My Writing Style?

This is a different post! I wanted to get your opinion on my writing style. The following are just two small extracts of something I wrote. I know it’s bad (I haven’t edited it that much) and out of context, for you, but try to look past that and instead, criticise the way that I write. 😂 I’m open to opinions, don’t be afraid to hurt my feelings. I’m literally begging you to insult (or compliment 😏) my writing. Would you read a book that had this writing style? Is it difficult to read? What’s something that you would change about it? Etc, etc…

Here we go…


Extract One

There were faint murmurings and flinched faces before the explosive bang.

In Lili’s perspective – earphones plugged in, nonchalant about the bang snaps and hyena shrieking infant minded boys.


The autumn leaves crunched under the smooth wheels of Lili’s bike. The wind whistled through her hair, sun spotlights beating against her rich caramel skin. That’s how Lili wanted to picture it anyway. Instead, her squeaky bike meandered through the cliques and milling students, their faces as dismal as the God forsaken misty morning. Although, it was hard to really see what was going on from her oversized beanie, fringing over her eyes. It looked like the finishing result of a bored grandma with a knitting kit, watching the Discovery Channel on pandas. It didn’t help that Lili’s hand made regular disappearances into her pocket and slid back out with a handful of fruit loops, which only made her bike wobble more. She, however, wasn’t the least bit bothered by it.

Nonetheless, that one face, always that one face, was stormy and electrified enough to show they were bothered by it. Riah – the human menstrual cramp. With a chalky, exasperated face, she darted Lili a murderous look as she cruised on her bike towards her. With her everchanging My Little Pony hair and, today, a dark ‘Team Guy Who Almost Hit Bella With A Car’ T-shirt, Lili could easily spot her and her uninviting expression.

“Look where you’re going, Pisslord!” Her raspy voice blurted out.

“Woah. Who ate your bowl of sunshine this morning, Riri?” Lili smiled, anxiously, swerving around Riah.

“Call me that again and I’ll shove a cactus down your throat.”

Lili’s nervous twinkle were now clenched teeth, her eyes grown and twitching. She pedalled, with all the power she could rake up, down the path as far from the girl, glancing back every now and again in precaution of what seemed like inevitable death. “I love high school.”


Wandering down the school paths on campus, with a regain of tranquillity – as close as you could get to it in high school – it was normal for Lili to disregard the hanging Converses on the trees and the tie dye kids strumming strings and singing Kumbaya. Even the differences that created big divisions between groups didn’t bother her anymore. Everyone seemed to be in clusters: from the cheerleaders, who were flashing much more than just bright pom-poms, to the I’m-Not-Your-Ordinary-Teenager outcasts, who never fit into anything. It didn’t even dawn on her how there were still people crying over not having the Charizard Pokémon card yet also people on the second trimester of their unwanted pregnancies.

What did linger in her mind, though, was whether there would be any spaces on the cycle stands left for her.


And this extract…


Extract Two

One minute she was just a white lab coat and curiosity.

The next, she was plunged into regret, pleading for her life. Scintillating spots of colour blinked in her blurred vision like out of focus fairy lights, as her neck jerked side to side. Crowd to crowd. Phone flashes streaked through the late-night darkness. She could see flushed faces yet fiery eyes. Eyes fixed on her. More white showing than usual.

There were several metres between her and the circling congregation like it was a wall of safety. Or segregation. She felt the world caving in on her; the buildings, the traffic lights, the streetlamps, the stars, edging their way closer and closer to her.

The icy air spiked at her chalked cheeks and fingers, but nothing was more merciless than the excruciating crushing in her head. Her palms struck against her temples, eyes fastened shut. “Help me.” The words whistled with the biting breeze. “Help.” She bearded more force this time as the words caught in her dry throat. But it wasn’t enough. They heard, but they didn’t listen.

