The Art Of Write.
by chantel williams
Typeface
Monday July 21, 2014

I want a kind of love where
I have to type in italics 
To emphasize how much


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Ere
Monday July 7, 2014

You thought you could touch me like before,
After all this time, you thought it’d be just how you left it
Between the years I wouldn’t mend it
That I would always be wrapped in it
But I had to untangle myself

And even though back then I couldn’t admit it,
I loved you,
That never ended.

Had to walk through fire just to feel it
Came out burned but wouldn’t take it back for a minute

I see you and it all comes rushing back in an instant

I only wanted you
And you don’t let me forget it

And now we’re here
After all these years

You spotted me from across the room
A party for past lovers lost too soon

Walked over with a smile
Expecting a smile in return,
That was always your cue
Little did you know you walked over without a clue

Hands went for my shoulder and pulled me closer
Arms wrapped around my neck like a choker
I stood there as you tried to get my body warmer
You held me tighter but I just got colder

There was no movement,
There was just you
My body was a boulder, stillness took over
And there was just you

You thought that you could touch me like before
But this is not before

And I let you know it

Watched as your face contorted
Confusion poured from your eyes
Tears threatened to burst from mine
But I held them in

Had to pretend

I always thought it would be you,
But it was I

Walked away from the scene of the crime
Never looked back
And now it’s only yellow tape and dotted lines

Here you are
Once again

And I’m no longer the one fighting
I’m not afraid to admit it
I love you

You feel it all come rushing back in an instant
I only wanted you and you pray I don’t forget it

Walk through the fire just to feel it
Burn but you wouldn’t turn back a single minute
Just to touch me like before

Lay over my body and keep me warm
Show me all the words you couldn’t form
Pero esto no es antes
Eres demasiado tarde
Yo sabía que no era el único uno

Creo que es seguro decir, now you know.
Ser libre, déjame
This is not before.


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Comfort Inn Ending | Jhene Aiko

Inspiration behind Ere


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The Night Owl, In Her Purest Form
Sunday July 6, 2014

She likes times like this; two a.m.

She feels more in tune with the night than she ever has with the day - not to say she doesn’t appreciate it. Really, the only time she can’t fathom is after three p.m., it’s the most indecisive part; not quite the inception, nor the expiration.

The darkening of the sky is when she eases herself in, fully encompassed by the dead of night. She feels light in the dark, anything weighing her down abandoning her for the morning.

It’s when she feels most accompanied; the lone ranger, though hardly ever lonely. Something in the twilight makes her feel less unattached, even if she were never feeling so. 

It’s the opportune occasion for the finest conversations; honest ones, naked ones. She’s told anecdotes she never would have otherwise, under glittering stars and cool crisp air. She’s heard tales she’d never thought she’d hear, from those she’d never think to encounter. Sometimes never again to be spoken about but often times only to be revisited in the comfort of the night. 

A certain rarity occurs, where she lets herself miss those who don’t necessarily deserve to be missed - or mourned. It’s okay for her to long for them in the quiet, where she is not judged, or reprimanded - just mindful. She gives herself permission to reminisce over moments once shared, free of internal debates of whether or not those were moments wasted or nostalgia gained. 

Melodies are much more pleasant, clearer; there’s something remarkable about listening to your favorite sounds in the midst of such a specific calmness; another kind of serene. 

People are often perplexed by her attire, bold in style, but basic black - it’s what’s she’s most comfortable in and really, there is no concrete reason to support why. But I believe it all ties into her love affair with the night. A cloak of midnight armor coating her body, comforting her, protecting her, keeping her together; bringing the night with her wherever she goes, keeping it close.

She loves the sunshine, the warmth, the brightness. She enjoys the act of the sunrise, the dawning of something new.

But at the end of the day, give her night.


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Flotation Devices II
Monday June 16, 2014

I am not dead, I have not joined you.
I swam a million oceans, but I made it to shore.


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Excerpts From An Unintentional Memoir - Entry# 2
Sunday June 15, 2014

August 12, 2010

It’s in the wee hours of the morning when it’s different.

