Category: Creative Writing

Dreaming

~ Brooke F. ~ Leave a comment

I used to think dreams were for the rich. The ones with money. And that if you weren’t allowed it when you were born then you were just out of luck. But I was wrong. 

Dreams are for those with friends. Those who are willing to work hard. And for those who are willing to keep on trying and trying. Who are willing to keep their promises. Who are loyal. And who instead of looking for the good in people, choose to live it instead because others actions shouldn’t mandate whether or not you’re happy and neither should your circumstances. Dreams are for us. 

You and me. 

Life

~ Brooke F. ~ Leave a comment

On the first page of Life 

Written in Red

Don’t always pay attention to what others have said. 

Because that is where self doubt is specially bred. 

On the second page of life. 

Written in blue

So many lives 

Would be lost without you. 

On the third page of life

It’s written in green

It’s all so temporary 

The things that are seen. 

Don’t be blinded by the worlds of

Gossamer glean. 

On the fourth page of life

Written in pink

You’re never as unloved 

as you may think. 

And that confidence isn’t being devoid of a flaw 

But still knowing you’re worth it

And choosing to stand tall

On the seventh page of life

Written in white

Stop looking for light. 

Be it instead, shining bright. 

Always standing for the right. 

On eight page of life

It’s written in teal

Just because you feel it

Doesn’t mean it’s not real. 

But remember you’re emotions 

Are an adept liar

The line you must walk between logic and feelings will be your high-wire. 

On the ninth page of life

It’s written in grey

Just because they tell you to hush

Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t say

All that you’re feeling. 

All that’s in your heart. 

You’re words can create and destroy. 

Don’t let them steal you’re only means of art. 

On the last page if life,

Written in gold. 

Don’t spend your youth trying to fit into a mold. 

Wasting your days always doing what you’re told. 

Impulse Control

~ Brooke F. ~ Leave a comment

I was thinking, what would my past week have looked like had I no impulse control. It’s a scary yet interesting question. 

I think I would have thrown a head of lettuce in my sister’s face. 

I would have told that girl her dolphin earrings were cute and that lady that her highlights were spot on. 

I would have said hello to that person I thought I recognized and asked that girl who was crying at the library if she was okay. 

I would have randomly turned left as I drove out of our driveway and would have skipped work. 

I would have gone to the coffee shop and just drawn with charcoal all day. 

I would have told the barista that I wanted the sweetest drink she could concoct and I would drink it in one gulp. 

I would have woken up at 3 am to take a walk outside at night.  

I would have punched a wall once and a fake friend twice. 

I would have bought myself a new dress and shoes and would have danced in front of the mirror just to watch the folds of fabric shimmer and wave. 

I would have dyed my hair how I always wanted and maybe even cut it short. 

Until now, I haven’t realized fear has stopped me from doing so many things. Some good and some bad. 

It’s that Time of Year…

~ Brooke F. ~ Leave a comment

I came to a realization the other day. The phrase, “it’s that time of year” is suitable to proceed any sentence and make sense. 100% of the time you follow up what someone says with, “it’s that time of year”, they’ll nod in agreement and know exactly what you mean. Because apparently it’s ALWAYS that time of year. For example:

Person a: my banana went bad on the counter in just two days.
Person b: it’s that time of year.

Or

Person a: my Christmas tree shed all over my floor.
Person b: it’s that time of year.

It works all the time.

Why I Like Rain

~ Brooke F. ~ Leave a comment

It’s so calming

I will always treasure The memory of sitting on the porch, the cold air nipping at my nose and a warm drink in hand. Complete peace before the chaos of the day. 

And finally I can drown in something that isn’t my stupid thoughts of how things can go wrong and how I’m going to mess stuff up.  

And the smell. Good glory,  the smell is amazing. Fresh air, newly cleansed, crisp and so utterly perfect it almost stings to inhale. The smell of starting over. The smell the growth. The smell of everything becoming more alive amidst the storm. 

And The sound is music to my ears, more comforting than a thousand lullabies. The gentle, rhythmic thrum of rain on grass or on the roof, almost as if you are hearing the heartbeat of the sky. 

And it somehow comforts me as I watch the grey come and go. The heavy clouds come and leave. And no matter how chaotic and dark the storm, the sky still manages to pull itself together and becomes a vibrant shade of blue. It may take it an afternoon or even a few days but it will return to its original hue. 

Nostalgia Is Wrong

~ Brooke F. ~ Leave a comment

The good old days are not a phase in life in which things magically are perfect. It’s something you’re actively doing and creating as you live each day.  Last week could have been the good old days if you lived them to the fullest. This last weekend even. Your life can be comprised of thousands upon thousands of “good ol’ days” but not if you continue to spend your life reminiscing of a time you thought things were perfect. The Good ol Days are now. The sooner you learn that nostalgia is a dirty rotten liar who insists things were better than they actually were, the better off you’ll be.

Recycling Emotionally

~ Brooke F. ~ Leave a comment

Learn to recycle emotionally. 

