Tag Archives: writer

Moving

Hey everyone!

I just want to apologize for the long delays in me writing. I’m currently packing and getting ready to move by the end of the month so it’s been really hectic and busy. I’m hoping after I’ve moved that I will have more time to write and really connect with you guys and hopefully even get some videos out!

For now I hope you guys enjoy this short poem!

You can also check out my poetry on Allpoetry.com under the name Angelgreen39

Speaking in Tongues

Your breath is like smoke
Hot and humid, burning up my skin.
All consuming, all around me.
You’re in all my senses, seeping through my pores
We’re speaking without the interruption of sound.
Your tongue is like the lick of a flame
Hot and sensuous on my body
My nerves hit with bolts like lightning
I gasp in a breath.
My mind freezes up
In the heat of the inferno
And I understand you perfectly
As you burn me up in flames.

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First Line Generator

So I used a first line generator which generated part of a first line for me this time. Hopefully you all like this short story. Please leave me some feedback below and thank you for reading. As always, have a good night.

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The pen hadn’t been worth stealing but there it had been. Sitting on his shiny desk. Seeming like it was mocking her and her dusty desk. Her office that used to be a closet. That was haphazardly put together when there had been nowhere else to put her. It had no mouth but the new, shiny pen spoke volumes. Volumes about where he was in the company. Where she hoped to get to but so many people doubted she would. And then there was the other side. The other reason she had slipped the pen into her pocket. It had been easy of course. He was at another meeting, another luncheon with the heads of the company. Things she was never invited to.

She admired him, as much as it pained her to admit it. Admired the way he walked as if walking on clouds. With such a strong air of confidence it couldn’t be missed, even in this busy office building. She could sense when he walked into a room. Almost as if an invisible line were connecting them and she could tell when that line was tugged. It horrified her but she even suspected she was gaining feelings for him. The way she looked up when he walked by. How she straightened her skirt when he walked into the room. The agonizing time she was spending on her hair and makeup lately when she had never cared for makeup before. She was changing herself for a guy who didn’t even know her name. A part of her hoped he’d notice the pen missing. That he’d look for it, attempt to find it. Maybe she could pretend to have found it and return his pen to him. Or, maybe she would be daring, maybe she’d use the pen right in front of him. Maybe then he’d notice the frumpy clerk across the hall. The on who was always looking at him when he was on the phone. Talking and laughing with his clients as if they had known each other for years. Maybe, like for her, the room would be in a blur except for her and he’d see her clearly.

She went to bed that night with the pen in her purse. Wistful thoughts filling her head about how she’d return the pen. How they would strike up a conversation and it would begin his realization that they were meant to be. That them working in the same office was fate and he had just been blind before. Maybe he’d open his eyes and realize that she was his dream girl. She drifted off with these thoughts in her head.

The next day she took extra care picking out her outfit. Sleek black pencil skirt and royal blue blouse. The only one that had golden buttons on the sleeves. She slipped on her black pumps and her pearl necklace. Her hair was up in a bun and her makeup was applied with utmost precision. She arrived at the office early, hoping to catch him before another luncheon took him for the rest of the day. Maybe, after their encounter, he’d even cancel lunch to spend longer with her. As she entered the office however her spirits dropped. There, on his shiny desk, was an identical, brand new, shiny pen sitting exactly where the old one had been. The stolen pen had been forgetting and, with it, her wistful dreams.

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