Poetry, or, more specifically, A Collection Of Evidence Regarding The Negativity I Sometimes Have That For Some Reason Inspires Poetry

Okay.  We'll do this in random order.  First, we have a poem entitled "If Your Heart Were Really Broken."  Here we go...

If Your Heart Were Really Broken

If your heart were really broken

You wouldn't be alive

Snuffed out like a candle

Silencing your cries

If your heart were really broken

You would be a zombie now

Slow like cooling wax

Smothering your cries

If your heart were really broken

You wouldn't ogle yet

Drifting 'round like smoke

Forgetting how you cried

If your heart were really broken

You'd still think he's perfect

Enchanted by his flame

Burning away your cries

If your heart were really broken

I wouldn't waste my time

Making candle metaphors

That drown in the din of your cries

Okay, so I dunno why this came to my head, but it did...  I like my use of candle metaphors, though!

And now for a lovely piece called "Angry Letters."

Angry Letters

Do you ever want to write an angry letter

But you aren't sure how you should start

Do you ever want to write an angry letter

But you don't know who you're angry at

Do you ever want to write an angry letter

But you're too scared to put your thoughts down on paper

Do you ever want to write an angry letter

But you don't think it would help at all

Do you ever want to write an angry letter

But you don't want anyone to see you write it

Do you ever want to write an angry letter

But you can't think of what to say

Do you ever want to write an angry letter 

But you're worried that someone might read it

Imagine you wrote that angry letter

And you ripped it into millions of pieces

Imagine you wrote that angry letter

And you spilled your heart onto the page

Imagine you wrote that angry letter

And you dropped it in the fire and watched as it burned

Imagine you wrote that angry letter

And you finished it without interruption

Imagine you wrote that angry letter

And afterwords you felt lighter somehow

Imagine you wrote that angry letter

And let a close friend read it

Imagine you wrote that angry letter 

And figured out how to solve those problems

What if you could dream again

What if you could think again

What if you could smile again

What if you could laugh again

What if you felt happy again

What if you let yourself cry again

What if everything turned out okay

Uhm...  I guess I was upset over something when I wrote this.  I mean...maybe I wasn't, but I bet I was.  I don't remember what I was upset about, but I think it might have been something akin to wanting to yell at someone but not being able to?  That's why people write angry letters, right?

Now we have...oh, uhm, "The Whip."

The Whip 

Mumbling

Moaning

Grunting

Groaning

Shrieking

Screaming

Through the air

Singing

Down with a crack

Across a dead man's back

Touching

Feeling

Living

Breathing

Lying

Cheating

Down the road

Fleeing

Caught; another crack

Across a dead man's back

Walking 

Running

Calling

Coming

Hearing 

Seeing

Cannot bear it

Leaving

Begging for a crack

Across a dead man's back

Winning

Boasting

Playing

Roasting

Waiting

Keeping

Loosing all

Weeping

Here's the next crack

Across a dead man's back

Hoping

Trusting

Leading

Crushing

Crying 

Breaking

Hateful dreams

Replacing

The burning crack

Across a dead man's back

Dying

Failing

Wondering

Scaring

Nothing

Nothing

Absolutely

Nothing

Escapes from the crack

Across a dead man's back

Yeesh.  I really hope no one thinks I need help or I'm depressed or anything because I swear I'm not, I just like to write depressing poetry in the middle of the night when I'm plagued with some negative emotion and I can't sleep?

"The Game," up next.

The Game 

Bet your life

Take the dice

Come and play the game

If you win you loose

If you loose you die

Come and play the game

There are no friends

There is no help

Just cold determination

To stay alive

Shifting eyes

Nobody wants to loose

Pointing fingers

Here you go

You won and so you lost

You lost the game

If you loose you die

Come and play the game

No comment.

Okay, last one.  I will refrain from posting the used-to-be-songs because those were from like sixth grade and do not need to be shared because they were from sixth grade and are undoubtedly awful.  So, without further ado, "Opposites."

