Just let it all out,
One reverberating, echoing cry,
Rushing into the air as quickly as it dies…

A series of vibrations, notes
Without the need for a tune or a melody-
Leaving lips with the weight of a million worries,
And dissolving into the air,


1am thoughts

I don’t know who you are.
I don’t know your name,
But you make me turn my music up loud;
You make me want to throw my arms open to the moonlit sky,
And cherish the hidden beauty
In spider webs and tattered books…

Sometimes you feel so far away,
So impossible it makes me ache,
But some trace of hope lingers-
Tells me to just wait a little longer,
You might be lost!
You don’t know me.
You don’t know my name.

I wonder, do I make your heart beat faster,
At the thought of a thousand new possibilities?
Do I make you look into the depths of the sky and wonder?

I hope you like blink 182,
And poetry and rainy days.
I hope you want to travel the world,
And have a never ending bucket list.

But if you don’t that’s okay;
I’ll have time to make you listen to ‘I Miss you’
And go for longs walks in the rain.
Even if that doesn’t persuade you
It won’t matter because you’ll still love me,
And I’ll still love you.

A million miles away,
In a different world, it seems…
I wonder if you’re awake and
Flying through these 1am thoughts.
Do you ever wonder about me?
Do you have the same buzz of excitement combined with those pangs of doubt?

I’ll wait for you however long it takes, my dear
You just might have to find me in New York or Paris,
Wherever life takes me in search
Of meaning beyond the borders of the little I know;
Until then I’ll try not to worry
About not being able to find you,
Or notice you among the crowds.
My heart might be cracked in places
By the time it reaches you,
But you can have it, imperfections and all,
And on that day I’ll have yours, too.


Caged behind brick and glass, I stare out into the darkness. Stretching beyond my imagination, beyond the pictures is more than a world, but a future waiting to be unveiled. City lights flash miles and miles away, but I can feel their bright hope. My skin itches to feel the rush of cool air from an open window while driving through through the night. The comfort inside these closed walls is not enough for me. I ache for adrenaline, for the thrill of blood pumping through my veins, for a racing heart. I long to hear the buzz of a million conversations and the hum of a city that never sleeps.

The beauty of foreign land calls to me. Sights, sounds, smells just waiting for me to taste. The moon, the stars, the sun so beautifully unique from the different perspectives, yet the same thing that fixes the eyes of millions in one place. The excitement of life so different from the monotony of mine.

On my journey I would trail along, in awe of everyone and everything. No longer a young, naive girl, but a knowledgeable woman of the world. Hungry-eyed dreams slowly becoming real-life experiences. I’d never stop.

A Tender Smile in a Desolate Place

 In the breeze I watch the dance of my dark curls,

My eyes, those dark enchanting pools where tears

Threaten to spill even after all these years

On the fresh skin of a blossoming girl.

My own flesh and blood, this reflection of me

Will never hear the words I long to speak,

Or the longing to give the love she seeks,

Ravaging my existence with agony.

Rosy lips murmur the words that I crave;

Three little words replenish my void heart,

That withered during our time apart-

Like the crumbling letters on the worn grave.

She rests the marigolds on the beaten ground,

Golden and vibrant against the old grey,

And slides her delicate fingers all the way

Across the cold stone without a sound.

A warmth was imbued by her tender smile

I’d forgotten in this desolate place.

Fifteen years of beauty glows on her face,

Bringing rare life to a place so hostile

All too soon her fragile frame moves on:

With aching loneliness she leaves me here,

Her last lingering turn reveals a tear-

A whisper of goodbye and she is gone.

This is a response to Challenge #4 of the Grammar Ghoul Press Writing Challenge. This week’s prompt was void (adj.) and this video called “Dia De Los Muertos”.

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Endless Possibility

The idea that everything is connected becomes most interesting when applied to ourselves. For this week’s writing challenge, tell us about your own Butterfly Effect

It is the single tiny thing that caught my eye,

The little curving line below your lip,

That only adorned a true smile,

Or a hearty laugh.

