wemkea

oh em freaking g. i’m crying 🥹🥹🥹💗💗💗

written by; pinksugarcube22 (˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵)

this was written for my creative writing course !

-

I possess a cedar box

In my possession is a cedar box

It is not my cedar box

It never will be my cedar box

Nor is it my fathers cedar box

It used to be his cedar box

Before he gave it to her

But It cannot be her cedar box

She cannot hold the cedar box

She is small enough to be held by the cedar box

However, inside the cedar box that I possess

Is not a photo of me

There is not a photo of my father

Inside, said cedar box

There is a photo of her

And I

But it is no longer a memory of just me

me & my new belly ring🦄🍦💗

written by; pinksugarcube22 (˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵)

this was written for my creative writing course !

-

you broke my heart into countless fragments

but im counting one, four, sixteen, two hundred and fifty six pieces

fallen out of love. fallen stagnant

predicted per the stars, aries and capricorn. complex unalignment

hate is a strong word. yet you hurt my heart so deeply, every hour ours increases

you broke my heart into countless fragments

pretended to be a prince in a castle of enchantment

instead, a frog under the bridge of broken promises

fallen out of love. fallen stagnant

as adventurous as i expected, you. a master of seizing the moments

yet the moments and memories of us now ceases

you broke my heart into countless fragments

an unhappy fairytale. a hard cover story of abandonment

with a thick spine. my nightmare still comes true if he never lets me go. never releases

fallen out of love. fallen stagnant

i say this all now but i know we’ll forever have our attachment

the door i’ve shamefully left cracked open, as i yearn for your kisses

you broke my heart into countless fragments

written by; pinksugarcube22 (˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵)

this was written for my creative writing course !

-

Lysol smells

like dead ants.

I hate Lysol.

I don’t hate

dead ants.

My mother used to spray Lysol

in the event of company to protect

her pride and peace

A sweet citrus scent

an aching mind. Triggered by the coverup

that hides what's inside

I don't trust you, Lysol

in my space masking

as a fresh scent, but

truthfully a rotting

poison

I hate you

but I don’t hate

dead ants.

Dead ants are dead

and don’t pretend

that they aren't.

I’ve moved away from my mother

now here with you

and you are much worse. You spray Lysol

like a perfume

You are

Lysol itself.

I clean myself with bleach

to escape the false reality

you’ve painted as our home

disrupting my sanity

I resonate with bleach

and its strength. Bleach may be

harsh, but unlike Lysol

bleach is trustworthy

bleach is honest

bleach is my friend

Lysol disgusts me

Politely ‘disinfecting’ my counters

killing zero germs

In the same way that you

hug me

but hold me so tight till I no longer can

breathe

I don't have a

problem

with dead ants.

But I do have a

problem

with Lysol.

You and Lysol are the

same disappointment of a

chemical makeup.

Fake sweet,

fake clean,

fake friend.

Bleach strips impurities

reveals the cold truth

and allows the pain like

A stitch in your skin

but Lysol rips off the bandaid

it just gave you prior

and picks at the scab

you worked so hard to let heal

Bleach is everything Lysol wants to be

I understand you treat me this way, due to jealousy

But Lysol could never be bleach

and I’m not sorry, that me,

bleach

doesn't smell

like dead ants.

I could never hate dead ants

They didn't ask

to die

or to smell that way.

Poor ants

Lysol smells like dead ants

if I were dead ants,

I’d hate that i’m associated

with you

I hate Lysol.

I don't hate dead ants.

written by; pinksugarcube22 (˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵)

this was written for my creative writing course !

-

My father has dark brown, almost black hair

My mother had light brown

There was a twenty percent chance I’d take after my mother

and grow the same shade of perfectly cooked toast

It was unlikely

but I beat the odds

I take after my mother.

My father has warm and deep almond eyes

My mother had cold hazel

There was a twenty-five percent chance I’d take after my mother

and wear the same shifting color she wore

It was unlikely

but I beat the odds

I take after my mother.

My father has fine straight hair

My mother had the thickest curls

There was a fifty percent chance I’d take after my mother

and be forced to deal with the same unruly pattern

It was unlikely

but I beat the odds

I take after my mother.

There is an eighty-five percent chance my story is written

with the same volta of enemy skin

and final curtain of 28

I pray

a different ending

I wait

written by; pinksugarcube22 (˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵)

this was written for my creative writing course !

—

Brand new to you

out of the box

Untouched. They’re dull

He’s dull

unusable

but you sharpen

The lead is now

pointed. and perfect

Gentle grasp

at first

to keep him

pointed. and perfect

Now you’re excited

quickly sketching away

writing words for days

Enjoying this

perfectly

pointed pencil

Till you push

too hard

Snap

You stop.

The lead has broken

It caught you off guard

The pencil was perfect

but now

damaged

You can fix him.

So you sharpen

again

It writes well

Not as good as before

yet good enough

to keep trying again & again

Pointed.

not perfect

You pick up where it broke off

Shading what you've created

editing what you wrote

You’re in the groove

it’s gliding somewhat smooth

but something

is off

You stop

because out of nowhere

He snaps

The lead has broken again

but you're not surprised

You expected it this time

He’s done this before

You know what to do

You sharpen it.

But he’s not right

Not how he was the

first time

Not fresh out of the box

Not untouched

but

Very touched

Not pointed

Not perfect

But you continue to sharpen

because you trust

eventually

he will remain

pointed. and perfect

You sharpen

and sharpen

sharpen; until all that is left

is to undo