Opposites

Lace and leather

Bows and knots

You remember 

I forgot

Snow and summer 

Cold and hot

You like neon

I do not

Black and white

Night and day

You are social 

I shy away

Life and death 

Work and play

You like the outdoors

Inside I stay

Lace and leather

Bows and knots

You remember 

I forgot

HOORAY!  SOMETHING THAT WASN'T EITHER DEPRESSING OR ANGSTY!

So I don't know what anyone reading this can take away from this.  That I apparently have depressing/angsty writing sessions that produce these lovely rhymes.  At least I don't keep all that bottled up, right?  Right?

...So all that negative poetry is a good thing, right?

Just a disclaimer: All relation to other poetry you may have read is purely coincidental as this all came out via word-vomit in about fifteen minutes each.  Spurred on by some deep well of negative emotion, apparently.

Well.

It's been over a year since I last posted anything here, and I regret to inform you that I have lost or forgotten all new writing for Seli'une.  I have a few things I can post, mostly just short stories (like really short).  It's almost entirely fan fiction, unfortunately.  I haven't actually had an original idea in a really long time for anything other than some poetry...  Anything I do try and write, regardless of origin, I can never form into a working plot line, so all my stuff is just like a blurb or a spineless short story.  ...I should work on that.

At the moment, on my phone, I have:
-32 fan fictions (14 of which are complete)
-9 poems (4 of which were written as songs with the melodies long forgotten)
-2 original shorts

Yeeaahhh...  Some of the fan fictions are really cool/unique ideas!  And one of them is essentially an original work, except it takes place in the Hunger Games universe and is kind of the brain child of the Capitol and the Uglies series.  So I guess it isn't that original.  But all the characters are my own, so far.  That'll probably change at some point if I ever get around to writing more for it.  I just have so many different ideas and then I word-vomit and then I forget about other stuff I'm already working on.  I've devoted quite a lot of time to one Sherlock fan fiction, and I actually have a plot pseudo-though out for it (progress!).

Of course, most of these fan fictions are not necessarily anything I would really want anyone to read, as some of them are...well, it's fan fiction.  That's all I need to say to explain it, really.  It's not great quality and I'm not necessarily proud of it.  Maybe one or two, but...yeah.

I'll post my poetry on here, though, and probably my original shorts after a quick edit for grammar/typos.

Seli'une (Extra Information)

I have decided that it would benefit everyone to have some background information about the setting and population.  So I have made this for my benefit, and everyone else's.  So I hope you find this helpful!

The world:

The country that the humans and the Seli'une live in is called K'kyri.  The Che'tigro live in the country of Vargo'iu.  

K'kyri is a temperate climate region, with some tundra climate up in the northern territory.  The northern, western, and part of the southern border is the Sarfinsch mountain range.  The eastern border is the cool North Sea.  The other part of the southern border is the Gara'ia River.  It feeds out the the North Sea.  K'kyri has many deciduous forests that end in a large plain by southern border.  

Vargo'iu is a desert/grasslands region.  The northern border is the Sarfinsch mountain range and the Gara'ia River.  The northern territory is grassland, which extends out along the foothills of the mountains, and the Che'tigro have made all of the grasslands their territory.  The western and southern borders are wherever the inhospitable territory is.  The eastern border is the North Sea.  When the grassland ends south of the mountains, a desert continues as the rest of the territory.

The people:

There are three main humanoid races.  The humans, the Seli'une, and the Che'tigro.

The Seli'une is a mostly human species.  The only difference between them and humans is their hair, eyes, and their power to absorb energy and nutrients from people, animals, or plants, alive or dead.  When a Seli'une is born, they have white hair, which turns a vibrant color at age sixteen.  Their power also develops around age ten.  The eyes of a Seli'une may be a regular color, or a color such as purple or orange or yellow.  About half of the Seli'une race consists of the subspecies, Metaliac.  These Seli'une have a metal-toned hair color, and are named after the metal their hair symbolizes.  Their hair generally  begins to turn from white at age ten, and their powers begin developing at age five.  These Seli'une are generally more skilled with their ability and have a greater capacity for energy.