Staggering forward, the wide road rumbled as if there were a beast awakening underground. Ready to break free. A series of screams wailed out whilst people stumbled back, but it was still all muffled and fuzzy to her. Reality felt like a whirl of flickering lights and murmuring noise. Questions darted back and forth in her mind, racing. Nothing was slow enough to pin down, nothing made sense as her mind twirled into knots and tangles. That’s when she heard the alarmed bellow.

“Hold your fire.”

It was in that moment she felt grounded to Earth. Red and blue engulfed her, and she could sense guns all aimed in her direction. Despite the uniformed man, stretching one arm out while the other told her to stay still, all her pupils could fixate on was somebody else. Him. He was the centre of her tunnel vision, lingering within the ignorance and crave of everybody else. They hooked gaze, the amber streetlights glinting in their vanquished eyes. Sorry.


What do you think?









Into the obscurity of the night.


Flaming with ambition

Illuminating with hope.


No one knows where they’re going

But they’ll be travelling into the twilight

And further into dusk.


Luckily they’ll replace the absence of the stars

except they’ll be


              w                                 r

s                          i                               l


                        g                     n




                a           n                            i         n
d                                       c                                         g


in the icy breeze.


It all started with the touch of human hands

yet there is so much freedom within this


L A N T E R N.


In honour of the lantern festival, I wrote this poem. Honestly, it’s pretty rubbish but I enjoyed doing it so I don’t care. 🙂


Go on an adventure.

-Shay :3

Mrs Potato Head.



Kids forever, kids forever.

Baby soft skin turns into leather.

Don’t be dramatic, it’s only some plastic.

No one will love you if you’re unattractive.

Is it true that pain is beauty?

Does a new face come with a warranty?

Will a pretty face make it better?

Mr Potato Head, do you swear you’ll stay forever, even if her face don’t stay together?

It’s such a waste. When little girls grow into their mothers face.

But little girls are learning how to cut and paste and pucker up their lips until they suffocate.

Mrs potato Head tell me, is it true that pain is beauty?


I thought those lyrics were very meaningful. They’re lyrics from Mrs Potato Head by Melanie Martinez (She’s fucking awesome! Excuse my French XD )


Go on an adventure.

-Shay :3


Miss Book Thief is a genius with words. Her poems are so meaningful! Go follow her! 😀

Literature Is My Porn

To N, its been 13 years since you walked through that door in that orange dress, and I still can’t imagine finding someone I’d love more

She wore sorrow, wrapped around her like a blanket

And a crown, made of heartache.

She wore clothes made of fine threads

That had been weaved from grief

And she wore anguish, in a

Necklace around her neck.

She wore shoes that were fashioned with fear

And bracelets dipped in unhappiness.

She wore her insecurities, in a

Scarf around her neck

And loneliness, in a belt around her waist.

She was a crazy kind of brave, wearing

All her imperfections on the outside

For everyone to see.

No one could break her, for

She wore pain, with grace that would

Put a ballerina to shame.

-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore

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You see that small window,

We could escape.

If we were thinner,



They’ve never understood,

Because they’re ignorant.

Trapped in their ‘reality’,

Refusing to see us.


Everything has its reasons,

But they’re too scared to listen.

We’re smarter,

That’s why they don’t understand.


You can see the moon now,

Shining in the darkness.

The clouds swirling,

In the mystery of the sky.


They can see it too,

But they do nothing but look.

They’re lost souls,

Obsessed with their meaningless lives.


We could escape,

but what’s worse?


or there?



The Voice.

 Since it’s the spooky month, October, I decided to post a few “horror” stories and pieces of writing.

I wrote this story a long while ago, along with a few others. They’re based on real life articles, that I took and turned into a short story/few paragraphs. XD

It’s not the best piece of writing I’ve done but I did do it a long time ago so bare with me! 🙂


We were there, lying like a normal couple. Me and him, my boyfriend. We laid on the sheets of the bed, in darkness, just thinking. Not so normal, I suppose, but we did that often because we felt in touch when we just sat (in this case we laid) and thought about things. About us. He rolled over and hugged me tight but it felt like there was a cold feeling between us. Like evil. Regardless, of the feeling, I hugged him back, tight but I could still feel the evil, cold feeling in the room. As if it was the devil’s work. Then it came to a point where it freaked me out. I asked him if he could feel it too-the evil feeling. He agreed.


