i sigh and bite the fruit

must we go over this ritual

of nose-wrinkling

and the

thirst-y feeling

of sour, tangy, sweet

each individual bite?

but then again

i don’t stop and as i chew

i think thoughtfully

and wonder

why i still eat the fruit.

i look to my friend

my friend looks to me.

Et tu, brut?




She wasn’t normal


She was, instead

Quite the opposite.


Moods are powerful.

We all know that.

But her moods


What they did!

They destroyed,

Pushing, pushing

Carving quickly and efficiently

Yet so painfully.

Wreaking havoc




But then again

Her moods

Brought life,


The sun and flowers.

Children laughed,

Dancing, playing

As she played with them.


You didn’t want

To see her on a bad day

Yet you wanted to see her

On her brightest day.


Isn’t that a bit odd?


You won’t see her

When she needs to be seen

Yet you see her

When you want to.


If nothing,

I say

You’re the one behind the destruction.


You’re completely normal.

You go to school, and study when you get back. You listen to your favourite bands and doodle whenever you’re bored. You love chocolate and hate vegetables. Your parents love you, yet are strict at the same time. You hate studying, and dread exams.

You’re perfectly normal.

Okay, yes, it may be that you occasionally have to go visit some doctors or counsellors, but you bet everyone does. It’s nothing all that abnormal.

It’s not all that abnormal, either, being excluded from the rest of the school? For sometimes mumbling to yourself? For people looking away when you look at them?

It happens in the movies you watch. Perhaps the people in the movies are rather weird, but you don’t believe it.

After all, you’re normal.

How couldn’t you be?

The voices in your head tell you so.

little red

little red

little red,

there she stood,

facing the big, bad wolf.

little red,

walking away,

the wolf,

right behind.

little red, 

shouldn’t you be scared?


oh no,

poor wolf,

where’ve you gone?

it seems

little red

is walking away.

red footprints?

how fitting.

i wonder

why the wolf

is lying

on the ground.


did you know,


red’s cape was white?

I wonder what’s making it so red.




As mentioned, this is an archive for myself, filled with thoughts and short pieces. Opinions, too, maybe. A way for me to record whatever I feel like. Writing, book reviews, and many other things.

I think Post Number One should be honoured with something a tad bit more interesting ~

I’d called it ‘Genius’ the first time ’round, and I think I’ll stick with it.

Quite frankly, to say the man was incredible, was to say the sun was a yellow orb that hung in the sky. It was, in fact, quite correct, albeit a small snapshot of the entirety of the description. To say the sun was a mere orb would not compare to describing it as it well and truly was. The sun was the center of the solar system, an enormous mass of gas and fire that created light so powerful, so brilliant, it danced its way through to plants millions of miles away. The sun’s light was the protection from the darkness of the light; something which held so much power in the cosmos, yet so little. It was the Mona Lisa to Da Vinci, the smile behind an artist’s centuries-old fame. It was the reason for creation, the once-and-never that could have been, what had been admired and loathed by many, yet still so awe-astounding a simple look at it would be enough to inflict damage upon one’s eyes. Yet still, nothing could compare to how the sun’s light spread throughout the cosmos to where it could, intertwining with the rest of the galaxy, its insignificance highly pressed upon it. The man was the same; so utterly brilliant and incredible, an enigma of his own. A sign of greatness, ingenuity on the part of the heavens above, but a mere speck of dust in the entirety of the galaxy to those who didn’t know the man like I did.

How I pitied them.

For his views, his thoughts were all of many things people today couldn’t begin to comprehend! Why, it is the people of the future who will really realise how incredible this man is. The secrets of the universe, the future of the Earth – he knows it all.

But we’ll never know, shall we?



I could see that she walked with an air of grace and excellence. Her stance portrayed the dignity and pride she held herself with, as she should. She was the Queen, Her Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth, and it was only right she did so. Her gown was exquisite, a woven pattern of gold thread twisting and turning with gemstones studding the cloth as stars would do the sky on a cloudless night. The cloth itself was probably one of, if not the, finest and most expensive silks in the world. As she moved, the dress moved, seemingly flowing despite the many layers and heaviness it bore. It was like how the water in the streams at home would first part around, and then envelope the rocks jutting out, yet it would still look effortless and incredible. The bodice seemed to blend into the skirts, yet there was still a clear difference. The bodice seemed to be so tight, yet so loose, on our beautiful queen. It made her look as young as the common children that played outside on the streets, yet still made her look as stately as the Ladies that were wives of the Lords of the High Court, who were broken and bred into being the perfect wives and women. The many ribbons of the bodice seemed to be so incredibly intricately woven, intertwining with each other as the dark curls on top of Madame Elise’s head, as one of the higher noble women liked it to be. However, the ribbons seemed to be so simple, so easy to undo – much like the braids I put on myself  – that I was astounded. The dress must have cost the whole of England; it seemed so to me, a young peasant girl who came from almost no money, so it was well expected for me to think so. Her dress was one I longed to wear, to have. The sweltering heat and how uncomfortable the dress was mattered not, for I would have a dress with worth equal to that of the total treasury of England. Her dress and jewellery might have weighed her down, but she held herself like a swan, as it would gracefully hold its head, upright and refined. Her jewellery, much like her dress, was an interwoven path of many necklaces, each one bearing a gemstone. Each would be enough for my family to have lived comfortably for generations to come. Her earrings bore the most clear diamonds, they reflected light that bounced around the room, blissfully unaware of the many green eyed stares directed their way. Oh, but the Queen Herself! There was an air of innocence and childlike demeanour, but she still seemed to hold all the secrets of the world, supposedly taught to her by the most brilliant minds of past times.

How I wished to be her.