The Che'tigro are a feline-like species.  Their white or black skin is striped either orange or blue,  and they are completely carnivorous.  They can eat vegetation, but Che'tigro get hardly any nutrition from it.  They can also eat raw meat.  The Che'tigro are equipped with sharp claws and teeth, much like a tiger.  Their black hair most likely has stripe or spot patterns of the same color as the stripes on their skin.  The race is nomadic, going where the prey goes, much  like the early nomadic humans.  However, they claim territory as their own, and don't venture far from their own territory.  They expand their territory by either claiming it as theirs, or taking it by force, much like an empire.  The Che'tigro live in three clans that travel together, but the clans band together when they must fight for more territory.  The orange-striped, the blue-striped, and then the multi-color-striped.  The eyes are much like those of a cat, with oval pupils, and reflective lenses.

Seli'une (Chapter Three)

Authoress' Note:  Hi.  Sorry if you got hooked and now feel like throwing stuff at me.  It's okay, I know how you feel (Uglies and the rest...if you haven't read them they are amazing).  But it could be worse, right?
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I quickly follow her, not wanting to get lost, and we come to a large, warm room.  The kitchen.  It has brick oven, many cupboards, a large pantry, a fridge, a stove, and the many other things Kitchens would normally have.  A pleasantly plump lady with mousy brown hair in a bun is standing at the counter, kneading dough for bread, maybe.  At the two tables are four other girls, and five guys.  And Silver.  

Malay goes over to the table where the girls are, except for Silver and a younger girl, and sits down.  She motions for me to sit too, so I take a seat next to her.  
"Okay, so this is Alezanda, Xiane, and Fione.  Wirilan is with Silver.  The guys are Aston, Jesan, Kesen, Drewan, and Tovis.  Drewan is my older brother.  We're all friends, almost like siblings."

Alezanda is a tall, dark-skinned teenager with electric blue hair that reaches her shoulders.  Xiane has bright purple eyes, short, spiky red hair, and a kind smile.  Fione has soft brown eyes, and curly, moss green hair.  She has a spattering of freckles across her nose.  I look over and I see the younger girl, Wirilan.  She has light blue eyes and white hair still.  I recognize Aston, and then there is a guy with orange hair, a guy who looks like Malay, and a guy with lime green, shaggy hair.  Another boy who looks a couple years younger than me has white hair.

I take a croissant from the basket on the table and I spread some of the honey on it.  Malay is eating hers, as are the other girls.  I take a bite and find that there is a chocolate middle of the croissants.  and the honey tastes like there is cinnamon mixed into it.  I finish mine, and then I wait for everyone to finish their second or third croissant.

"How come you didn't take a second one?" asks Alezanda, glancing at me.

"I'm not used to such good food this early.  Up until...whenever Silver brought me here, I lived on the streets, stealing a bit or two when I could.  Mostly I stayed hungry.  I've had to go a couple days on a roll and an apple."

The other girls give me a quick, sympathetic look.  I'm glad it was quick.  I don't really enjoy being pitied, or when people try to be overly sympathetic.  Fione smiles at me.

"Well, you'll get used to it soon.  But beware of supper.  That's always the biggest meal, and sometimes I'm stuffed before my second helping," she says, and I smile back.

"So...how did you guys get to Silver?" I ask, after a few minutes of silence.  By now, the girls at our table are pretty much finished eating.

Alezanda looks over at the other table.  "Let's go to my room to talk about this."

I follow them as they make their way out of the kitchen.  We come to the hallway where the room I share with Malay is.  Alezanda and Xiane open their door (I assume they share the room, because the door is painted in red and electric blue stripes) and we sit on the beds.

"My father worked in the military.  When I was born, he was away fighting directly with the Che'tigro. My mother freaked out, and hid me in my family's house.  Luckily, I was born with a twin brother, who was a regular, normal human.  Whenever my father would come for visits, which were about twice a year, he would always be out with my father, pretending like he was an only child.  My mother always told him that it was very important not to tell my father that he had a sister, because it was a surprise for him.  I remember he would always ask when the surprise would happen, and my mother always answered that after a few more visits, he would know.  

