. You think you're getting out of your head, but next thing you know you're sinking into those awful feeling again *shrugs* Relateable?

edgar, you're a heart eating canibal; i swear,

preyed on my soul, picked it apart with pink

tinted nails, while whispering raven colored

lyrics in tongue tied strains, her body ached.

a beautiful unbecoming, you said to me; she

simply screamed for a sinner's delicacy; then,

when days became poverty's raven, you drank,

you drank impossibilities (calling'em prophecies)

for centuries, then claimed them as you're own.

edgar honey, what does that poetry mean? 'cause

all that's sewn to skin is the forgotten confessions

and sun dipped tragedies; & know, she's no saint,

even if her eternity claimed your lips whispering

as though you're the savior to our dreams. yet,

i suppose cadavers are distinct immortalities & 

nightmares are dreams that've soaked reality.

Hey Everyone,

How are you doing?

So I have uploaded an abstract spoken word of a short poem written by me. I have tried something new. It’s visual art graphics. I really hope you like it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q_oDSL-lAcg

#poem #shortfilm #samina #poetry #youtube

...All I hear are your whispers.

You singing softly from the bed, 

Staring out the window. 

The dying sun glances off your face,

Casting a golden haze around you.

And you rock the sleeping child in your arms,

Tears streaming down your cheeks.

It's been a long year,

Hasn't it?

Through the multitude of treatments, 

He's survived,

But how long will it last?

He's in pain,

And he screams until his lungs can't bear it anymore.

You say that you're drowning,

And that I'm awful for having optimism.

Truth is,

I don't.

But I can pretend until the end, 

Can't I?

#cancer #sad

Maria waited anxiously for the Captain of the ship *Veritas* to come to Thurin’s Thoth. The man was possessed of a love of reading that rivaled even her father’s and his ship had been unloading since dawn. She worked through one of the recent crates of books that had been delivered to Thurin’s Thoth, shelving one and rechecking the time before getting another. *Today,* she thought to herself, *today I’ll ask him.*

Magnus gave a faint smile as he watched his daughter. “You looking at the clock won’t make them finish any faster.”

Setting aside a book that she thought might interest Captain Holy, she asked, “Do you think he already has plans for tomorrow night?”

He sighed uncomfortably at the question, knowing how likely it was that the boy had already been invited elsewhere, but was saved from answering by his wife breezing into the room.

“He’s very popular, darling, but he *has* only been back since last night. So I believe your chances to be fairly decent.” Shishelly perched on her husband’s desk, completely dishelveling his papers. “You’ll never know until you ask.”

“She shouldn’t be asking him to begin with,” Magnus grumbled.

She lightly swatted his shoulder. “Maggie! You grumpy old bear, she is twenty years old and perfectly able to choose with whom she would like to spend the holiday. If she wants to pass time with a merchant Captain-.”

″*Pirate* Captain.”

“Not that it stops you from taking his gold or his goods,” Maria sassed.

″- that’s *her* business.” She sniffed derisively and looked down at him. “And the young man has been quite good for *your* business, has he not?”

“Have I come at a bad time?” A new voice sounded from the entrance, soft and rich with a slight seaworn huskiness, and the very subject of their conversation stood framed in the doorway.

“Captain Holy!” Laughing, the woman hopped down from the desk. “We were just talking about you!”

“Mother!” Maria blushed again and busied herself with sorting a box of maps. “Good afternoon, Captain.”

The corner of his mouth crooked up into a smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Thurin.” He turned his attention to the couple and openly grinned. “Shishelly, Magnus. How are my favorite shop owners? Wealthy beyond reason and celebrating with a morning spat?”

The woman embraced him affectionately and the man clapped his arm in a vigorous handshake. “We’re well, dear. Did you bring anything to sell? Or just visiting?” She ran her fingers through his ponytail and worked out a small knot.

“How was your trip, Jimbo?” Magnus pulled his wife away before she could begin mothering the boy in earnest.

