Dreamer of Words

I've started writing letters to people around the world

Goodreads account

8/11/12, 1 notes

Another Excerpt

Currently at 6,387 and struggling.

Twenty four

The dark was the darkest I had known it, or perhaps it was because I was completely alone. The shadows were long and deep, and though it was dry the icy wind whipped round the buildings and caused me to pull my coat up tight to my face. I could only hear my footsteps and the distant hum of traffic, everything was still.

3/11/12, 3 notes

Nanowrimo excerpt, currently at just over 1000 words.

I was waiting to cross in the rain. The sky was an ink black and the buildings in the distance with their lit windows disappeared into it, so it looked like rectangles of light climbed the skies and headed for the heavens, no structure to keep them there. I was waiting to cross in the rain, stood on the pavement with my feet slightly apart, I enjoyed the lights that raced over the surface of the wet stone floor and waited. That’s when I noticed her, Umbrella Girl. She was stood like me, but she had an umbrella keeping her dry. She stood quite and still, clutching a pink bag with a drink inside. She was oblivious to me which made her all the more beautiful. I continued to watch, knowing I wanted to take her photograph and keep her forever. The lights changed, and in a blur of motion and dizzying lights, we came to cross the road. And as we passed the street lamp on the other side of the road our shadows came side by side, touching each other and bouncing back at me like true love. And although she was too busy walking to see it, she became the hero of that crossing. We parted our separate ways, and I realised I had never seen her face. She was gone now, but it didn’t matter. I had been aware for that moment of our connection, and that was enough.

1/11/12, 4 notes

Songs

I’m reading the works of art

Of other people, and

I’m pulled to their soul

Through the cracks in the pages.

The subtle grace notes

You can barely hear

While listening

Black keys pressed

Disharmony and then content

I am reading through the letters

Under the lines

Straight into the heart

Of someone I do not know.

And I think that’s beautiful.

30/10/12, 7 notes

The Meadow: Writing

And it’s as if I haven’t been away.

The meadow same green as it was, under

Flowers sprung about like lost people

In a crowd of autumn leaves.

You could bring me back here any day

And the seasons won’t have changed it.

I twist through the lanes I knew so well…

And fingers stretched over a typewriter:

We know what it is we love

(And love what we know.)

29/10/12, 11 notes

Dear tumblr people

I have been away for a remarkably long time. Thank you to the people who stayed around, I have a lot to catch up with it seems.

I took a break due to the amount of hate I seemed to be getting and how many nasty images filled my dashboard every day. I now feel fit enough to cope with these things providing I can continue to share my poetry and receive your constructive criticism.

I’m going to attempt nanowrimo for the second time in November, so I may share a few words about that too.

Anyway.

Please drop by and send a message if you are still about and still remember me, I would be delighted to hear from you.

29/10/12, 10 notes

I’m trying to make this deadline less stressful with candles and soft music.

21/5/12, 2 notes

My post isn’t showing up on my dashboard…

Testing this one out..

21/5/12, 0 notes

Life

I just wish things could be easier. I wish I had the strength to cope with things like I usually can right now. I usually have very little problem working 25+ hours a week at the care home on top of a full time degree course and house work but now it seems worse than ever. Combine that with just ONE stressful incident in my life and I have a problem.

My doctor thinks something might be seriously wrong with me, with my mental health. He really didn’t help matters - I went in to speak about some troubling symptoms and I saw the shutters go down over his face… he was actually scared of me. He referred me to a psychiatrist (who I haven’t heard from so I wonder if he even did that?) … told me it sounded like I had something very seriously wrong with me then ushered me out of the door. I didn’t have the chance to ask questions.

Today at college I just burst into tears in front of everyone. Someone asked if I was okay because I looked tired and pale, I shook my head and started crying hysterically. My tutors were all good about it and sympathise with me, (it’s an art college after-all, mental issues tend to go hand in hand with a lot of artists…) but I just feel like crap. I hate crying in public. I hate feeling like I have problems because I feel guilty for anyone with worse than me. I haven’t eaten anything all day - I keep forgetting. I will literally go days and then realise I haven’t eaten anything. What’s up with that?

I have a very important deadline on monday morning… the last module… and this week I am working:

2-9pm tomorrow,

2-4pm Wednesday

2-9pm Friday

7:30-2pm Saturday

2-9pm Sunday

(29.5 hours in total.)

Why do I do this to myself? I really don’t know how I’m going to survive this.

21/5/12, 7 notes

I hate doctors. I just give up with them.

They never want to help me… they just build up false hope so they can tear it all away from me again.

16/5/12, 2 notes

soredemonao:

Beautiful woman she was.

(Source: birdgurhl, via soredemonao)

16/5/12, 1722 notes

To Sail Love Unharmed:

You should

Put your heart

On the ship

That’s least likely

To sink.

And yet:

Don’t forget

That some things

Are not quite what

You think.

14/5/12, 7 notes

readingwritingandarithmetic: When the sky is a bruised blue purple and the clouds chase across in the late twilight, what do you think of? x

I’m walking in a cool breeze towards the car park with wet hair. I’d just been swimming and I had spent most of my time listening to the silence of underwater. Suddenly the outside world comes to life, and I can hear everything… from the distant melody of a lady blackbird to the sound of my feet on the concrete and everything in between. I sit in the car with my forehead pressed against the window, looking up at the sky and thinking of everything and nothing all at once. I never saw that sky again.

13/5/12, 2 notes

Those Who Write

The ones that make you dream.

You can hear the crunch

Of feet on snow and broken

Branches. You can hear

The crackling of the warmest

Fires burning, the clock ticking,

The first sun rays as they

Strike the bedroom wall.

The ones that make you see

In purest red the berries

And the autumn leaves

Imagine cobalt oceans

A blue five-o’clock sky.

I love those poets,

The ones who write

With such raw passion

That you can hear

Their pens squeaking

As you read, and imagine

Handwritten love-letters

Written late at night

By candle-light.

Dear poets; write me

Tonight’s dream.

13/5/12, 27 notes

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