When we were twelve, my brother finally slipped up.  He said that I was hiding as your surprise.  I don't remember why, but he said it.  My father grew angry, and stormed through the house until he found me, cowering in a closet.  He saw my white hair and tossed my out on the street.  Silver  saw me get thrown out, and came to take me away.  I've lived with her ever since.

I used to ask her why I was a Seli'une, and no one else in my family was.  Two years ago, on my sixteenth birthday, she told me.  My mother was a Seli'une.  She was a Metaliac Seli'une.  Like Silver, her hair was a metallic color, gold.  Her name was actually Gold, but she always went by a pseudonym," finishes Alezanda.  That would make her eighteen.

"I suppose I'll go next," says Xiane.  "I really don't remember much, but I get nightmares about white rooms and screaming.  I usually wake up screaming and having a panic attack.  Silver told me that when I was sixteen, and my hair had turned, the government came for me.  Apparently, my parents had spilled that I was a Seli'une.  She came and rescued me from becoming a weapon of mass destruction against my will.  I guess I just blocked it from memory.  That was only a year ago."  Xiane was seventeen.

"Me now.  When my brother was born, my parents were worried that he would be taken away.  When I was born, they decided that they would move to a place that the government couldn't reach them.  They moved into the mountains just outside the border of K'kyri.  We lived life regularly for fifteen years.  Then my brother turned sixteen, and my hair was starting to turn colors.  For a week, we lasted, and then my parents were so paranoid that they sent us off on our horses to go farther into the mountains.  

We rode away up the mountain and found an abandoned stone house that we lived in until I turned sixteen.  I started getting dreams about the river next to the house.  They would always follow the river down to the lake next to Silver's estate.  I told Drewan, and he said that he was getting the same dreams.  We decided to follow the river, and we came here, traveling by night on our horses.  I haven't heard from or seen my parents since they sent us into the mountains, and our horses are still in the stables.  Maraya is Drewan's and mine is Tonyi," Malay states. 

"Can you teach me to ride?" I ask.  Malay nods.

"My turn," Fione says.  She takes a deep breath, and begins her tale.  "When I was born, my family was in an area of K'kyri where the acceptance of Seli'une was the lowest it could possibly be.  I was beaten by my mother, my two older brothers, and my four older sisters.  My father was a Metaliac Seli'une.  He was Bronze.  Anyway, I was the first Seli'une child, and when the midwives saw my white hair, they dropped me to the ground and started beating my father.  The only reason he didn't die is that another of the midwives was a Metaliac Seli'une named Copper.  She gave him energy, and when the midwives went away, she grabbed me from where I had been dropped and healed me.  My mother refused to care for me as a baby, so Copper took care of me until I could do enough for myself. Then my mother took me back.  My father was in hiding with Copper.  

My mother refused to give me more than one meal a day, and my brothers and sisters abused me and made me do their chores, along with my chores, which was about double what they had together.  When I was nine, I ran away.  I had lived with my family for four years.  I went to Copper's house, and I lived there with my father.  When I didn't get any metallic streaks at age ten, like a Metaliac Seli'une, my father and Copper freaked out.  Copper made the journey with me to here, and I've been here ever since." 

Fione's story was the worst to hear.  It makes me admire Fione even more, that she lived through what she did at such a young age.  I admire all of them.  My story is about as bad as Alezanda's only, but I still dread it.

Xiane looks at me.  "What about you?"

I look down at my lap, and the memories I had pushed away for six years start to come back.
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Authoress' Note:
Heehee.  Another cliff hanger.  Sorry!  

FYI:  K'kyri is the country/land that this takes place in.  The Che'tigro live in a different country/land, but I'm not sure what to call it.  Any ideas?  Please leave them in the comments!

~I

Regarding Seli'une

Hi.  I am not getting much of any human activity on here.  Which is a little disappointing for me, as the authoress of these stories.  That, and I'm a little brain dead as to how this story will end up.  So, you guys get to pick which of my endings you want, and I will think about your input, and then we shall see what I end up doing when this story reaches its end.