He gave a breathy chuckle and rubbed his neck, something that Maria suspected was a nervous tic. “Not the kind of success I’d hoped for, but better and worse in its own way. We gained nothing that would interest your shop. However! In case I don’t get to see you tomorrow...” He rummaged through his bag and pulled out two boxes, squinting at them to make sure they went to the proper recipients. “Solsallan presents.”

Magnus grinned as he opened the box and saw a bottle nestled on a bed of moss.

“Spiced ale made by the owner of The Creaking Jaw in Scyllan Bay. It’s perfect for this cold weather.”

Shishelly’s parcel contained a puzzle box with an assortment of coins. “Oh, Jimmydear! This is lovely!”

He blushed when she hugged him and cleared his throat. “You mentioned once that you wanted to start a coin collection. I tried to find a few different ones, but we only spent time in Decatur...”

“It’s perfect just the way it is.” She glanced to where Maria was shyly shelving books. “Come, Magnus. I need you to help me find the perfect place for it!”

His face twisted in confusion. “Why do you need-?”

“I just *do!*” she groaned, tugging on his hand.

Jimmy watched them go and shook his head at her vast lack of subtlety. Once they were gone, his eyes went to where Maria stood on her toes, haloed in sunlight. He wandered among the books, drifting aimlessly toward her until he stopped at her side and looked intently over the shelf in front of him. “You’ve been quiet today.”

“Have I?” Bright pink crept across her cheeks. “I must have just been distracted. We still have so many new things to register and put away.”

“Ah.” He sounded disappointed. “Well I should be going. We still have a few things to get done before tomorrow.” He began to reach into the inner pocket of his jacket.

*Tomorrow!* “Wait!” She grabbed his sleeve. “About tomorrow.” *Come on, Maria! He’s right here. Just say it!* “After the sun goes down, there are going to be fireworks to celebrate Solsallan. I was wondering if you would like to watch them? Together. With me. It’s the longest night of the year, you know, the Winter Solstice. So the fireworks are supposed to bring light into the long, dark night. I know it sounds silly, but it should be fun. If you like fireworks.” *Great. Now you’re babbling.*

He shifted awkwardly. “I’m sorry. But I can’t.”

She pasted a brittle smile on her face like a mask. “I understand. If you’re too busy or there’s someone else or you just don’t want-.”

“No! It’s not that.” He held up his hands to stop her from going on another ramble. “Rebecca and Tsuria have already invited me to dinner at the palace tomorrow night. One doesn’t turn down a personal invitation by the queens.” Her crestfallen look ate through him and he continued. “They did say that I am welcome to bring a guest. If you would maybe like to join me?”

She gasped. “At the palace? I’ve never even met them before! What do I wear?”

He laughed, finally taking his empty hand out of the pocket. “Anything you’d like. Ancestors know they will be.” The clock in the tower tolled the hour and he frowned. “I really *must* go though. We do still have some unloading to finish before nightfall. Which... It gets dark around, what, seventeen-hundred? So I can be here at about fifteen-hundred to escort you, if you wish. That will give us two hours to mingle, sample the hors d’ourves, and get a feel for the atmosphere before the fireworks and feast.” His eyes clouded with visions of the life he’d left behind. “I hope there’s dancing...” He returned his attention to her. “Do you know how to dance?”

Internally, she loosed a girlish squeak of excitement, but outwardly remained calm. “A little. Mother taught me, but I’ve never been to any proper dance.”

He looked at her kindly and gently stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “As long as you know the basics, you’ll be fine.” With a soft smile, he brought her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Until tomorrow then.”