Turn the energy that you use towards disliking yourself to building yourself up. 

The energy you use to envy others, use it to be thankful  

The energy you use to hate your enemies could turn into love towards those closest to you. 

Regret of the past can turn into the hope of the future. 

All emotions take energy. Make sure you’re putting yours into the right ones. 

Where to leave your perfectionism

~ Brooke F. ~ Leave a comment

When I was younger, I wasn’t worried. Not In the least.

I would wake in the morning with a light feeling in my chest and a carefree air about me. I would set out armed with a stick and go play in the woods and in the mud in search for adventure. 

I would crawl through culvert pipes and pretend they were entrances to magical worlds, rabbit holes to far off places. 

I would climb up to the highest part of a tree, and where the branches would meet at the center was a throne that I imagined was made for me. I would sit there and overlook my kingdom and pretend I could talk to the birds as the flitted past, giving me news of the worlds beyond. 

Then I would return home and write of my adventures in a notebook and draw maps of the new kingdoms I had conquered and discovered. Page after page I would fill with drawings and notes, describing the magic that I had found that particular day. 

But that’s not the way things are anymore. Now I’m worried, scared even, bogged down by fear and perfectionism. The stories don’t come as easy as they used to and the feeling of lightness and the glow of curiosity no longer radiates in my chest. 

Many times I have rested my pen on a blank page only to be met with a emptiness of mind and spirit. And on the rare occasions that I would actually write something, I would return to it, and rip its pages away because it was not perfect. 

I still relished the feeling of pages beneath my finger tips and the smell of new notebooks but I could never bring myself to fill them with the same colorful stories that I used to create so many years ago. 

But there came A Day I was tired of it. Tired of being perfectionistic. For my fear of creating something substandard drove me to create nothing at all. 

So I took with me a journal, perfect and empty, on a walk. More times than I’d like to admit, I had wanted to fill this book with a great many number of ideas and drawings but I could never bring myself to mark up it’s crisp, empty pages. 

So I walked to a pond’s edge and looked out upon its reflective surface, unblemished and smooth like a mirror. At its shore, I tied a string around the book and left a long tail that I could hold onto. And then I cast it as far as I could into the water. 

I reeled it in, the journal now a soggy pulp of pages. So I took it home and dried it. 

It was not longer perfect. The pages were wrinkled and the cover was beginning to peel. But that was alright. 

So I set it on my desk and opened it and began to write. 

Snapshot: The Second Week of October

~ Brooke F. ~ Leave a comment

It’s the second week of October. I’m at a tea shop in the morning. We have just an hour before we open. Trans Siberian orchestra blares as we are putting up Christmas decor and lights. The air smells of cinnamon because the kitchen is cooking something amazing. The weather outside is nippy but it’s warm and cozy inside and we’re all wearing our favorite sweaters. I guess Christmas decided to come early, at least for today. I think I’m okay with that.

Life is good. 

5 Things Wrong with Fairytales

~ Brooke F. ~ Leave a comment

5 Things Wrong with Fairytales

So, if you have lives in America around the 21st century or so (give or take a hundred years), chances are you’ve heard or seen your fair share of fairytales. Age old classics, these stories have been adapted and made into movies for children of all ages. But having been around forever, and thanks to disney, we usually totally miss the messed up morals and strange meanings that they could be teaching us.

1. Princesses usually tend to be underage when being stalked, creeped over, kidnapped… etc.

?I also find it funny, that 16 is the magic age for EVERYTHING to happen. Boom! You 16! Time for the romance, kidnappings, and curses to commence! Kiss your parents good bye, because they’re gonners too!

2. Prince Charming has no name.

Seriously. Just calling him Prince Charming isn’t going to work say when your in trouble. Kind of a mouthful to spew out if you’re shouting for help. Ever thought about shortening it to PC or Charles?

And here’s some more food for thought…

Every prince is referred to as “Prince Charming”, and everyone assumes they are different Princes, but what if they aren’t? Sounds like we have a Player here.

And another thing, what if he wasn’t Charming? Heck, most of the princes in fairytales a nothing short of creepsters. They should really go by their true names, “Prince Creepy” or “Prince Get-a-life”.

3. Step mothers are Evil not matter what.

It doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve done, if you are a stepmother than YOU ARE SATAN.

4. The Morals.

Seriously. You think true love is the only thing being taught through these tales? Cinderella sneaked out at night to go to a party. Snow White lived with 7 guys. The Little Mermaid made a promise she couldn’t keep. Prince Charming kissed a stranger. Jasmine fell in love with a homeless guy and a theif…

These wholesome stories are just great teachers to the next generation, don’t ya think?

5. True Love

“Cinderella’s eyes watered as she turned away from the prince to leave. She hadn’t known only twenty seconds ago that they’d become so close.”

A whole flipping 20 seconds is all it takes to develop this “true love”. How…realistic…?

Aaaaaaand that’s the end of my thinking capacity for now.

Byeee!