1.  Vivite lives through the war (see the preview of Seli'une if you have no idea what I am talking about) and get's to go around free without the government breathing down her back

2.  Vivite lives through the war and lives happily ever after with her friends and/or a love interest

3.  She is captured and lives

4.  She is captured and dies

5.  Her life really doesn't get much better or worse, and the plot just kind of becomes a flat line

6.  Other: leave your suggested ending in the comments

So, please help me.  Or, if I come up with a brilliant idea, I will use it.  But this will help me either way.

With best regards and wishes of creative minds,
~I

Seli'une (Chapter Two)

Authoress' note:  Welcome back.  We left off with Vivite passing out.  Now she is waking up...
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I wake up to a cool sensation on my face, while I can feel warmth enveloping the rest of my body.  My brain pulls itself out of the fog of unconsciousness, and registers the feel of crisp, yet soft sheets against my hands and feet.  To assess my situation further, I keep my eyes closed and as still as I can.  Two voices are talking to each other.  One male, one female.  The female voice sound soothing, like a mother's voice.

"I hope she wakes up," the male voice says.
"She will, Aston.  She has a pulse, and she still breathes.  With her injuries, I can't say I'm surprised she has slept a week.  Her body needs time to rest," answers to female.
"But, Silver, what if she just...stops?  I don't want that to happen to anyone else..." the now defined Aston replies.
"She won't," Silver begins.  "Her breathing has just deepened."  A gentle hand takes my wrist.  "And her pulse grows stronger now."

I decide now that it should be time to officially wake up.  I slowly open my eyes.  THe woman from the street with the silver hair, who I suppose is Silver, is leaning over me.  I turn my head to see Aston, a boy who looks about my age with white-streaked, dark purple hair, and hazel eyes.  White hair...with color....

I return my gaze to Silver, and then break contact with her and sit up.  I am still in my jeans and tunic.

"Slowly, my dear.  We don't want you falling over when you stand up.  Give the blood time to get to your head," Silver says to me, gently.  She turns to Aston.  "Go find Malay, and tell her to come here."

As Aston leaves, Silver looks to me again.  "Could you tell me your name, dear?"

"Vivite," I say in a groggy voice.  I clear my throat.  "You're Silver, and that was Aston..."
"Yes,"Silver replies.  "Aston is getting Malay.  You'll be sharing a room with her.  She's a sweet girl; you should get along fine."

Just then, the door opens, and a girl, who I guess is Malay, slips in.  She has slanting, bright green eyes, and dark blue hair that falls in sheets down her back to her mid-thigh.
"Malay, this is Vivite.  Vivite, Malay," Silver introduces.  "Vivite, Malay, Aston, and I are like you.  The others are like you.  Well, except for Bissy, my friend and cook."  Silver gets up and walks out of the room, after whispering something to Malay.

Malay comes over to the bed I'm in.  "Come on, let's see if you can stand up."  She helps me get my balance, then she leads me down the hall to an oak door with Malay painted on it in dark blue.  "I'll add your name, too.  Is your hair changing yet?"

Seli'une have different stages in growth.  Each stage is marked by the color of your hair.  When you are a child, which is from the time you are born to when you turn sixteen (give or take a few weeks), your hair will be pure white in color.  When you turn sixteen, your hair begins to turn a new shade, usually something crazy and vibrant, like purple, bright red, or green.  This also signals that your abilities as Seli'une have finished developing.  Then, when you get on your last yea or so of life, your hair starts to fade back into white.  On the day you die, every strand of hair will be as white as the day you were born, and not a day before.

"I'm not sure.  I haven't washed my hair in six years," I reply, a twinge of sadness evident in my tone.
"Well, we should get you washed up then.  Silver said she got a trunk for you while you were sleeping, and it has some necessities in it.  I have to report to her what color your hair is, though, so she can embellish your name on the lid."

I find, at the foot of the spare bed, a brown leather trunk, about as tall as my knee and long as a leg.  The width is, again, calf-length.  I open the vaulted lid to see two tunics, underclothes, a pair of jeans, a pair of leggings, a bar of soap, a hairbrush, and a bath robe.  I take the soap, the brush, and the robe, and follow Malay to the bathroom.

