Lauren Grossman's Collection of Creative, Deep Writing

A Collection of Creative, Deep Writing

By: Lauren Grossman

Alphabet Soup

She can’t figure out the words, and they are all scrambled up.

She gets angry and feels like steam is coming through her brain

Her grades are lowering

And she feels helpless

Her anxiety is getting worse.

“I thought that’s what the word said,” she cries.

But on and on her face is red.

She feels scrambled up and confused.

Is dyslexia this hard? This confusing?

Being made fun of is the last thing she wants.

But not just dyslexia, but being made fun of and scared, is horrible.

She feels completely scrambled.

Just like Alphabet Soup.

My Balloon

My feelings felt like a balloon, that they would just stay for a little bit, then soon eventually sink, and flow away.

Well they did, because you hurt them.

I thought that my balloon was everlasting.

I thought you cared about my balloon.

I thought that my balloon did nothing wrong.

I thought all the comments you said about my lovely balloon, no matter if it was the color, or shape, or what it was like, was true.

My balloon feels like it’s popping

Popping and popping

It’s losing air!

I thought you could fill it back up!

Please, what did I do?

It’s losing more air

Someone save it, please?

I feel no one cares! Help because-
BOOM!

It popped.

The string is on the floor.

My balloon is dead.

Thrown in the trash.

Nowhere to be found

Why couldn’t you at least care?

Why did you have to do this?

Why did you have to pop my balloon.

And it’s not just my balloon, it’s my feelings, that are popped, into shreds, that are thrown into the trash.

And now I feel, I can’t get another balloon.

Because my balloon was popped, by you.

Thanks for that, really thanks.

Because who knows if I can ever get another balloon again?

It might just be popped, in shreds.

And I can’t go through having another balloon popped, AGAIN.

___________

There was a little girl named Blank. Blank had white hair as the paper, and it didn’t matter what she looked like. No one cared about her. It didn’t matter if she did this or that. What was the point of doing something? It’s like she was invisible. She was the nicest person to everyone, but they didn’t care. So here is Blank, walking in the hallway. There is nothing important of her. She’s just a girl. Why even have a name? She’s just Blank.

Miracles

Dear Tinkerbell,

Hi Tinkerbell, you are a fairy! You can fly, right? Can you do me a favor? Can you go fly up to heaven for me? My daddy is there.  I asked Mommy if we could go visit heaven, but she said no. She said he is better up there. I am so confused. Why can’t I visit my Daddy? I love him, and everytime at this day, we will go to the playground and he would push me on the swing. It’s nice out. It’s kind of chilly, but I think you can manage to come out. Tinkerbell, if you want me to lend you a coat, I can get you one of mine to borrow. It’s green, like what you wear. So it will match. When you go to heaven, can you ask my daddy to give me a visit? I never been to heaven before. What’s it like? Is it big? Is it fun? Is there a playground there? Maybe someone else can take me to heaven. Well, I did ask aunt, and she just cried. I think my daddy and her were brother and sisters. I have an older brother. He reads me stories of you every night. He said you were a nice person and can fly. So I thought you could do me a favor. My big brother doesn’t talk much. I guess he wants to visit daddy too. I asked him if he could take me, and he said there is no possibility. So, will you please go for me, Tinkerbell? There is no way for me to go. I tried so many ways. I tried dressing up like you, and maybe that would make me fly. I tried jumping up so high. I asked mommy if I could go on a plane and go there. She said no. Why is everyone so quiet and not helping me? Tinkberbell, did I do something wrong? Now the best part of my day is my big brother reading me your stories. It’d be cool if I could be in one of your stories. It’s like you make miracles happen. My brother told me what miracles were. That’s why I used a big word. You wouldn’t be mad at me, would you? Well, I think I said enough. Hopefully you can go to heaven. Hopefully I can go there. Thanks Tinkerbell. And, wait, tell daddy one more thing, to come home and I love him.

Love,

Tina, your biggest fan, because you can make miracles happen.

Opposite of Hero

Character Description: A teenager who has a father who overuses alcohol and drugs. She has hair tied up with sweatpants and t-shirt on. She is upset and carrying a suitcase, about to leave the house.

Setting: Living room with the air smelling of alcohol, near the door, about to leave.

Teenager:

Everyone can say that their Dad is a policemen or firefighter. Everyone can say their Dad is successful because they are a lawyer or doctor. Everyone but me can say their Dad is a hero. Want to know why? Because they aren’t such big alcoholics and drug users like you! Every night they get to say goodnight to their father with a kiss and a hug! But no, I have to wake up to you hung over on the couch, not even realizing who I am. I have to smell your horrible breath and see your bloodshot eyes. I have to cook food for myself because you’re all drowsy from all the pills. And I have no freaking mother because you were a horrible husband to her. We have no idea how she left because she wanted to get away from you. Do you see how hurt I am? My mother lied to be because she said she was just going to go out for errands. Well unless she has been in traffic for 6 months, or she was buying a whole load of crap, well I don’t think that it was just “errands.” She left her own daughter with a life of a living hell. I thought people’s dads are heroes to them. But no, mine is a bunch of garbage. I don’t care what you say. I have to walk into the door from school and not even get a “Hey, how’s school?” But no! I just get a snore and sit in my room all night doing nothing. I think you just don’t understand. And you’re just sitting there with no expression whatsoever. You’re oldest son doesn’t even visit you because he doesn’t want to be near you and he feels he has no father! Well, neither do I! Your son is only someone I have to talk to. But I can’t because he is at college. I can’t even talk to my own darn father! So go ahead and stuff your face with drinks and drugs because I am not going to help you. Everyone says their Dad is an awesome person, but mine, mine, I just want to throw them away. So I am leaving. And don’t stop me. No, go away. You only might care now because you’re not drinking or on drugs. I think I will go live with your brother, who does give a damn about you. But you won’t let anyone. You give excuses from everyone. Well you know, your brother is more of a dad then you are. Go ahead and try to stop me, because you NOT being a hero is never going to change. You’re the opposite of a hero. (Picks up suitcase, opens door, and leaves).

This is a collection of writings from poems to monologues. Hope you enjoy this! I am hoping to post 2 parts of my story soon if I can find the first part! This was my first big thing I had to do when it came to writing rough drafts in writing class. This expresses my emotions and some pieces are fictional. Enjoy the deep writing! (: