T. T. P. D. Writers' Floor
The Pigs and the Pens
The animals are at war
For reasons of their own
They do not hate, only battle
To keep their existence known.
Their children do not cry or plead
Only grow to join the fight
The leaders are not pleasured by conflict
Are not cruel to show their might
We are not animals, we are born with heart
Terrifying it is then how we terrorize.
The men who detest pigs make pens to part the herd
So that crowds cannot overrun them
The children are pitted against each other
We were born loving, were born to embrace
But were forced to be ignorant, forced to hate.
By pigs who refuse their true face
We are not animals, but we are in pens
Falsely constructed by greedy men
Born to family, love, and warmth
But lost in famine, conflict, and hurt
"But magic is neither good nor evil. It is a tool, like a knife. Is a knife evil? Only if the wielder is evil."
T. T. P. D. Writers' Floor
What are we doing?
There is missiles flying on the sky
And you will call it a fire cracker as it explode
There is a war going on
And you will call it a simple fight until it affects your life
The media might deceive the reader into lies
So don't you dare fall into the lie
The ones who suffer the most aren't the one with soft beds and great food on their table
It's the one who doesn't have a freedom of speech nor a clothes for another day
What are we doing?
While they suffer
While their voices stuck in their stolen lands
What are we doing?
Look around the corrupted world
Look how it's written in lies
Look at the history
And see how the winners erased the losers
" The lesson of history is that no one learns. "
T. T. P. D. Writers' Floor
Let it once be me.
There's a hole in my chest where my heart was supposed to be. A scratch on my back where my ribs used to rest.
My eternal Lacy. My endless war. Three weeks looking at your pictures, pretending to be your friend, when all I ever wanted was to be you.
Cause how does it feel like to be so ethereal? So perfect? So pretty?
Cause each time I look at you, I see the ghost of what I'll never be. And you say it's easy. That I need to trust myself more. Easy for you, who grew up in a pretty privilege.
Us mortals need to fight nail and tooth to be noticed. You say internal beauty is what's worth, but how true is it when people only look at you? When you walk into a room and the whole world stops, HOW DO YOU NOT NOTICE?
Meanwhile, I stand and stare in the corner, always by your shadow, and you have the gut to tell me that I could be pretty too if I put some effort.
And oh, trust me, Lacy, I always put effort.
But it doesn't matter the amount of makeup, the clothes I change, if I decide to wear something pretty or old. It never matters.
Cause I could die and dissappear and no one would bat an eye cause you just cut your hair and everyone is looking at it.
Please, let it once be me. Let it be me the one who's seen. The one who's worshipped.
And I know it'll never work. Cause I grew up in the shadows and crumbles you left.
So don't you dare say again that you have a broken heart or you don't feel pretty. Cause you'll NEVER know what it feels like to like someone and that someone is looking at you, too. No matter how hard I try, I'll never be you.
And, deep down, maybe that's where I deserve to be.
"I was good. I was really good"
| PC: Mikaela Hendricks | Shop: The Hendricks Archives | iNPC: Coming soon |
T. T. P. D. Writers' Floor
The Jump
As I grow and my world becomes
I find the fear of the fall
becomes the fear of the jump
I find the fear of the fall
becomes the fear of the jump
I have no news. I live quietly. I love you and I wait
T. T. P. D. Writers' Floor
Ash
A raven soars
Above the crystal-clear cascade
Reflecting the bright rays
Which empower his wings
Dipped along the horizon
As he takes flight to beyond.
Astounded cries echoing wide —
Heard million miles away
Are barely captured by the king
Displaying his majestic power
As he turns not to care,
Not to lift a feather.
As the worshippers, in his world,
Are nothing but specks of dirt.
While fading piles of ash
Prying to escape the mantelpiece
Dips their heads respectfully
Towards the denizens
Taking no care, no notice,
Of the trail below their feet.
Yet the piles of ash
Dwell not on their perceived uselessness
As they thrash to acquire
The position of recognition.
And reach, day and night,
For fame neglected by the grandest.
Fame that lives high above the denizens
Where the strongest ones perch.
And a light, ever so bright,
Shimmers above the raven
Where warmth licks his exterior…
Yet waits not a second.
