Does your writing tell your secrets? | Let’s talk about it

 

 

virginia woolf

I found this quote the other day and it made me wonder. Can everything the writer creates, be traced back to the writer? Is there a way to write that is entirely outside of self? Or is the nature of the beast that we must write about our lives in some way or another, even if it’s not terribly obvious to the reader? Have you written a poem, character, story, etc that you were able to say you couldn’t find a shred of yourself in it? And if so, was the quality of the piece to par with your other works?

 

Share your thoughts in the comments below. I’ll meet you down there!

Bullying | Poetry Prompt

So far this year, here’s the posts that have been written for the prompts. I’ll be gathering more as we move on in the year, so by the end of the year we’ll have an interesting digest of where we’ve been. This is totally separate from the magazine and anthology. It’s just an extra thing for fun.

Alright, moving along…

1000 Voices

On Friday, 1000 Voices for Compassion will be doing another roundup of posts on these internets. I thought it would be wonderful, if we’d write poetry about the main topic–which is “Building from Bullying.” But instead of just writing about a horribly hurtful bullying episode, let’s find compassion in the story-whether for the victim, the bully or both. Let the poem tell us more than we would expect. This does not have to be an instance of childhood bullying. It unfortunately happens at all ages.

Make sure to either backlink to the page or post it in the comments. Check out what each is doing and share! Let’s build this community. All links will be added to this year’s digest.

Remember on Fridays, we’re having a bit of a chat. If you didn’t catch last Friday’s swing by and join in about education and poetry.

Have you considered submitting to our Write for Us segment? We’d love to feature your work here on The Reverie! Click here for more information

TRAPPED!

We have the youngest poet to debut on our page. Give her a warm welcome!

She could feel the walls closing in,
Slowly suffocating her to death
She could feel all her senses going numb
As she slowly ran out of breath
She knew she could run, but never hide
From those voices that hunted her down
She was trapped in a labyrinth, confused and lost
As she struggled for a way to escape
Waves of nausea and panic overcame her
As she tried to find a way out, from the eternal maze,
That unleashed her deepest and darkest fears
And trapped her in her own nightmares

Anonymous Indian is a happy 15-year-old girl who lives in the beautiful country of India. She loves to write and considers blogging to be the perfect platform to express her creativity.

Ashes

Poetry on The Reverie Journal blog.

To sweeten the dish, add salt. To bear the pain,
render the insoluble. She envied

the past its incursions, yet the past yields to all,
avoidance to acceptance, trees to smoke.

My mother brought to this country a token of her death to come.

Now it sits on my shelf bearing implements of music.
In her last days I played Sakura on the mandolin,

trusting that she might find comfort
in the blossoms fluttering through the failing notes,

a return to mornings
of tea and rice, of
warmth and paper walls and deep laughter.

Today the rain spells forgive

and every idea becomes form, every shadow a symptom,
each gesture a word, a naming in silence.

Scatter me in air I’ve never breathed.


 

Robert Okaji lives in Texas. “Ashes” was featured on Extract(s) and is included in his chapbook, If Your Matter Could Reform, to be released in April 2015, as Dink Press’s first offering in its National Poetry Month Series. You can find him at his blog.

Party Girls Don’t Get Hurt

I’m the party girl, the smarty girl, that arty girl

That rock and roll child, toured with Nirvana

Born to be wild, dressed up in style

Party with rock stars, cool kids, out laws, in the raw

 

I’m the cool girl, the hot girl, the “it” girl, human tilt-a-whirl

The popular girl, wild child, live on the edge, crouched on a ledge

The sexy girl, men want to screw

Super talented chick, don’t you wish it were you?

 

One two three drink

one two three drink

one two three drink

throw ‘em back till I lose count

 

Envy me, copy me, fall for me; worship me

Beg for me, plead for me

If they want me they bleed for me

I’m the girl who takes all the chances, who dies everyday,

is reborn every moment, I’ll lead you astray

 

Pour me a drink and I’ll tell you my life

your envy so thick it could cut with a knife

White hot

Independent

Drinks are for free.

My options got options, don’t you wish you were me?

 

Dressed to wicked perfection in Jimmy Choo boots

Black leather and buckles in three different heights

Bold and

brassy

Inappropriate

Carefree

Druggy misadventures with Beasties and Flea

 

The Limelight

The Tunnel

The Mercer Hotel,

Partied in Vegas

New Orleans

Nashville was hell

 

 

I’m gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier

    I’m gonna live like tomorrow doesn’t exist, like it doesn’t exist

 

 

I’m the girl who’s shaking now, what have I done, what have I done?

