The Brown Eyed Dreamer

'Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.' William Wordsworth


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Exam Season

This time of year resonates with
Scurrying pens scraping across empty pages
Hot tears running down tired, furtive faces
Sighs raining down on the silence that laces
Through lines of school-kids fighting for places
In cold libraries and musky study rooms.

All along it seems they taught us
Lessons on how to be afraid,
Because hopes and dreams don’t matter
If you haven’t got the grades;
But I swear to you it’s different
Their theory’s obsolete,
You are an actual person-
Not just letters on a sheet.

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Block.

I miss writing. It used to be that a pencil never left my hand, that ideas always fled into my head. I’d write whenever I could find time, and whenever I didn’t really have time too. Characters, plots, journeys and worlds would flood from my mind and spill onto paper, filling page after page of the cheap notebooks I bought from the store. I loved building a  story until it almost become a world around me, with most nights spent scribbling down everything I could think of until I could get my characters to the end of their adventure. I miss the thrill of new ideas, the hours spent in the corners of libraries and cafés planning and the satisfaction of finishing.

These days, there’s not enough time, not enough energy. School builds walls around my daydreams, reminding me of my responsibility to do well, of the importance of my future, while all the time my mind scurries like a bird trapped in a cage, willing to escape from studying for subjects I care nothing for. And as all this is happening, a greater wall looms above, dark and menacing, blocking any idea from coming to me. I feel trapped, bored, yet too exhausted to make a change.

But I swear, this drift is only temporary, and I will be back. A mind cannot stay trapped forever, and soon the shackles of exams will be broken and I’ll be free to spend hours filling pages with every trace of my thoughts. Soon I can go back to the one thing I love most. And when I get back, maybe the sparks will ignite and ideas will burst back into life, and I can carry on as before; a dreamer.

That’s all I can hope for, for now.


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Void.

Headphones in; music on. Fall between two intricately strung melodies hanging like lanterns across a starlit sky of crescendos and tempos. Let reality’s grains of sand slip through your fingertips in a morning’s gentle breeze. Close your eyes and breathe until your lungs hold the earth, the planets surrounding; the whole universe and everything it contains. Keep your eyes closed until the light disappears and the darkness opens and envelopes you, welcome and unending. Let your breath leave your lips in slow wisps of troubles, pains doubts, floating away like bubbles soon to burst. Gone. There’s nothing to worry about anymore. Let the goosebumps ricochet like drum beats down your back, let the crinkled frowns etched into your skin be erased. Reach out and feel the calm of the air around you, the serenity that ebbs through every chord that enters your ear. This is your void. Hold the feeling close, and feel free to simply disappear.