Posts tagged creative writing

It was in the Dark Room,

where my good Father sat

Our shadows connected and loomed

in the place I 

                                    grew up at.

Rigid, and strict

The room had always been —

Midnight, the clock ticked —

the secret released upon 

                                    this very scene.

His face was handsome and hard,

but his eyes were warm and saddening.

He peered inside my soul of shards,

and the allurement became 

                                     maddening.

He gestured me to the fire

with his books neatly set aside

He, the man, who I’ve always admired

and the cause of 

                                     our worlds to collide.

I walked over to Temptation and Sin,

feeling the notion of a pinned butterfly.

The fabric of forbidden seemed so thin,

and bequeath the weakness, 

                                      I began to cry.

“It is Fate with the wisest choice—

“Hush, my little child,”

he said with the softest voice.

“The night is young, 

                                     and savages run wild.”

He brought me onto his lap,

and covered me with chaste kisses.

His lips on my cheeks were sweet as sap,

but it tasted bitter with such 

                                     perfect reminisces.

My fingers brushed his soft dark hair

as I came for an embrace

He gave me his smile with a lustful air

and I leaned onto his chest, 

                                     closing up our remaining space.

“Beautiful flower,”

he whispered in my ear.

“You come to me from the Witch’s Tower;

Curses from God that soon becomes 

                                     my cure.”

“Damned Father,” I sighed in despair.

“You are already condemned in your blasphemous love.

So let your pleasure be in my care,

and our unison be watched from only

                                     above.”

Slowly and abidingly aroused,

our white blanket lay forgotten,

pass the morality that we, together, have vowed,

where tender touches were 

                                     broadened.

The mood rose as the curtains lift

He trembled. “We can’t go on.”

Lies, as our movements became swift

“But you called for me, dear Father. 

                                     Your innocence is long gone.”

I know we were both drunk with desire,

and apologies were said with the most hypocritical regret

He groaned with the fiery of hell’s fire,

and I let him because my destiny was 

                                     already set.

I want you to whisper to me
a soft lullaby
a song to ignite me
like fireworks to the sky

I want to dream of the light
as supernovas of your heart
bursting from a love
as a priceless work of art

So whisper a song
your heart sings true
a soft lullaby
of just me and you

I have always had a guilty pleasure for dark and transgressive pieces of writing. It not only invokes negative feelings such as disgust, confusion, fear, and frustration, but if done well, it invites a different perspective on the world. Such authors include Anne Rice, who beautifully intertwines Christian faith into love that exceeds gender biases, or Chuck Palahniuk, who directly hands us the skeletons hidden in our closets.

Except, not all agrees with this point of view. Unfortunately, I do not everyone to.

Society has developed an interrelational and complex system that encourages morality, ethics, structure, justice, and overall goodness among the people. One step across that line and you are ‘not right’, evil, stupid, crazy, a troublemaker… But how does one define good in the absence of bad? This type of thinking is what causes close mindedness and bigotry towards those who dares to step out of the norm and take the road less traveled. The perception of bad and ugliness are subjective. Death can mean an end to life, or a supplier for new and young life. Solitude can be loneliness or a mode of meditation. 

For this reason, I always find it disturbing that people want to ban books because it is too violent (Dark Materials Trilogy by Philip Pullman), too sexually explicit (“Kite Runner” by Khaled Hosseini), too magical (Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling, or too gay (“And Tango Makes Three” by Justin Richardson and Peter Parnell). 

Therefore, I thank the writers who have written materials that have stirred up controversy and excitement for our restricted reality, and to bring us out of our needless fear of change.  

As Philip Pullman said, after hearing the news that people wanted to ban his books:
“They never learn,” he said. “The inevitable result of trying to ban something – book, film, play, pop song, whatever – is that far more people want to get hold of it than would ever have done if it were left alone. Why don’t the censors realize this?”  

‘What is thy name?’ I heard myself ask.
‘My name is Love,’ answered the stranger.
‘You are Lie and Deceit,’ I replied back, 
‘because Love is already dead.’
”Tis true I am Lie and Deceit,’ He replied, 
‘But I am Love in the form that you believe
in thine’s defeated eyes.’

Inspiration from Lord Alfred Douglas’ Two Loves

Oh puh-lease!
Did you hear?
Yes, yes, I did.
I can’t believe it!
She did what?
With WHOM?!
He did that?
With HER?!
Nonsense!
What else?
Stop fucking with me.
They want to do what?
Where?
Can we watch?
Ha!
Broken up!
Why?
Who’s crying?
Laughing?
Which one is it?
Stain on her pants?
Stain on HIS pants?
He caught them!
Lying.
Cheating.
Together.
Any more?
He ate it.
You mean “her”.
She did it.
You mean “him”.
Okay stop.
I’m confused.
Who’s with whom now?
But she’s with him!
He hates her?
But likes him?
Straight, my ass!
No, into HIS ass.
Who?
The teacher.
Get out!
Let me breathe.
But tell me more!
I can’t.
Secrecy, remember?