A Thousand Words

I failed to preface the first creative writing post with a warning, so here goes!

Not everything is rainbows and comedy with me. Sometimes my Moments are darker.

Starting this blog has been immensely cathartic, and after another rough week I felt drawn to my keyboard to write.

Anxiety and depressions ARE REAL and it is something I deal with EVERYDAY. This poem is free-verse representation of how I feel some days Р especially this week.

Don’t really enjoy the darker (and raw) Moments? That is OK, but do me a favor. Acknowledge someone with anxiety or depression and let them know it is OK, and that you are there for them.

michal-grosicki-221225.jpgA THOUSAND WORDS
I smile for all to see.
That’s who I’m supposed to be.

I smile for all to see.
But that’s not really me.

Inside rages a storm. A storm that will not cease.
Inside I battle the knights, of doubt and disbelief.

My fear takes hold. What will I do?
My fear takes hold. I can’t breakthrough.

How can I be who I’m supposed to be?

They say a smile is worth a thousands words.
But the words that others see are not me.

A thousand words read, but still they know nothing.

Blinded by that belief that all is well.

But inside a wave begins to swell.
A wave of anxiety that takes hold of me.

How can I be who I’m supposed to be?

Caught in the riptide of myself, struggling for the surface.

I smile for all to see.
That’s who I’m supposed to be.


642 THINGS Vol. 1

This past Christmas Sarah gave me a book titled 642 THINGS TO WRITE ABOUT. I have answered a few prompts since then and decided to incorporate them into my blog. 

My hope is that YOU are compelled to answer the prompt as well. Whether it’s via the comments, on Facebook, WHATEVER, I would sure love to read them!

Today’s prompt is:

Write a scene that begins: “It was the first time I killed a man. “

My answer to the prompt:

It was the first time I killed a man. 

Although the first, I knew exactly what I was doing.

The tip of my serrated knife plunged into his abdomen with ease. His mouth gaped open, his tongue struggling to form a syllable, eyes shone bright, full of disbelief. 

I watched the life pour from him as I ejected my knife. Staunching the wound would be impossible, but still he tried. Clutching his stomach his gaze rose to meet mine, eyes that once held disbelief now burned with anger.  I didn’t feel any remorse. I didn’t feel anything. I stepped back just as he attempted to reach for me. The inertia of his attempted movement, and the blood loss, caused him to collapse to his knees. Blood soaked his clothes and the pavement around us. 

Slowly, his will to survive gave out and he slumped over. Dead. 

It was the first time I killed a man. 

Although the first, I knew it wouldn’t be the last.