The doorframe has a nail sticking out of it with a key on it.
"This is how we know if the bathroom is vacant or not.  If the key is there, you're good.  If it's gone, you have to wait.  Go ahead, and don't forget to lock the door."  Malay nudges me inside after I take the key, and shuts the door.

I lock it, and then put my robe, brush, soap, and towel on the counter.  I use the restroom (which is in a smaller room inside the bathroom) and draw the bathwater.  When the tub is full, I strip and get in.  After grabbing the soap, I dunk my head under numerous times, then lather my hair with the soap.  When I am confident my body and hair is clean, I drain the tub and get out.  I set the soap on the counter, and dry myself off with the towel.  After getting my robe on, I run the brush through my hair a few times to get the tangles out, gather my clothes, towel, (dry) soap, and brush, and then I leave the bathroom and place the key back onto the nail

When I get out, Malay is still waiting for me.  We walk back to our room together, and then lock it when we get inside so that no one interrupts while I'm changing.  I open my trunk and get out a set of underwear, the new pair of jeans, and one of the new tunics.  I put my clothing on, and then I go to stand in front of the mirror so I can see my hair.

My hair.  No longer is it white or dirty brown, but it must have been turning colors while I was out for a week.  It is now hot pink with white underneath, and my hair has grown to mid-back length.

Malay comes up behind me and starts to comb through my hair with her fingers.
"Hot pink, huh?  Well, we can work with that.  Just don't wear and bright colors, unless you want to draw every eye, including the eye of the government...  But don't worry about that.  What you have on now is fine.  I would suggest darker or duller colors.  Grays, blacks, browns, dull oranges, maybe brick red, possibly something like light green and blue...
"You know what?  Let's go meet everyone else.  It's about noon, so I would imagine everyone is in the kitchen eating."

Malay tossed me black leather flats, and then led me downstairs to the kitchen.

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Well, that seems like a good place to stop.  Next up, Vivite gets to meet everyone, and so do you, my fluffy friends.

~I

Seli'une (Chapter One)

Authoress' Note:

This whole story is told in present tense, first person, and Vivite's point of view.

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I sit in the rain, mud splashing onto my pants when every drop hits the dirt-and-cobblestone road around me.  My once white hair is caked with six years of dirt and dust; it seems brownish-gray.  The acrid smell of the sewers assaults my nose.  All I can think of is the feel of the rain hitting my skin, the rough wood of the candle shop against my back, the chilly weather seeping into my bones, and my screaming side, among other scrapes and bruises from my fall.  I can barely distinguish the tears from the rain on my sooty face.  I try to shift my body the last two feet around the corner and under the shelter of the roof overhang, and my body's aches and pains start another awful discord.  I lean my head back and wince a little as my bruises push against the hard wood.  I draw as much energy as I can from the small bits of grass poking up between the cobblestones.  At least I have a fighting chance.  A regular human could be out cold.  And still I go on.

It feels like years have passed within the span of a few minutes.  Every person that passes looks at me like a disease, or completely ignores me.  Many of the women wear hats; those that don't carry umbrellas.  The men apply to the same rule.  My tangled hair is unprotected from the rain.  It hangs from my head like hanging moss from a rock or a branch.  My old jeans and tunic look horrible next to their new clothes.  Fancy coats, nice leather boots.  Me with my bare feet in the warm spring rain.

I see a few faces looking at me with concern, but they all hurry on.

The awful roar in my mind does not stop.  Any old human would be passed out.  But I'm different.

I see one woman.  Silver hair frames her face.  She does not appear to be old, even though her hair looks aged.  She is one with concern.  I expect her to keep walking...she changes her course instead.  The woman with the silver hair is coming to me.  I forget to keep my meagre flow of energy from the small stalks of grass, and I black out.
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Note Continued:
So this is pretty much an introduction to the story.  That's why it's so short.  Again, this is first person, in present tense.  It kind of gives a bit on Vivite's background and how she grew up.  She has been living in the streets for six years at this point.  The woman with the silver hair (who's name will be introduced in the next chapter) is a huge part to the story.