I’m not angry, just vulnerable.

It’s when all those insecure thoughts make their way in, thoughts that wouldn’t be tolerated during the day. Thoughts like “what did I do?”, “what could I have done?”, “it was me that pushed you away..

I always end up nitpicking at things in the past, things about me that aren’t the most flattering. All in search for something,some reason, to explain this. But really, I know I did my best and gave everything I could. Even when it feels like I was the cause, I know better. It’s why I’m so hurt and disappointed because I know I was better and at some point I just wasn’t getting the same things back.

At first, all I did was go backwards. I’d think about everything from beginning to end and now, it just hurts to think. I’ve been keeping myself busy trying not to go there. There are nights I won’t sleep but I’ll feel fine, you aren’t even an issue - yet still, I’m wide awake.

Last night was the first time in a month I got a full nights sleep. Maybe that means progress. Or all that restlessness is finally catching up to me.

Still I lie awake asking myself, “has someone else been in that bed since? Have I already been replaced?”

I hate the feeling that you’re not missing me.

I don’t want to miss you if it’s not mutual.


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Excerpts From An Unintentional Memoir - Entry#1
Thursday December 26, 2013

May 6, 2008

For years, I’ve had this same reoccurring numbness in my fingertips and I always think, “where did all the feeling go?”

I’ve felt like I haven’t written anything significant or inspiring in so long. There was a time when I’d look back on things that I had written and think to myself, “who wrote this?” and I’d believe it was a person who was on the edge of incredible - no way the author could be me.

I’d write about my daily bores and such, but there were just those times where I’d get it right. Then… I’m not sure what happened. It’s almost like those glimpses of excellence started to slowly die. Part of me is afraid that it’s escaped me completely. When was it that it happened? Am I that broken that I can’t keep up with the one thing that kept me together? I used to be so fearless, reading my words used to be like seeing me naked. Now, I feel like all I write is an itinerary.

I’ve been hurt, by people I loved so much and I think as a reflex, I hide my heart. When I take my thoughts to paper, I mirror the same trepidation. I don’t want to be hidden out of reflex.

I want passion again. About anything. On a subconscious level, I think I’ve been looking for someone to ignite that passion back into me. Or maybe it’s only I that can do it for myself.

Whether with another or singular - the question is, how?


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PS.
Thursday December 26, 2013

I feel as though I have neglected the Cut & Paste Project, so I have decided to revive it for a few reasons.

I.) I’m still in that semi-uninspired “stuck" place and instead of staring at my computer screen and failing to come up with something new, I’d feel better exercising my creative muscles by combing through my personal archives and editing/adding on to something that was already there.

II.) In order for me to get more comfortable (read: less terrified) with people reading things I put my whole heart and soul to, I figured posting excerpts from my actual journals would be a good starting point.

Besides, I’ve always felt the best writing comes from a real, personal place so I’m going to go there and see what I come back with.

If you’d like to browse through what has been posted in the series so far (which is not much) you can visit my Cut & Paste tag here: http://theartofwrite.tumblr.com/tagged/Cut-And-Paste-Project

xx.


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A Few Words
Thursday December 26, 2013

Let me start off by saying Thank You to those who have graced me with the kindest words of appreciation for the things I write. It certainly means a lot to me and even though I have struggled with what feels like a lifetime of writers block, I still strive to work through it and better myself as a  writer/reader.

This year I’ve made quite a bit of progress compared to where I was when I first started this blog. I managed to write my first “official” short story, I became more comfortable with poetry and was able to stumble upon a few people who have been nothing but encouraging motivators in my quest to become the writer I’ve always wanted to be. Though, I’m not quite there yet, knowing I’m on the way is good enough for me. This time next year, hopefully, I’ll be able to say I’m even closer - but for now I want to revel in the fact that I’m here, and honestly, I couldn’t have done that without you guys, so thank you.

Love & Light.

See you in 2014.

Chantel


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Saturday October 26, 2013

Take you straight,
Even when we’re on the rocks.


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