Writing – Page 2 – Libraime Lifestyle

poem: “to be creative”

To be creative
can mean
so many things.

To be creative
means to create a world
that you call your own.

To be creative
means to paint a scene
with just your words.

To be creative
means to let your imagination
roam free.

To be creative
means to share a story
in a gentle way.

To be creative
means to open one’s eyes
to the beauty around them.

To be creative
means to see the world
in a different light.

To be creative
means everything to me,
it is my solace, my saving light.

-Minah H. (yours truly)
what does it mean to be creative?

short story: “questioning reality”

Vanessa walked alongside her cousin, Sherry. Bright lights sparkling from signs. Tall buildings of glass and metal towering around them. On their daily walk around the city, Vanessa stopped to peer into a window of glass, gazing at little monkeys staring back at her. Vanessa blinked, as one jumped up and down, pointing excitedly at her while tugging on the arms of another monkey. “Vanessa. Hurry up.” Vanessa looked up at her cousin, taking one last glance at the glass, before skipping off to catch up.

“What do you think is for dinner today?” Vanessa asked, latching her hand onto Sherry’s, swinging her arm back and forth. Sherry glanced down at little Vanessa, with her light skin sparkling in the glittering lights and her long black tresses swaying around her face, before looking back up.

“The usual. Like usual.” Sherry stated monotonously, eyes blank and dead of emotion.

“Awww…” Vanessa moaned. “I don’t want the usual…”

“Vanessa…” Sherry sighed. “They only ever have the usual.”

“But-”

“No buts, Vanessa. You know the rules.”

Vanessa scrunched up her nose in distaste and annoyance, but nevertheless, gave up on the topic. Sherry sighed, knowing that eventually, Vanessa would be back with a new argument.

Just as they were approaching the dinner place, Sherry stopped, all of sudden. Grabbing Vanessa’s hand and dragging her over to a darkened nook between two buildings. “Sherryyyy!” Vanessa whined, pulling on her hand, looking hungrily over at the dinner place.

“Hush now.” Upon hearing the serious tone in Sherry’s voice, Vanessa quietened. Looking around, Sherry bent down on her knees, coming down to her younger cousin’s height. “Vanessa. I want you to know something. Something important.”

Vanessa tilted her head, a questioning twinkle in her eyes. Sherry placed her hands on both of Vanessa’s shoulders, pulling her closer.

“Vanessa, I want you to look around. What do you see?”

The little girl was confused, but looked around. “Ummm… I see our city… Our home.”

Upon hearing this answer, Sherry’s gaze hardened. “No. No, that isn’t what you seeing. Vanessa, truly look.” Vanessa was even more confused at this.

Sherry rolled her eyes and gently grasped Vanessa’s face. “Look up. Look around. Look… For the little glass windows.”

Vanessa looked around. And for the first time, she saw.

Little glass windows. Here and there and everywhere. And through those windows, were monkeys. Pointing and looking and gazing and watching. And then Vanessa looked up. Above them, were tons of them, staring down at them from the sunny-blue platform.

That’s when Vanessa, looking into Sherry’s eyes, finally realized what reality was.

short story: “taco apocalypse”

I froze. Staring in shock at the copious amounts of people streaming in through the door. “It can’t be…” I uttered breathlessly, as person after person after person filed in. No… They couldn’t even be considered as “people” anymore.

Their foggy, clouded eyes and their insatiable hunger for Taco Bell told me otherwise. They weren’t human anymore, not even close. They were zombies, driven in their relentless pursuit of our National Taco Day Gift Set.

I blamed it on the calendar. I blamed it on the moron who decided that there should be a National Taco Day among our growing list of absurd American holidays.

My eyes widened as they began to notice me. Me, a feeble and helpless Taco Bell employee. I stared in shock as they stumbled to form a line. The first one of many stepped forward, a gruesome smile on her face, as she uttered the very words I was dreading to hear…

“Hello, are you ready to take my order?”

personal narrative: “my declaration”

Three weeks ago, on my usual car ride to school, I officially came out.

