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The Cellist Writes Things


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So I saw The Bookwyrm do this, and I thought I'd try something similar. This is just something I wrote yesterday. I'm not very good yet, but practice is important. Feedback and criticism are appreciated. (Yes I know I love commas too much) Also, can anyone help me with formatting these sorts of things? I will also post other writing things here if I feel like it. Anyway, here it is.


     Do you ever feel like a bottle? I know I do. Everything is trapped inside. You can’t let anything out because nobody wants to listen. 


     You try to explain, and some people help. They do, they really do, but you find yourself slipping, twisting, falling. It’s as if some master of fate decides these things for you. Your time with your friends is scarce. You enjoy every moment, but the world keeps constricting you, trying to squeeze out every last twinkle of happiness.

     Assignments, physical fatigue, mental wear, and emotional injury. These things add up, but you say nothing. Those who would listen have been taken from you. Crying out is futile. No one would hear, or no one would care. It’s the same, really.

     Then, finally, through the chill of loneliness, a light, a luminescence, a hope appears. You bask in its precious heat. This thing, it could last. It could bring you joy. Bring companionship, time with those you cherish. But of course, as many good things, it was but an illusion, a  figment, a false hope given so that when it is taken, you are destroyed completely. Like an oasis. You place your hopes, your wants, your life upon getting there. But of course, it is merely a dream.

     Why did you think people would respect the things you wanted? They offer their sadness, their condolences. They posture and beautify. They give an air of knowledge, superiority, of knowing what is best. They choose for you. You have no say. All the while those people rip, tear, and ruin all the things you desired. 

     Why did you think that they cared for your wants? Your emotional needs are trampled under the feet of other values. Those other things mean little to you. What is time if it is not to be spent in happiness? Someone needs to be the stepping stool. Someone must give so others may have.

That person is you. Always you.


Edited by That1Cellist
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That is really good. Writting is a good way to get out your feelings. 

If you want to improve write for a little bit each day. By setting a timer, about ten minutes, and using a prompt. During those ten minutes just try to keep typing or your pencil moving. If you get off topic, that's fine just write about what you inspires you and you will improve.

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Here is a poem thing I wrote last year.


Silhouettes against a starry sky.

A sea of darkness, pierced by radiant specks of hope.

A voice is heard, melancholy, a wind in the night.

An elegy to the forgotten, the notes grow, their vibrations in sync with the rhythm of nature.

A song is sung.


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  • 5 months later...
  • 1 month later...

Okay, I haven't been here for a while. Here's a new thing I stayed up way too late last night writing. Ranryu's villanelle inspired me and I thought I'd give one a try.

I call this one "Fear".

Bleak future's angry strides are long and slow
His stealthy steps are not of love or ire
Cry silent tears, time fades like melting snow

Forsake these barren lands of ceaseless woe
They offer naught for which you can aspire
Bleak future's angry strides are long and slow

Racing down dead end passageways I go
Though my oppressors feet will never tire
Cry silent tears, time fades like melting snow

The steps are near, their coming I did know
Yet willingly I built myself this pyre
Bleak future's angry strides are long and slow

I spy the future's empty face below
It's hands reach out to end my only fire
Cry silent tears, time fades like melting snow

The hands grab flesh and strangle lifeblood flow
Their grasp holds 'till vitality expire
Bleak future's angry strides are long and slow
Cry silent tears, time fades like melting snow.

Edited by That1Cellist
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  • 5 weeks later...

I have a new thing for you guys now. I'm not super happy with it, and the expectations really do not match reality, but here it is.

I think I'm far too willing to share everything I write. Some things are better left unsaid. And, some things have to be just practice, right?


I’m burning
The flames lick about me, dancing gleefully they revel in destruction
My clothing glows at the edges, fire catching hold upon it’s frail form
And mine
Eyes burn and in the onslaught of heat they water
Or is it my own tears?

I’m frozen
My heart is cold, my brain pierced with a spear of ice
I do not wish to be alive
On the outside I function, I go through the motions
I act human
But within this fleshy husk I so despise, I feel only the chill
Of empty thoughts and broken dreams

I’m flying
Above the world, without body’s confinement
I find joy
With wings, fear’s coils slip easily away
To the ground below
Emotion’s color shines through sunlight’s prism
I soar above all else

I’m burning
I’m frozen
I’m flying
I am alive


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