deepundergroundpoetry.com
Author of the Moment
Ripping pages out of my journal.
Rewriting the lives of several people.
Hurting myself and everyone around me.
I just keep pushing. . .
I just keep digging. . .
I just keep trying. . .
I just keep writing. . .
I want a story of love.
I want a story of loss.
I want a story of adventure.
I want a story of growth.
I want a story. . .
It's there, in my head, in my mind.
But to get onto the paper, onto the screen.
In my own words, I can't do it.
No matter how many times I try.
It's just not happening.
And it hurts.
Not just me. . .
But them, my characters.
Yes, my characters. . .
They have feelings. . .
They have thoughts. . .
They have emotions. . .
It is them that I truely write for--
Not for myself.
Not for my family.
Not for the fans of my writing I hope to (one day) have.
I write for them, my characters.
Their stories that need to be told.
Of heartbreak.
Of love.
Of overcoming obstacles.
It's the real, true reason why I write.
Their stories come to me.
Their voices.
Their words.
Their lives.
It comes to me and I grab a pen.
Or the keyboard.
And it just happens. . .
The story just unfolds right before my eyes.
I do not know the story until it is written down.
I have never planned a story in advance.
And if that means I'm stuck writing the same story for the rest of my life.
Then so be it.
Because that is the cross that I must bear.
That is the curse that I gave myself.
I am the author of the moment.
The characters tell me their stories.
The plots, voices and emotions appear in my mind.
They become me and I become them.
And their stories appear on the screen in front me.
Lightning from my fingertips.
More magic than any witch can do.
I do not write stories.
I do not write novels.
I do not write books.
I tell the tales of people's lives.
Fictional people but somewhere, maybe there is someone that can relate to this fictional character.
I've done it with books that I've read.
Movies I've watched.
People that I'ved admired.
So maybe when these stories are finished.
And they're finally published.
It's not only the characters that will end up benefiting for all of my heartache.
Maybe there will be that girl, or that guy.
That will read my (their) words and they'll feel it in their souls.
And they'll wonder: "How does she know?"
How does this author know what it's like to be me?
A girl whose father cheated on her mother.
A guy whose mother died when he was too young.
A girl who cannot remember part of her life.
A girl whom was raped.
A girl who did drugs.
A guy who was accused of something so horrible that it kills him to look in the mirror and see the scar that reminds him that it still happened.
The witness to a murder.
The brother of the murdered.
A girl that was in a car accident, that was driving, that blames herself for it happening.
A girl who was born into the wrong life.
A guy who gets taken out of one world just to be put into another one that he does not belong to.
Bullied.
Drugs.
Drinking.
Death.
Heartbreak.
Love.
Cheating.
Divorce.
Family.
Murder.
Rape.
Cutting.
Suicide.
Anorexia.
Depression.
I've seen it all.
I've heard it all.
And I've written it all, at one point ot another.
But I've never planned how to write it.
I've never written a single draft down, only to scrap it.
I've written words that will all be used in the final product.
I commit myself to a work and I work until it is finished.
Because I did not choose to be a writer.
The characters chose me to write their stories.
I am simply the author of the moment.
Waiting for the words, the voices, the characters to speak for themselves.
Rewriting the lives of several people.
Hurting myself and everyone around me.
I just keep pushing. . .
I just keep digging. . .
I just keep trying. . .
I just keep writing. . .
I want a story of love.
I want a story of loss.
I want a story of adventure.
I want a story of growth.
I want a story. . .
It's there, in my head, in my mind.
But to get onto the paper, onto the screen.
In my own words, I can't do it.
No matter how many times I try.
It's just not happening.
And it hurts.
Not just me. . .
But them, my characters.
Yes, my characters. . .
They have feelings. . .
They have thoughts. . .
They have emotions. . .
It is them that I truely write for--
Not for myself.
Not for my family.
Not for the fans of my writing I hope to (one day) have.
I write for them, my characters.
Their stories that need to be told.
Of heartbreak.
Of love.
Of overcoming obstacles.
It's the real, true reason why I write.
Their stories come to me.
Their voices.
Their words.
Their lives.
It comes to me and I grab a pen.
Or the keyboard.
And it just happens. . .
The story just unfolds right before my eyes.
I do not know the story until it is written down.
I have never planned a story in advance.
And if that means I'm stuck writing the same story for the rest of my life.
Then so be it.
Because that is the cross that I must bear.
That is the curse that I gave myself.
I am the author of the moment.
The characters tell me their stories.
The plots, voices and emotions appear in my mind.
They become me and I become them.
And their stories appear on the screen in front me.
Lightning from my fingertips.
More magic than any witch can do.
I do not write stories.
I do not write novels.
I do not write books.
I tell the tales of people's lives.
Fictional people but somewhere, maybe there is someone that can relate to this fictional character.
I've done it with books that I've read.
Movies I've watched.
People that I'ved admired.
So maybe when these stories are finished.
And they're finally published.
It's not only the characters that will end up benefiting for all of my heartache.
Maybe there will be that girl, or that guy.
That will read my (their) words and they'll feel it in their souls.
And they'll wonder: "How does she know?"
How does this author know what it's like to be me?
A girl whose father cheated on her mother.
A guy whose mother died when he was too young.
A girl who cannot remember part of her life.
A girl whom was raped.
A girl who did drugs.
A guy who was accused of something so horrible that it kills him to look in the mirror and see the scar that reminds him that it still happened.
The witness to a murder.
The brother of the murdered.
A girl that was in a car accident, that was driving, that blames herself for it happening.
A girl who was born into the wrong life.
A guy who gets taken out of one world just to be put into another one that he does not belong to.
Bullied.
Drugs.
Drinking.
Death.
Heartbreak.
Love.
Cheating.
Divorce.
Family.
Murder.
Rape.
Cutting.
Suicide.
Anorexia.
Depression.
I've seen it all.
I've heard it all.
And I've written it all, at one point ot another.
But I've never planned how to write it.
I've never written a single draft down, only to scrap it.
I've written words that will all be used in the final product.
I commit myself to a work and I work until it is finished.
Because I did not choose to be a writer.
The characters chose me to write their stories.
I am simply the author of the moment.
Waiting for the words, the voices, the characters to speak for themselves.
Published 5th Nov 2014
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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The author encourages honest critique.
5th Nov 2014 12:39pm
6th Nov 2014 11:37pm
Thank you, it's something that I've been wanting to write for a very long time. The title was inspired by a lyric in the song "Happily Ever After" by He Is We. But otherwise I'm glad you liked it, it took me a long time to get those feelings out into words.
- Paige Rider
- Paige Rider
