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I'm Didge and I write things, mostly poetry. But I also enjoy working on short stories. I'm twenty, I live in London and I study English Literature and Creative Writing at university. These are my musings.

There is a link to my personal blog for asks/opinions and such because this is an extension blog and doesn't have an ask box.

She tried to say it, but the words couldn’t quite leave her tongue. She’s trying. I’ve been there before. I won’t push her, I can wait. The fact that she’s trying to find the words to say what she feels means that she feels, something. Something beautiful, because it’s easier to speak words of hate than to express love and beauty. And I feel it too. It’s in her eyes. I can wait because language isn’t something that comes naturally to all people, but feelings are. Whether they are of hate, or love. It’s difficult to find the words to express the love that’s in your heart because love is overwhelming and you have to remember to keep breathing steadily because she’s the most delicate creature you’ve ever touched and you want to never cause her suffering and you feel like crying but you can’t because you have to be strong, you should be looking after her so she cannot be the one wiping away your tears as well as her own, so you can not, must not, DON’T YOU DARE CRY IN FRONT OF HER. All of this is racing through your mind and all you can say is “I think I-” and you turn away from her. This moment has to be perfect. She’s waited so long. She deserves perfection and joy and love and you want to give her everything because she has given you all there is of her and you’re watching her slowly disappear because she has nothing left. You want to give her your equivalent of her beauty, her ability to love. This is what she has given you and this is what she deserves.

I understand, it was difficult for me too, but you knew what I felt before I said it and you waited. I prefer to feel than to hear it because “I love you” is too short, to simple to describe everything I feel about you. We are not simple. Three words, and eight letters is simply not enough to comprehend what is going through my mind. I don’t need to hear those three syllables. Not until they’ve burst through your anxieties and made their way out of your tongue. It doesn’t have to be tonight.

i came third at my first slam last week btw

I’m in love with you and it feels like I’m constantly bashing my head against a metal wall. It hurts, it’s awful and I’m aware that I should stop but I carry on; because I’m in love with you.

(So I love words, but punctuation etc I don’t get so I don’t actually know when you’re supposed to use a semi colon despite being told it multiple times at school and once having my teacher read out the opening of an essay because of my great use of a semicolon. But what I’m trying to do with the semi colon in the above sector is connect “It hurts because I’m in love with you” so making two sentences that can go well next to the words before the first comma in the sentence and I really like that sentience and I’m really enjoying looking at it and I think I’m gonna practice calligraphy just so I could write that sentence in the beautiful it deserves and if that’s not what you’re meant to do with a semi colon then I don’t wanna be right)

Alas, I cannot knit.

This is a note to myself that the above is the title of a poem I need to write.

Maybe a pastiche of Alas I Cannot Swim?

This is meh and I’m thinking of performing it at my first poetry slam.

Let’s pretend we’re in hell.
But technically when Judgement Day comes,
Earth will burn and turn into Hell.
We will burn.

Let’s pretend we are dancing.
Going against God’s will,
Summoning the Devil
By moving our bodies,
Let’s pretend we’re being sensual,
Not sexy.

We are dancing while burning,
burning and dancing.

Let’s pretend we’re making love,
Not just fucking.

Love. Love. Love.
You can’t actually make love, though.
You don’t create love,
It creates you.
It is more powerful than I.
And you. And you. And even you.

Like my grandmother who fell in love with God
And handed her life to Him.
I have fallen for you.
You are the Almighty.
The closest I will ever come to Religion.
I am not perfect,
But I stand here before you,
I will offer you my journal,
For this is my Bible.
It’s filled with words you inspired me to put together.

Let’s stop pretending.
Let’s get naked and run through busy streets,
And be completely exposed.
Because that’s what this poem feels like.

You are my clothes,
You’ve touched every part of my body,
You’ve seen all that I am,
You’ve cut me open,
Entered my veins and spread your poison.

I’m becoming you,
And losing me.
I feel what you feel.
I despise this body, it does not belong.
Just as you hate your own.

"   Writing is the act of failing at something all the time. Do it with a sense of humor, and it ain’t no big deal. Life is just about falling on stage and getting up, and that’s what writing is all about, too.   "
James McBride: How I Write - The Writer (via nationalbook)

(via nicotinebaby)

It’s really annoying that I’m fully aware that my feelings matter and they wouldn’t be there if they didn’t and the only way I can move on from things is by facing and feeling them, but then when I feel like shit I convince myself that I’m just being neurotic and irrelevant and self absorbed and that in fact I don’t matter at all.

It’s having to constantly battle the negative thoughts in order to get to the positive ones and never actually knowing what to in any situation and making things up as I go along, while constantly telling myself that one day I will be okay and I deserve happiness, all the fucking time. And thinking that if I act like who I want to be, I’ll eventually be that person. It’s having to deal with all of that for the majority of my life, I’ve been here for two decades and I haven’t done anything so what if I never do anything? What if this is all just who I’m supposed to be and my life is about whether or not I win the battle? It’s wanting to live a life where there is no battle, and not believing that war can possibly lead to peace.

Every single day is a fight, and I think I want to just surrender because the other side won’t be waving a white flag any time soon.

But I can’t do that because of friends and family. It’s loving everyone I care about more than I love myself. It’s wishing I didn’t care at all, because then I could end this battle that’s in my head instantly, once and for all. 

It’s not knowing who I actually am because I’ve spent most of my life trying to be something else because I hate this person that I currently am. 

→ positive pessimism: it’s 7am and i am so full of happiness and appreciation for...


it’s 7am and i am so full of happiness and appreciation for everything, even the things that make me weep uncontrollably for days on end. i guess i am okay with everything that happens to me because i understand that i need to let nature take its course and for things to just happen and to let…

(Source: queendidge)

"   If you’re dating a writer and they don’t write about you — whether it’s good or bad — then they don’t love you. They just don’t. Writers fall in love with the people we find inspiring.   "
Jamie Anne Royce.

(Source: wordsthat-speak, via queendidge)

Writing is magic. Especially when it comes from nowhere. When you just sit down and write down some words and all of a sudden, a whole world is unfolding in front of you. You are creating people, creatures, you know everything about them - even if you don’t know that you know it yet. They are yours, they are special because you know where they came from. I think that’s why I can’t get my head around writing as a career. I don’t want to start writing characters I don’t care about. I don’t want to fall out of love with writing, it’s the only relationship I picture myself being in for as long as I shall live. If I lose words, I will be left with nothing.