Creativewriting - Blog Posts

writeblr introduction

☼ my name is avery and my blog runs two themes at once! witch themes/writing themes.

☼ if you haven't made the connection already, i'm an aspiring author and an inspiring witch!

☼ i just recently got back into writing after a two year hiatus, unfortunately stemming from a spiral in depression. i've realized that writing makes me feel better :)

☼ even better news, i've started my very first novel! i plan on attempting to get it published in early 2022, but that's a long-term goal.

☼ i love writing in my grimoire the most! something about being able to create not only memories, but test out my artist skills as well makes me feel alive!

☼ i hope to become a positive member in this community and i love making new friends! feel free to message me, especially if you want an opinion on your writing! i love reading!

☼ my favorite author right now is andrea cremer! she actually inspired this novel!

Hit back

I find you flying elegantly above me,

You feel the thrust of my hand as i reach out and snatch you,

experiencing fear in you is the only joy in which i thirst for,

i watch you shake and plead,

my fingertips plucking away, 

clipping your delicate wings,

i gain pleasure watching you suffer,

knowing what you've put me through is ever the more pleasing,

i look back on the torment you've caused me,

and nothing but hatred and anger fill my veins,

you never expected me to hit back,

well here it is.

Ticking away

Time is ticking away, 

to make my movie, is to embrace the worthy of embracement.

She's ready to fly, but yet i stand idle, blinded by her beauty,

tamed by her enchanting wonderment.

The love we share, seems to remain locked up in me,

everytime i look into your eyes, i'm lost,

in an ocean of azure bliss.

You make me smile, and warm on the inside.

My heart skips a beat, everytime i sense your presence.

I love  the way you smile, and always know what my next word will be.

I love the way we argue, and you get those little sparks in your eyes,

that tell me, we're gunna work this one out.

  When we lock eyes,

The clocks stop ticking.

Galactus and Peacebloom

Chasing The Fire

Hope is but a fleeing shadow,

Thorned and thistled by this fickle world,

Thee ice cold flame burns beneath the crystal walls in which it is tamed,

The flame survives caged and held captive,

by the ruthless zerg,

as the flame roars and sears for freedom.

Poisoned and Bludgeoned,

the blood runs freely down the walls of my mind,

twisting and staining all i saw was hope,

as I was once,

merely a marine.

A flame, so simple and so innocent.

So calm, yet so rage driven.

Easily manipulated.

The flame, as we speak of it,is the very spirit,of the terran.

The very soul, of mankind. 

The heart, of the damned,

The bodies torn and broken,

The lives shattered and warped,

Survivors of the final strike,

Forced into slavery,

The intergalactic warfare thrives with all its glory,

And the battle pulses,

With all its horror,

And all its glory.

Tsunami description.

The monstrous torrent,

Of the tremendous wave,

Looms tauntingly above the cursed city's feet.

The sinister blackness,

Of the waterwalls shadow;

Hangs tinorously teasing,

toying with the city.

Azure,

Now the city seems, 

held in submission by the relentless force;

Unmatched in its strength.

Gloriously it stands.

It’s easy to say

It’s easy to say I hope you’ve been well, than calling me up and having a meaningful conversation. It’s easy to say I support you, than showing up on the night of my performance. It’s easy to tell everyone that you know me, than actually knowing how I'm doing that day. It’s easy to say I hope you had a good day, than asking how my day went. It's easy to say I hope you get better, than supporting me on each step of the way. But I'd like to think loving me would be easy.

I’ve been losing my appetite

I’ve been losing my appetite, and no it hasn’t been recently — it’s been years.

My whole life actually. It’s always been like this.

Have I always been scary to look at?

I lay on the floor of my room staring at my ceiling through the gaps of broken fingers, wondering if I’ll ever change. I don’t know.

That takes strength though, right? I don’t know if I have any more of that left. The fight in me has disappeared.

The only ones fighting for me now are my parents shaking my frail body like a rag-doll as I stare into the abyss reminding me that I’m still alive. That I need to drink water. That I need to eat. That I need to take it step by step.

But all I feel is this impending doom. I’m tired of everything. Everyone. Me. I'm tired of myself feeling tired. I’m mean and I’m usually never mean. Why am I being so mean? Especially, to myself.

Someone once told me eating wasn’t meant to be enjoyed, it was meant for survival. I appreciate the way they tried to help. But I think they failed to realize I’m tired of surviving. I’m exhausted, actually.

So I’ve— like always, been losing my appetite. Everything tastes bland, everything is so uninteresting, and everything isn’t worth eating for.

like I’m five again

I hear the distinct footsteps across hallway floors, voices ricocheting off thin walls, cabinets slammed with force, and the door of the fridge being thrown off its hinges.

“I thought we moved passed this”, a thought that runs across my mind often. But it seems like we haven’t, and I’m hiding in the depths of my closet with puffy eyes, arms with scars, and knees to my heart. like I’m five again.

Every scream and yell triggers a shake from my bones, clattering from the last meal I had last night. Teeth clenched in aptitude and tears falling down with every hitch. like I’m five again.

I double check if my door is locked & if I have enough blocking it by force. Because words are words and threats are threats, but actions to end my life are much quicker.

So quietly I hide back in the nook of my darkened closet, tears so quiet that only the ants can hear them. Hiding this part of my life like it’s another Tuesday morning, smile gracing my hallow cheeks, and telling myself everything will go back to normal. because it’s just like I’m five again.

“I write slowly… with depth…”

Whispers Between Pages By Astrum

I have always trusted the quiet of untold stories, the soft ache that lingers between what is written and what is merely felt.

I do not chase endings — I unfold them, slowly, like paper worn thin by longing and hands that know the weight of memory.

Somewhere between ink and skin, I found my truest voice — not to speak louder, but to listen deeper to the words that choose to find me first.

Her Falling Star

Content Warning: self-inflicted violence

Estrella refused to look away from the sky, especially once she made her last wish on the star that shot across. She waited for another. Too late; her breath quickened. Starlight streamed down hollow cheeks. Estrella refused to take her eyes off the sky, even after the trigger was pulled.