He was gone and down the street by the time she could breathe again and she cradled her hand to her chest with a giddy squeal. *He kissed me!*

~~~~

Jimmy approached Thurin’s Thoth wearing a black linen tunic with poet sleeves and silver toggles, a sage and silver samite jerkin, soft and supple tan leather breeches, black leather boots, and a fur-lined tan gabardine coat that matched the breeches. His hair was pulled into a neat queue and tied by a sage ribbon criss-crossed with a leather cord. With a smile, he sniffed at the agalloch oud oil that he’d dabbed onto the collar of his shirt. On his way, he’d slipped a silver to a lady selling flowers for a small bouquet of pink stargazer lilies, lilies of the valley, snowdrops, and forget-me-nots. The woman had given him an extra snowdrop for his breast pocket with a wink.

He nearly dropped the bouquet when Maria descended the stairs.

She wore black, beaded slippers that sparkled enticingly in the light as they peeked out from under her dress. The gown itself was an understated work of art. Silver-shot lilac tilsent flowed in smooth, clean lines until she took a step, then the skirt of the gown divided into so many long, flowing strips and showed the ruched black linen shift beneath. He noticed the distinct pattern of corset boning beneath the bodice of the dress, just enough to enhance her figure and give her some support for the long night ahead. It had bishop sleeves that left her shoulders bare, belled along her arm, and came to cuffs at her wrists. Her neck was adorned only by a ribbon that matched the gown and her doll-like golden ringlets were braided into a knotwork bun at the crown of her head, pinned with tiny crystals.

But it was her eyes that captivated him the most. Like staring into the indigo abyss of the night sky.

*She really is a woman then. Not just the girl I met so many years ago. How did I not notice before now? Or is it that I didn’t want to?* He swallowed hard and stepped forward to give her the flowers.

Holding them close, she breathed in their fragrance with a happy sigh. “Thank you so much, Captain. They’re lovely.”

“Not even half so lovely as you.” His voice was gentle as he pulled a snowdrop to match his own from the arrangement and tucked it into her hair, awestruck by the woman who stood in place of the girl he’d expected to see. “Your beauty elevates such paltry trinkets to the stars, but they are still mundane in comparison.”

She hid her blush among the petals and turned to find a vase to put them in, only to be stopped by her parents.

“I’ll take those. They’ll be in your room when you get back.” Shishelly beamed while Magnus teared up. “Have fun, you two.”

He offered his arm to her and she took it with a nervous smile. They strolled in companionable silence, looking around at the other people who bustled to and fro about their lives. Closer to the castle, there was a different kind of urgency to the energy as people set up food and souvenir stands and prepared for the celebration. Occasionally, someone would greet one or the other of them, bowing to or saluting Jimmy and nodding to Maria.

When they reached the palace, marveled up at the elegantly imposing sandstone building. It had great pillars and sweeping arches, shining picture windows, and was accented with intimidating grotesques and gargoyles. The whole thing had an inviting, warm glow in the orange of the setting sun. The doors swung open for them and they entered into a veritable kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, jewel tone gowns swirling to a melodic cacophony of music. At the center was a striking woman with mahogany skin and a clingy gown of golden silk leading her ink-haired wife in a waltz.

“Shall we join them?” He held his hands up in a basic waltz frame and Maria stepped into his arms.

They danced until the sky darkened and the announcement was made for the show to begin. When they stepped out onto the great balcony off of the banquet hall, he pulled her under his coat to share heat as the boats in the cove shot their fireworks into the night sky to push back the darkness, spreading bursts of color across the sky.

“Maria. Reach into that pocket there, would you?” He nodded at where his coat was around her.

She did so and pulled out a small paper-wrapped package. At his nod, she opened it to find a gold chain so thin it was nearly invisible suspending a solitary blue stone nearly the exact color of her eyes.

“Kyanite. I saw it and thought of you.” He kissed her temple and held her tightly against his side as the sky lit like multicolored day. “Happy Solsallan.”

I want to call it a storm, but I never saw it looming

and neither are its thunders predictable.

The crack of a whip jolts me awake

except I never really sleep.