Rays yearn, they yearn
To embody the piles of ash
Engulfed with warmth and power
As they rise with the mentor
That warmed their core —
The motherly sun.
The raven comes near
Yet shies away
As his wings seem small
And ordinary as grains of dust.
And soon, rising piles of ash…
Claimed the vast, open sky,
Shining like stars
That stand in the light.
They reach to the denizens
And speak not, sing not,
But radiate their warmth
Which empowers the denizens.
They get no worship, no praises sung.
But they are gifted
A smile that resonates deep.
i wrote this when i was younger... js found this when clearing my google docs pls tell me if its bad
A raven soars
Above the crystal-clear cascade
Reflecting the bright rays
Which empower his wings
Dipped along the horizon
As he takes flight to beyond.
Astounded cries echoing wide —
Heard million miles away
Are barely captured by the king
Displaying his majestic power
As he turns not to care,
Not to lift a feather.
As the worshippers, in his world,
Are nothing but specks of dirt.
While fading piles of ash
Prying to escape the mantelpiece
Dips their heads respectfully
Towards the denizens
Taking no care, no notice,
Of the trail below their feet.
Yet the piles of ash
Dwell not on their perceived uselessness
As they thrash to acquire
The position of recognition.
And reach, day and night,
For fame neglected by the grandest.
Fame that lives high above the denizens
Where the strongest ones perch.
And a light, ever so bright,
Shimmers above the raven
Where warmth licks his exterior…
Yet waits not a second.
Rays yearn, they yearn
To embody the piles of ash
Engulfed with warmth and power
As they rise with the mentor
That warmed their core —
The motherly sun.
The raven comes near
Yet shies away
As his wings seem small
And ordinary as grains of dust.
And soon, rising piles of ash…
Claimed the vast, open sky,
Shining like stars
That stand in the light.
They reach to the denizens
And speak not, sing not,
But radiate their warmth
Which empowers the denizens.
They get no worship, no praises sung.
But they are gifted
A smile that resonates deep.
i wrote this when i was younger... js found this when clearing my google docs pls tell me if its bad
| 𝓼𝓽𝓪 2 | 𝓮𝓿𝓪 3 | 𝓼𝓽𝓻 1 | 𝔀𝓲𝓼 8 | 𝓪𝓻𝓬 8 | 𝓪𝓬𝓬 8 | XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX | lauren vanes | parselmouth |
| ❝kill them with success and bury them with a smile.❞ |
T. T. P. D. Writers' Floor
I’m an only child.Lonely…
My parents always asked me if I wanted siblings.
I always said no.
I’m so selfish.
I wanted to be the center of attention
I wanted to be the
loved
spoiled
only child.
And I was.
And
I was lonely
Playing with your parents only goes so far
I would make up stories in my head
Grand stories
And characters
Lovely ones
I don’t know what I would have done without my stories…
My characters kept me company.
They kept me happy.
They kept me thinking.
But now I’m socially awkward.
I don’t know what to say to anyone
What to talk about…
I suppose it’s because I didn’t speak with people other than my parents as a child
And having to stay home all the time Covid 19 didn’t help
It made me more awkward.
I made friends with my stuffed animals
I talked to myself
I was alone
Even though I was loved
Even though I was spoiled
Even though I was the center of attention
I felt alone
And being alone
Is pretty lonely
T. T. P. D. Writers' Floor
It was that moment I realized
I was suffocating in my own selfishness
When I pointed every arrow to my self
And I turned around and suddenly have no one else
My friends were tired of hearing me talk
Tired of talking all about me
And now I am too
But its too late
Because they've found selfless people to talk to
And I feel abandoned
Until I realized its I who had abandoned them
I was suffocating in my own selfishness
When I pointed every arrow to my self
And I turned around and suddenly have no one else
My friends were tired of hearing me talk
Tired of talking all about me
And now I am too
But its too late
Because they've found selfless people to talk to
And I feel abandoned
Until I realized its I who had abandoned them
| My Ency | ☆ 𝕂𝕖𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕕𝕪 ℂ𝕙𝕖𝕖𝕜 ☆ “She was a sunshine girl who was learning to play in the rain.” |
INPC - Cory Hanes |