I’m the girl who’s sobbing now, gotta unplug,

Hair matted down on one side

“just get home” on repeat

 

All those friends were not real they were props on my stage,

painted in the shattered strobe light now they all fade

Stop judging me, hating me, coveting my life

The years slipped through my fingers, a fool’s paradise

 

She’s the makeup smeared girl in a bathroom stall

vomiting out daddy issues against the back wall

Cutting white lines on the closed toilet seat

without smack in her veins she feels incomplete

 

Dance with me, sing with me, you’ll present like a king with me,

steal with me, deal with me; you won’t ever heal with me

 

The party girl’s wrapped in layers of numb

anesthetized to the hilt with cocaine and rum

Escaping at dawn from a loft I don’t know

How did I end up downtown? Did all of us go?

 

Remember that time she was sectioned in Queens?

She thought it was Manhattan or some kind of dream

A cop picked up her up for not knowing her way,

or where she was, who she was, or even what day.

Commited for 3 days for being insane –

a half ounce of coke does that to a brain

 

The hot MILF, the cool mom,

loses custody of her kid.

So cop a little more scag,

drop off the grid

Hot-bodied flame-haired

girl from the hood

She’s homeless in 6 months

But damn she looks good

 

But I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down won’t open my eyes

    Keep my glass full until morning light, ‘cos I’m just holding on for tonight

 

Ready to fuck like a porn star, wanna have a good time?

send me your email I’ll fuck you online

Check your respect at the door cause you’re here to screw

and fuck my best friend, don’t mind if you do

 

Play with me, stray with me, put yourself on display with me

Stay with me, stay with me, I can’t bear another day of me

Play with me

Stay with me

Stay with me

Please

I can’t be alone I can’t seem to breathe

Post- party heart- crushing comedown at dawn

when the drugs are used up everybody is gone

 

Play with me

pray for me

Play with me

pray for me

 

The life of the party, she quietly seeks death

You’ve helped her this far – why not steal her last breath?

Play with me

Pray for me

Play with me

Pray for me

 

pray for me

pray for me

pray for me

pray for me

 


 

http//thereveriejournal.com

Samara is the no-holds-barred, five times Freshly Pressed blogger at A Buick in the Land of Lexus.  She mixes honesty with humor in high definition, first-person story telling. Samara is also a founding member of The Sister Wives blog. She lives in New Jersey with her son Little Dude, the coolest 11-year-old kid on the planet.

Follow her on Twitter and Facebook.


 

What’s your fantasy?

http://thereveriejournal.com Poetry Prompt

This week let’s explore the recesses of our imagination. Let’s tap into your fantasies. Let’s have some fun with this one.

I present to you this setting:

http://thereveriejournal.com

Here are some words to guide your journey. Use as many as you want.:

The Words:

The Court

Dowry

Lonesome

Harrowing

Dedicated

Sorted

Sultry

Crept 

Remember, we’re not voting on Fridays anymore, but we do have the linky so we can share our poetry. Please join in, link up your work, read others in the community.

This site is meant to form a community of like-minded individuals, and so we should be here to support one another. Be sure to share the prompt! #thereverie

Also, we’re looking for more poets to feature on Wednesday. Please read the guidelines and send a submission!

I Love Me, I Love Me Not

This weekend we’re celebrating one of those holidays people either love, or love to hate.

But in the spirit of love and romance and all those ooey-gooey feelings, I want you to write a love poem.

Hold on.

It’s not going to be that easy.

I want to challenge you to write a love poem from someone who loves you’s perspective. Did you catch that? That means a husband, girlfriend, partner, mother, grandfather, child, best friend, whoever you have in this world that loves you…You are going to write a love poem…to yourself…as if it were written by them.

Sound difficult? It is. It’s never easy to put yourself into someone else’s voice and try to write from their standpoint.

It’s even harder to write love poetry about yourself.

But I think you can do it. I KNOW you can do it.

And have you considered submitting to our Write for Us segment? We’d love to feature your work here on The Reverie! Click here for more information

Remember, all entries must be linked back to this post with a pingback or by commenting by Friday at midnight EST. Saturday is the vote and Sunday the winner will be featured.

Photo Credit: the-psycrothic on deviantart