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Sunday, December 15, 2013

New blog

To my beloved and neglected readers,

I've started a new blog. I've been thinking about this for a while now and I've finally done it. I will be moving on from this blog which I've kept for nearly 4 years now. In a couple of weeks, I'll be deleting this blog.

If you're interested in following me over at my new blog, here's the link:

http://louddreamings.blogspot.com.au

Saturday, November 2, 2013



I wish Love was simple as, "I'm happy so this is Love."





Friday, August 30, 2013

Where did Writing go?

When I look at a blank page, I always have an urge to write. This urge hasn't changed even though I haven't written a short story or sat down to work on my manuscript properly for two months now. My love for words, my love for creative writing will always be strong. It's the one love I can trust to always exist.

A few years ago, I discovered spoken word poetry. It is the single most amazing art form I had the blessing of finding. I always loved poetry or any form of creative writing for that matter. But there is only so much words on paper can do. Spoken word or slam poetry to be precise is loud, actively passionate and engaging. You get your point across to a large amount of people in just a few minutes.

Last night, after years of chickening out, I finally participated in my first poetry slam. And the experience was absolutely amazing. Everyone was really good and I was so sure that I was the only crazy person who went up there without any prior experience. It was the single most scariest moment ever, my words are vulnerable to judgement in a single second. But it was amazing, having my voice float around and hopefully stroke some hearts and it was amazing that I could hear the audience clicking their fingers in appreciation.

In the end, I didn't get a ranking but I had a score of 7 out of 10 which was great considering I blanked out 4 lines from finishing my poem and last year's heat champion approached me, gave me tips and said that he liked my piece. That was incredible. At that moment, I decided, "This is awesome. I'm going to do this more often."

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Break

Dear Beloved Followers,

Sorry for the lack of posts but because there is a lot of things going on right now, I will be taking a break from blogging, indefinitely.

Hopefully, when I return, I will have wonderful and exciting writings to share.

Lots of Love,

Lucy (Lovesick Fool)





Saturday, June 29, 2013

Day 33: Those Days, Those Weeks

There are good weeks. Weeks where you will be motivated and inspired to sit at your ever-so-quick-to overheat laptop and study and write and the words will flow endlessly as though you're a dictionary or a thesaurus.

But you're not.

There are good weeks. Weeks where jogging in the morning and running against the lowering of the sun drives you out of bed in the morning and your toes are jumpy and you are so incredibly healthy because every fibre in your body is screaming with positivity as though you're a proton.

But you're not.

Because, there are bad weeks. Weeks where the words just won't flow and glaringly white word documents stare back at you for hours and you're not even motivated to write in your journal and words just won't write and every day that piles onto each other agitates the growing irritation inside you.

There are bad weeks. Weeks where the morning feels like night and you have to drag yourself out of bed because your body feels like lead and you constantly feel as though the Sandman is constantly pouring sand into your eyes and everything feels so sluggish and you force yourself to smile because you don't want people to be worried.

There are bad weeks. Weeks where you just want to lock your bedroom door, cover your head with your bedsheets and just cry into the mattress because you're so fucking sensitive to every emotion and any little thing people say can make you so fucking depressed that you wonder if you're slipping back into that abyss.

But you're not.

There are just bad weeks and good weeks. And after the bad weeks, good weeks follow. You just have to trudge through and remember all the good weeks.


Monday, June 24, 2013

Day 32: My Parents were Boat People

Note: This is going to be one of my poems for this year's poetry slam competition.

My parents were boat people
Like a simple label could categorise all the pain, the loss
Why can’t they be treated as equals?
When we can’t even endure half of what they went through.
Water shortage, starvation, boat cramped thrice its capacity.
Having to shit over the railing, these examples are just a few.

Terrorists, job thieves, invaders.
Apparently, they’re out to destroy our lives.
Half-starved, half-desperate: what invaders?
They just want rooves that don’t leak and walls without bullet holes.
A new country as their new home.
A country’s whose flag they can hang proudly on flagpoles.

Instead, we give them Darwin, Christmas Island and Villawood.
Where children try to overdose on their mother’s sleeping pills.
Why are we ruining a nine-year old’s childhood?
I thought we’re supposed to be a multicultural society?
Yet we have human rights abuse and poor living standards.
We’re sending people into high states of anxiety.

My parents were boat people.
People who were also born of flesh and blood.
Yet somehow, they’re still unequal.
They have sick mothers to feed and daughters hidden from prostitution
And all they want is a fresh start, a chance for survival
Instead, we give them criticism and exclusion.