That same little line now traps me

Behind bars of torment and pain,

Each time the memory flashes before me;

A tiny line is carved into me.

And every time I think of your beauty,

Of your magical imperfection

That the line taught me to find in you,

It pushes deeper into the wound

Knowing that I’ll never see the

Tiny part of you

Which started it all

And I can’t help but think

If that mark of happiness

Never accompanied your smile

Would I have ever known you?

Would we ever have been together?

Would I have ever fallen in love?

We are given so many opportunities, it is hard to know which ones we should take. The endless possibility of the world is both exciting and overwhelming.

Relationships are already tough. It only takes one tiny thing, the flap of a butterfly wing, to break. And once the bond that took so long to build has fallen, there’s no going back. It’s unlikely things will ever be the same between those two people. Often, couples wrapped up in love that they become oblivious to the fragile nature of love and relationships. Even the most happy couple could easily be split up within a matter of moments.

Then, there are the forces we cannot control; the forces that cause the death and destruction we can only watch powerlessly.

From the processes that brought us life on this planet, to the processes that brought you the clothes you are wearing, millions of tiny things have built up. So, if one, just one of those things were different, would the end product be the same?

Be it a comfort or a cause of hopelessness, we can’t escape the possibility. We can only try our best at being human and see what becomes of our lives.

Dear Internet,

I just want to personally thank you for all you have done in my life. And millions of others too. God only knows what kind of mess we get ourselves into when you don’t work, or when you’re not there.

You’re there for us through everything. When we just need a funny cat video to cheer us up, when we want to wallow in our own self-pity by listening to sad songs or when we need to find the answer to a question to embarrassing to ask anyone else. You know all of our secrets and the strange things we search for at two o’clock in the morning. When we’re researching you save us the labour of peeling through long and boring books by finding us the answers in a few clicks.

The thing about you is that you’re always there when we need you. As soon as we ask you a question you answer it. You don’t lie, you don’t ignore us or make us feel bad. You’re an endless orb of information at our beck and call, raring for us to delve into the wonders and secrets you hold. Who needs love, who needs friends, when you’re here?

You’ve changed the world with your magical informative powers and I want to show my appreciation. Thanks, Internet.

The Creature She Has Become

Twisting, writhing through your weak body,

You let those snippets of cruel words

Consume you and your impressionable mind.

Under the spell of the darkness

That wraps you up so easily,

You cannot hear my wary voice.

Eyes light up with fear, concealing

The ghoulish pallor of your

Withered, weary face

Years of unrelenting doubt and distress

Have forced a frail frame upon you;

Along with a weak and ruined heart.

Your Smile

A ray of sunshine glimmers,

Beaming through the grey shroud

Of a monotonous day-

Not just in the pearly teeth,

But the light burning in your eyes

A tiny peek into the real you.

And in a moment the rush of warmth

Has disappeared again;

Eyes dark and hard don’t care to shine,

Once more, you shut out the world-

Inside the same shell

Won’t you smile again?

Liebster Award II (!!!)

Thank you so much to Flooding August for nominating me for this award! Go check out her blog 🙂


Here are the rules for accepting the Liebster Award:

  • Post the award on your blog.
  • Thank the blogger who presented this award and link back to their blog.
  • Write 11 random facts about yourself.
  • Nominate 11 bloggers who you feel deserve this award and who have less than 200 followers.
  • Answer 11 questions posted by the presenter and ask your nominees 11 questions

Facts about me:

  1. My name is Lucinda, but some people call me Lucy. According to the drink mat on my desk, my name means ‘light-bringer’ . It also says that I am ‘confident, bright, talkative and inquisitive.’ This mat doesn’t know me very well…
  2. I have awful coordination. I managed to get a basketball in my face nearly every PE lesson last year.
  3. Oreos always make me happy. And cheesecake. Don’t forget chocolate, too.
  4. I’m around 5ft 8″
  5. I’ve been in the chorus of the school production three times now. When we did The Sound of Music, for the first half I played a man, and for the second I was a woman!
  6. I don’t care what anyone thinks, I love Taylor Swift and have done since I was around eleven. I like a lot of different genres. I can’t go a day without listening to music, though I can’t play or sing myself.
  7. I am the second oldest of my dad’s seven children (including my half sister and brothers)
  8. Travelling is something I have always wanted to do. Hopefully, I’ll be able to take a gap year after my A levels.
  9. I’m not really into TV. I prefer films. The last film I saw at the cinema was ‘Lucy’ (no, I didn’t just watch it for my namesake! But I wouldn’t mind being Scarlett Johansson, she’s pretty bad-ass.)
  10. I’m usually quite good at judging someone’s character. I knew as soon as I met the girl that ended up bullying my friend to steer clear. When my mum introduced me to her ex boyfriend last year I could tell there was going to be trouble. It took my mum too long to listen, and she learned what I had tried to tell her the hard way. Sometimes, I think I can be too judgmental or wary of people.
  11. The only thing I can cook moderately well is lasagna.

Here are Flooding August’s questions:

1. What got you into writing?

I enjoyed reading when I was younger. English has always been my favourite subject, and being shy meant that writing stories allowed me to express myself in a way I found rewarding and fun.

2. What is the most embarrassing thing that happened to you (that you don’t mind sharing)?

There are so many moments of my life that I look back on and just cringe. I’ll go with this one: when I was six and my class was in the middle of maths test I found it so hard that I just wet myself. I suppose it was an easy way out!

3. What is your biggest dream?

To become a successful writer and publish novels.

4. Worst nightmare?

I hate blood and gore (unless it’s in a film and I know it isn’t real) so that would probably be my worst nightmare.

5. If you could have coffee with one other blogger, who would it be?

Sorry to the coffee lovers, but I don’t drink it. This one is hard! I think it would be awesome to have all bloggers that I follow/that follow me and have a little real life meet up. it would be strange to see what everyone is truly like compared to their ‘internet self’.

6. What is your favorite book?

At the moment, its a tie between The Catcher In the Rye by J.D. Salinger, Paper Towns by John Green, The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky and I have a feeling when I finish Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks, it will be added to that list.

7. If you were a color, what color would you be?

The first colour that popped into my head was mint green. It’s not too bold, like me-it isn’t seeking attention. But you could say it is fresh, like my youth.

8. Looking back at when you made your blog, would you change the name?

I don’t think I would because it’s part of my image now and even though I don’t have loads and loads of followers, they are a bunch of amazing people. I wouldn’t want to change that.

9. Whats your favorite post you have ever written?

I enjoyed writing my last post because I’ve never written from that point of view before so it was new and interesting to try.

10. How do you take coffee (if you drink it)?

Sadly, I don’t. But I love a good cup of tea. I like it fairly strong with a little bit of milk and one teaspoon of sugar. And of course, it has to be Yorkshire tea.

11. What time do you wake up on a regular basis?

It’s more like hearing my alarm go off at half six and zombie-walking out of bed rather than waking up, but still. At the weekends, it varies but I’m a teenager so I like my sleep when I can get it.

Here are my questions:

  1. What was the last thing that made you smile?
  2. What or who inspires you to write?
  3. What would be your ideal place to write?
  4. Like King Lear’s poor judgment, if your life was a Shakespearean tragedy, which of your flaws do you think would be the fatal flaw?
  5. What song is in your head right now? (or if there isn’t one, which song was last stuck in your head)
  6. Who do you miss?
  7. What kind of goals have you achieved since you started your blog?
  8. What is your pet peeve?
  9. If you had the chance to become famous would you choose fame or stick to your current life?
  10. Who is your favourite fictional character from a book or film and why?
  11. Do you live by a motto or saying, and what is it if you do?

