Creative Writing: Why Are You Still Here?

To you, I am just another story to tell. My phone is on, but I haven’t received a text in weeks. You remind me of that every day. You laugh at me, call me a whore, tell me I am crazy. To you, I am just another girl for you to destroy. Depression, you make me physically ill. You make me thoughtless. I can’t concentrate on conversations or school anymore. I am just so exhausted. I look forward to the moment I can crawl into bed and sleep my life away. You made my life not worth living. Anxiety, you lowered my self-esteem. I can’t even wear my hair up in ponytails because you told me my forehead was too big. You told me that everyone was watching me walk down the hallway, judging my plain outfits. You pulled me into extreme isolation. When you

I hate creative writing! I used to have an affection to write all the time, but now it just doesn’t give me pleasure anymore. Also, the books that I get from the class are horrendous too. It’s extremely tough to read a book when it doesn’t even excite anyone at all! reading and writing is exceptional when the writer, that is yourself, comes up with the idea, and your thoughts matter. But now review me, I’m forced to read an irrelevant book about a pathetic guy, and I’m writing about foolish Dylan Montgomery who thinks I’m broken! I’ve lose respect for something that I love to create

it killed me to accept that i was such an ugly person. That i managed to push away everyone that I truly cared about. Did you see? How perfectly I played it? Like it didn't even hurt... like I was tired of the tedious speeches i had to go through everyday; telling you that I didn't want you or that you never mattered to me. And you actually had the guts to believe it all. If you could see my insides screaming at me, if you could, for a second peak at my dying heart, to just get a glimpse you would understand the monstrous act I play every time we see each other. But aggravate all you want, this beast only does this for its own protection. Who are you to think that you can just come here and change my rules? to bend my lifestyles? To make me a poet?

Music has been a long standing form of expression for hundreds of years. More recently however, it has become a way for artists to make social commentaries on the society they live in. During the 1970s, Punk bands and Ska bands emerged in England and rose to become a major source of social commentary through their upbeat music. Specifically looking at music from The Stranglers, The Specials, and The Clash, it is clear that lyrics clouded with anger and passion can be best communicated through upbeat sounds and melodies. Each of these groups communicates a need for radical change in society; but each one goes about this in a different way. Through the songs, “I feel like a Wog,” by The Stranglers, “A Message to you Rudy,” by The Specials, and “White Riot,” by The Clash, these bands point out that there is a common enemy in Society. They are forcing the mainstream to realize unpleasant truths about the culture that they inhabit. The future of England was unknown, and these songs were written during a time where people were worried about their place in the world. Faith in the system was dying and these bands gave way to a future generation to improve upon society that will present a more positive and equal multicultural Britain. Through the music it is clear that multicultural Britain was complicated; there were tumultuous times that these bands were commenting on, which pitted races against each other but also brought them together in fighting back against suppressive societal

The authorities might feel threatened their hegemony, therefore they make an objection to confrontational topics and promote their own interests through media that has usually right-wing political nature. The subculture’s creativity involves polemics that try to oppose to traditional moral values; and these creative artists are often comes from young generation who wants to sell their work through provocative themes otherwise a project would not be able to sell itself. Music, for example, Emo- hard-core punk provides example of the criminalisation of culture. It is a youth movement based around clothing, music, and characterize a dark a view of the world. Members of this group adhere to a conventional cult in lifestyle with melancholy and emotions. Emo emerged in mid 1980s as post-hard-core style. Schoolgirl performed suicide because she wanted to impress other people from the emo movement (Alleyne, 2008). In the Daily Telegraph, Alleyne suggests that the authorities blame emo culture for ‘a self-harming youth cult which glamorises death’. The printed media try to associate Emo subculture with something controversial that has an image of a violent result and can lead to anarchy. In this case, the authorities try to make a link between the girl and a music band with its lyrics that might inspire her to commit a

And that, my friends, would go down in the family album as baby’s first rebellion. I won’t detail every nuance of my angry rejection of popular culture, but I will admit to committing near-unspeakable atrocities to many an innocent Limited Too catalogue. I felt as if the whole world - down to every last speck of body glitter clinging to the gyrating hips of that week’s teen pop starlet - hated me, so I hated it right back. And you thought you started your emo phase

The bar had an upbeat vibe to it. It wasn’t the high end bar where you could pay to get your ass kissed and your feet rubbed, but at least you didn’t have to worry about walking outside and getting robbed or stabbed on your way home. It was a fairly unremarkable place, a plain black building, a neon sign outside the only hint to the place being able to serve alcohol. Most meandered around, drinking and talking, with the occasional dance when a rather catchy song found it’s way onto the less than stellar sound system.

You left me confused and full of questions, I began to wonder if you were ever coming back.

"You're ten centimeters dilated, Clara, you can start to push whenever you feel the urge to," instructed the nurse. Through tired eyes, Clara looked over to her husband for encouragement and received a reassuring smile.

It’s one of those days again isn’t it? I thought so. Why am I such a freak? If I were more normal maybe I would have some friends, maybe I’d even have a girlfriend. It’s one of those days where I just don’t want to get out of bed. I want to sleep forever and never have to face the fact that I exist. But I do, I do exist and it sucks.

With the overwhelming growth of New Adult books. I had stopped reading from this genre for quite sometime. But all of a sudden Addicted to You pulled me out of my misery and restored my faith on this genre. It is one of the most refreshing story out there.

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This isn't working out any more, it hasn't been for a while and I can't try and lie to myself about it anymore. I loved you, but you've manipulated me and you’ve drugged me with your being and your presence in my life and I’ve finally regained full consciousness. Our relationship was built on passion and passion alone. We're unemotional beings who somehow tried to simulate an emotional relationship and I'm just... I'm so tired. I’m tired of wondering if this so called relationship will go anywhere or if we’ve hit a dead end and the only option then is to turn back around and leave. But that passion, that damn passion, it just never wants to burn out, that candle never wants to die. It'll always be there, and it will always drag us in like a rip current and I thought I was a strong swimmer, but apparently not strong enough.

Ya know what? Fuck that little speech you typed out bc you know its fucking lies. Your not a god damned failure if you are where you are now. You were able to go this far so how is that failing? And its easy to see that you don't not have friends you have your own damned group that you know care for you and would be so saddened by grieving that they would stay frozen in their thoughts of how they can't do anything without thinking about how much they love you, not even just friends in this year, people all over the states you've lived in hearing the news through each other, never able to listen to Gorillaz without thinking about how much you were into them. Can't even think about anything you had in common because they would feel the sharp

Every good person I met, I’d think “Please don’t leave me like my dad did, don't look the other way like my dad did, please I don’t even know who my dad is.” and I reached this point where i was bullied and the most memorable thing that bully said to me was “I bet you're like this because your mom doesn't raise you right” and I broke how far i fell that day. I knew my mom was trying her best but while she was getting better I was getting worse and she was barely home and iI was barely ok. A few days after, my best friends since kinder and i drifted away and she left because I pushed her away because i thought she deserved more than me. After that I was in between friends, I was in between personalities. Each friend group I’d go to I’d act like them, pretend to be them. I became so tired. So tired I wanted to give up and I tried to cut myself, I was so close to doing it but i couldn’t bring myself to do it. I then heard the thoughts in my head say “She’s such a coward she can’t even do it” I believed them. I wanted not to and I wanted to prove them wrong so I tried again but I heard a different voice. He said “Don't do it. I love you so much