We forget boat people are people too.
Just because we might not have the space or the money,
Doesn’t mean we can scream or bellow, “Fuck you!”
It doesn’t mean they’re any less human.
And don’t even dare to label them as flora and fauna
Because the question is: Are you human?

Our politicians are all for long speeches that answers everything:
Off-shore detention centres, improvement in facilities, new refugee camps;
The sky, the earth, everything and yet nothing.
Because, we are not the solution.
We are the continuation of their problems.
It’s their country, with all the wars is the complication. 


Sunday, June 23, 2013

Day 31: Morning

Please wake up beside me in the morning
So the nightmares of my fears can't hide with the sleep in my eyes
Trail your fingers along my sides and,
Hold onto my hand as we welcome the sun together
So I know that you are not a mirage leftover from my dreams.
I am afraid of clutching onto empty bed sheets
Because my quiet passion might not be enough to keep you.
Promises are after all soft whispers that barely catch hold and,
I want something tangible like your kisses down my throat
Or your mouth on mine to be what I wake up to,
Because this is the only instance where words are not enough for me.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Day 30: Tension

I'm so wound up
So high in tension that it pools inside of me
Like your fingers that trails up along my thighs
And your kisses that bites me hard
You leave me breathless on your crumbled sheets
With disorientated butterflies pounding in my breasts
Your fingers have me coiled around tight
So wound up, I'm not thinking straight
Hot breaths heat up my shivering skin
Leaving territorial marks, claiming me
Don't let this end any time soon
Because you're making me go insane
Begging to become yours.


Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Day 29: Hung Over

Vertigo thoughts are inside my head
It's your voice I hear slithering within my skull
You're just somebody that I used to know
But you were my first
Like alcohol that won't vomit out of my system
I am still hung over you
And the promises that you didn't keep
Deep inside me, I'm missing something that you took
You left me with a profound sense of loss
I thought I found inner peace
But I am always thinking of you
What am I supposed to do when I'm afraid to love?
Every empty night is a hang over of yesterday
Of deleted messages, erased photographs
I was supposed to be over you
You were merely a season, a reason
But not for life

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Post 28: Drowning City part 1

Note: Sorry for the late post!! Just recovered from my last exam!! Yayyy, freedom!!

I wriggle my toes as water soaks my knees. The water sloshes around me and I instantly think of the Titanic or the Lost City of Atlantis. That poor unfortunate city that scientists and historians have been searching decades for. And I think, this is crazy. This can't be happening. Impossible.

    But it is possible. The rising water is telling me so. With a shaky breath, I pick up the pieces of my broken heart along with the remains of anything usable or edible: bottled water, cans of tuna and the chunky soup that you loved so much. Not that it matters now.

‘Pay for the stuff or get the fuck out.’

    There is a click as I feel the cold of the muzzle pressed against the side of my head. Without dropping the contents I’m so desperately clutching onto, I slowly turn around and stare at the man who was threatening my life.

    ‘No, I’m not paying for the food. No one has cash. The flood and raiders made sure of that. Kill me. Go, kill me and I’ll go to heaven where my husband is.’ I tighten my jaw as the bearded store-owner hardened his gaze on me, ‘But you’ll have to spend the rest of your life knowing you rid a three year old of his mother.’

    We stand in the freezing water that’s steadily rising and stare at each other. The desperate store-owner trying to defend his depleting supplies and me, the desperate recently single-mother. Who is more desperate than whom? Who is more stubborn?

    I release the breath I was unknowingly holding as the man lowers his rifle. He spits into the water in disgust and begrudgingly grunts, ‘Leave. Everyone will fucking die anyway.’ as he cocks his head at the entrance. I blink at him in stupidity as he wades into the back of the store, leaving me in the consuming darkness. The sun is setting. I feel the blade that is strapped to my thigh, reassured that I have some form of defence and push my way out into the drowning streets. When the sun sets is when the real battle begins. That’s when the raiders are hungry for flesh and money.

    I left our little one hiding in our apartment, deep within the confines of our wardrobe. He is safer in there then out scavenging with me. I hate that I’m scared that my strength alone cannot protect him from this dying society. I hate the very idea that I’m scared. I hate most of all that I have to speak to you inside my head to keep myself sane. Because, just a few days ago, you were still alive and everything was okay. And now our city is drowning like Atlantis and I keep on wondering why God is punishing us.


Humans are corrupted creatures. 



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