I would like to nominate…

(okay, so I only picked 8 other blogs… shh)

Unrequited Love

In the bitter air Guy’s lips trembled slightly. He took time wandering across the bustle of the city street, secretly revelling in the chance to watch the tall figure who hadn’t yet seen him.  Against the black sky, the object of his stares stood, his jaw illuminated by the streetlight. With his arms crossed over his chest, the man leaned and threw casual glances every now and again to check his friend had not passed by. He didn’t understand how impossible that could be.

Guy composed himself, but he could not control his racing thoughts. Approaching his friend, they shared a greeting smile.

‘Patrick,’ his breath flowed out in plumes of white in the cold air. Glad of this distraction from his burning secret he was sure his eyes and fixed mouth betrayed, he allowed his friend to speak.

‘It’s great to see you! I’ve been so busy since Caitlin had the baby. God, the business has taken off, too-I’m working late almost every night. But, honestly, it’s great,’ he sighed with a pensive smile, ‘Anyway, enough of me. How are you, Guy?’ He shoved his friend’s arm, which was considerably smaller than his. Guy nodded and shifted his weight from side to side.

Following Patrick’s lead, they advanced to cross the street. Patrick was oblivious to Guy’s peripheral glances, stolen and short. ‘I’ve been good. Yeah, just um,’ he paused. He was distracted, lost in the strong lines and curves.

‘So what made you recommend here?’ Patrick motioned to the facade of the museum, aged and invaded by moss, long from its former glory.

‘I’ve been getting into art again, especially Bacon,’ he raised his voice over the buzzing engines as they reached the other side of the street. Slick with fresh rain, the pavement glimmered. It was yet to freeze over.

‘Oh,’ Patrick turned to his friend, a surprised but amiable expression crossing his face. ‘Have you been painting anything yourself?’


Guy almost forced his hand to his forehead out of frustration. He had said it too quickly. He was sure his lies had been revealed. Yet Patrick continued his confident stride up the steps, absent-minded. Relief filled Guy’s chest. Nothing could stop him from thinking of his paintings. They flashed in his mind. All beautiful and strong, just as he had imagined it would be, but he had always go the same thing wrong. He could never get the mouth right.

‘It’s a shame,’ Guy adjusted himself as they entered the warmth of the museum, which was white with sparkling polished floors. ‘Caitlin always loved your work.’

Guy almost laughed. But he managed to restrain himself. She certainly would not love his most recent work. He thought of her body, limp and lifeless, broken and beaten-dead. Stop, he told himself. He had to be more careful.

‘She’ll be here in half an hour,’ Patrick flicked the glare of his phone screen off and shoved it back into his pocket. ‘Do you think we could wait in the entrance for her, or did you want to start?’

I could wait all night, Guy’s lips crept into a smirk. ‘Yes,’ he turned to the doors, where the rush of the city could still be faintly heard, ‘Sure.’

Seated in the tired old chairs of the museum entrance, surrounded by cabinets of faded leaflets, Patrick tried to question his friend. Concern, unable to be concealed, twisted his mouth. The small talk was over, now he had to ask the question. Guy was preoccupied with his carefully laid out plans. If it wasn’t for the thrill of thoughts of what was to come of the night, he would have snatched more lustful looks.

‘How are you, really? Are you okay?’ Patrick looked down, ‘I know it’s been two years since your… breakdown, but–‘ He trailed off. He didn’t know how to end that sentence, or, more importantly, if he wanted to.

‘I’m fine,’ he tried to look sincere, but he was annoyed. Why did he have to bring that up?  

Soon, he would get what he wanted. He held in a burst of excitement as he imagined their screaming faces, contorted with pain. Slipping his hand into his coat pocket, he felt the cool blade of the knife. Soon. Then, he would get the mouth right-the mouth would be perfect. Through the glass door he saw her blonde head bob out of the taxi. Now it’s time. Now, whatever consequences I reap

(743 words)


This is a response to the Grammar Ghoul Press Writing Challenge. 

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