I could call it a war, but a war is only waged between two parties

And I am alone in every position that matters.

No, enemies do not stand on either side of this tug of war

It’s just me.

Maybe every thunderclap I hear is meant to make me stronger.

The rain tends to soak me, perhaps to cleanse me,

but it failed to consider what abates me is deep within me.

And pain is smart enough to hide

Imagine if pain could be seen, touched

It would be so easy to prod at it, suture it with thread.

Cover it up with a band-aid with a smily face.

It would be so simple, but life is never so.

So, instead of trying to picture the pain, I picture my guilty pleasures.

Giving in when I know I won’t,

Like Moses cutting wide open the red sea,

Blood poisoning the waters until it all becomes still again.

Every breath becomes more laborious.

I have formed a habit out of breathing,

even if I have been struggling with my lungs since a year ago.

And yet I breathe.

And if I could yell until my vocal cords tore,

I would curse a God who has an irony of stitching it all up,

just to tear the gauze off again,

to teach me a lesson, to make something out of a nobody.

I don’t want to say I’m not thankful

I am a by-product of a woman’s love and a man’s ambivalence

I am sheltered by my brother’s arms when the winds get tough,

I am whispered ‘you’re enough’ by the sole person keeping me on this earth.

If anything, it is because I have ran out of things to be thankful for.

Spring came and went, left me wheezing for breath.

Fall gave way to winter, snow covered the ground.

And what little happiness I had stored in my pocket was left barren.

Oh, and I certainly feel deserted.

If I were all powerful, I’d ask my demons to cease,

I would rush the arms of the clock

I would freeze this life forever in the spring,

and I would remain forever in that fortress I call home

This home of mine is shaken by the hurricane outside.

It is never hurricane season, it is just a forever weather.

And the windows refuse to give in to the furious wind,

so I cower in a corner and pray, pray, pray.

But nobody listens, do they?

And that’s because I haven’t been speaking

I’ve been laughing, hoping, yearning, huffing and puffing,

but my voice is too tired to be raised.

And I count to ten.

Maybe in nine months I’ll be better then,

And who cares about December the eighth?

Who is there to spend the seventh month next to?

To draw six chalk boxes on the sidewalk?

It’s five a.m and the clock persists.

I have four nice pictures in my pocket.

Three of them belonged to my mother.

Two are the days I have tasted happiness

And one is the beating heart I have.

So, beware, outside it is raging

And it is unpredictable

I am told this girl is forever stuck in that season,

and she’ll never see the sun again.

But, listen, I was also told this would get worse

by the four demons clinging to my bedpost

And it doesn’t get worse, it just became a habit.

Lungs swell, lungs deflate.

It is that way for the living, and the undying dead.

If anything, I am just too stubborn to give up

when I’ve learnt how to live out of habit

And what is existing if not so?

***

hiii :) this is not meant to be taken literally, but i just went on a rant over a word document and came up with this. i have been struggling with mental health pretty badly these last few months, and i just hope someone might be feeling the same way and understand that they are not alone, cause im also going through it.

thank you for reading :)

- mel

You wake up in the real world as a typical teenage human.

You go to school, play videogames,

do chores, hang out with your friends,

you know. All that jazz.

But, at night, you.....

....fall asleep.

Yeah. That's all. You fall asleep.

Boring.

You have vague memories of odd dreams,

but you never can seem to remember them when--

--------------------------------------------------

You wake up in the real world as a typical teenage fairy.

You go to school, perform magic, defeat dreadful behemoths,

hang out with your friends, you know. All that jazz.

But, at night, you.....

....fall asleep.

Yeah. That's all. You fall asleep.

Boring.

You have vague memories of odd dreams,

but you never can seem to remember them when--

i have visions in my dreams. they're an extension of my consciousness. my life asleep is as important as my life awake. dreams allow me to see things i could not see with my awake eyes.

locks seventh level

bristol iris

ivy stalk and

heaven's devil

stucco starlight

blue-plaid lullaby

photo framed of

ninety degrees

breeze beneath

gate of creek

bridge to street

wonder wider

charcoal marker

flower wall

pixelated porcupine

grow old

brown guitar

three note bar

easy peasy

singing breezy

reach out

open handed

acceptance

this is all i know