It was a morning ride, and in the car were my two best friends, my little sister, and a random sophomore friend. We were discussing some random shit, something that eludes my memory. But what I do remember is when the topic of the LGBTQ+ community came up. And in a bout of spontaneity, I burst out with a declaration.

“I am bisexual.”

There was a moment of silence; I remember feeling awkward and scared. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach like angry Japanese hornets and thoughts raced through my head a mile a millisecond, faster than my best friend Donny accelerating on a highway.

“What would they think of this?”

“Will they still want to be my friends?”

“Why the fuck did I decide to come out now?!”

“Staying in the closet would have been much preferred!”

I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut, but of course, I couldn’t due to being the driver. I felt like I was going to vomit all across my windshield, which would splatter like blobs of paint on a canvas. But in one huge shout, my sister broke the tension, screaming four words that will forever be seared into my memory.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

That was the day that my little sister’s view of me was changed forever. My two best friends proceeded to drag me into the school, squeezing my arms between the two of them, as soon as I had parked. I was bombarded with questions left and right, and I felt overwhelmed. Overwhelmed, but… happy.

I didn’t have to hide it anymore. Those I cared deeply about knew now, and once we had entered the school, they proceeded to tell the exciting news to a large majority of our friends.

The only people who have yet to find out are my parents, my homophobic little brother, my extended family, and my church. Other than that, I have worn my bisexual, pink-purple-and-blue label with pride (literally).

But yes, I am scared. I am anxiously awaiting the day when I decide to come out to those around me, namely my family and my beloved church. It makes me anxious as all hell. But one day, I will do it. I’ll be able to confidently scream about my sexuality loud and proud one day to all of those around me.

But in the meantime? I think it’s pretty hilarious how my parents haven’t found out yet. Honestly, I am the GSA Club’s Historian and I went to Pride this year, and meanwhile, my parents just believe that I am “supporting the gays.” It’s quite hilarious, let me tell you. Because trust me, I’ve been told countless times how obvious I am.

But take some advice from an awkward, anxious, semi-closeted bisexual: if you’re questioning your sexuality, or are afraid to come out, know that there will always be people out there who will love and support you, no matter what. Maybe you haven’t met those people yet, but one day, you will. Maybe it’s that cute girl who saw at your work. Maybe it’s the sweet guy who sits behind you in English class. Maybe it’s your best friend. Maybe it’s your grandmother or your great aunt. I don’t know,because I can’t tell you who loves and supports you; it’s a part of your journey to find out. But you’ll find out, and it will be grand, it will be spectacular, it will be phenomenal, and you will thrive!

poem: “my angel”

You’re an angel.
My angel.
Sent from above.

I haven’t felt blessed in years.
I felt lost,
I felt lonely.
Everything slipping away.

You found me,
you saved me.
From the darkness of myself.

I love you,
I love you.
Oh, oh,
I love you.

You’re an angel,
my angel,
sent from above.

-Minah H. (yours truly)
i love you more than you know

poem: “dragged out of bed”

I was dragged out of bed,
at 3 AM,
with an anger that
no unsuspecting teenager
should ever face
from their lover’s guardian.

I was dragged out of bed,
at 3 AM,
yanked from my slumber,
and dragged by my arm,
up to see him
staring down at me.

I was dragged out of bed,
at 3 AM,
with a deep fear,
boiling in my belly,
and sent home
in haste,
and in fear,
I obeyed.

I was dragged out of bed,
at 3 AM,
and with a now deeply set fear,
I drove home alone,
in the dark,
barely awake,
away from my love,
away from the one I hold dear.

-Minah H. (yours truly)
it wasn’t a happy night

poem: “scent of home”

Scent of home,
warm and cozy,
keeps me safe,
from those around me.

Scent of home,
bundled up in your jacket,
I feel love for you,
more than you know.

Scent of home,
the smell of your cologne,
brings me comfort,
in the cold.

Scent of home,
I love you so,
more than you know,
please don’t leave me,
my scent of home.

-Minah H. (yours truly)
Dedicated to the one i love