He called his friend, Matt, who was studying to be a youth pastor, and told him about the horrible coldness and feeling bombarding the room and us. So my boyfriend put the phone on speaker and placed it on the coffee table. We sat in front of it, closing our eyes, trembling in utter silence as Matt prayed for us. It was a fact-coming from Matt anyway-that praying would get rid of any bad spiritual work and that we would be okay. He prayed and prayed and we sat there, still freaked out but still quiet.


Soon, he was finished and sounded a little disrupted like we were carless that he helped us get rid of ‘it’.


“Were you talking while I was praying? You were supposed to stay silent.” Matt said, a little aggravated.

“No! Why would we do that?” I answered, confused.

“Someone was saying stop to me while I was praying for you.” He said.


In seconds, my boyfriend clicked with fright, and drove straight home.



Game Over.






You press play game,
And you enter this world,
At first you venture through,
And explore what it holds,


You’ve passed level one,
And two and three,
You’re at level fourteen now,


And the game’s getting hard,
Everything seems so difficult,
And you think,
It’s going to get harder,


You blame it all on the monsters,
But you know it’s actually your fault,
You’re getting hurt now,
Badly and slowly,


You’re about to lose,
Since you have no hope,
Of finding the end,
And winning the goal,
Your score is depleting,
And you’re weakening by the minute,


Now it’s game over,
But something’s wrong,
There’s no ‘Play Again’ button.

A Letter I Wrote To Myself About Getting Fat

I thought that this post was worded so wisely and beautifully, it could make so many people feel confident!

Put On Your Happy Face

Screen Shot 2015-06-28 at 16

Shall we talk about your body?

Your body, which used to be thinner. Which you took for granted, because it fitted into cheap, tight dresses. Your body, which took you up and down Brixton Hill, every day, twice a day, never unheralded by catcalls, the stream of men and their “Oh baby hey baby nice tits nice ass hey WHERE YOU GOING?”

Your body was a girl’s body, made from dancing and late nights and skipped dinners, of hopefulness and sleeplessness and sadness. It took care of itself, or rather, you didn’t care that it couldn’t. It wasn’t for you, and so you didn’t mind that you couldn’t always afford to feed and nurture it. The admiration of others was nourishment enough. You often went to bed feeling empty. You thought it was heartbreak. It was probably hunger.

Then your body became plump with love.

Late dinners and later breakfasts…

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Fire and Ice.


I am of a crackling nature,

Destruction has always been a goal,

Eradicating obstacles in my path,

Conjuring embers and flames.

The snapping branches,

And burnt down leaves,

Become stranded sediments of my past,

And victims of my suffering rampage.

Ashes fly by until I see,

The beauty of my opposite nature,

Many soft flakes, all unique,

The admired features of snow.

Only minutes to spare,

I spread my joy,

Trying to melt the blanket of softened ice,

Dying of my frozen surroundings.

Ice has won this battle,

Leaving me alone,

So many humans look rejoiced,

As I, fire, am ashes.


I wrote this a while back and just found it, recently. Some of it is a bit weird and I guess I was just anxious to finish writing the poem so it’s not the best but I liked the concept. 🙂 And it has a deeper meaning 😉





Voodoo Doll.





Your lips are stitched,

Otherwise you’d have lots to say,

Your button eyes glisten,

In the bright  light of day,

Made of tattered fabric,

Sometimes I feel sorry for you,

But that’s when I forget that,

Bringing pain is all you do,

You sit on that shelf,

A pin through your tiny heart,

You’re used to it now,

Since you were like that from the start,

You cannot escape,

From the wicked evil you contain,

All around you, things are falling

Like an unexpected shower of rain,

Stuck as you are,

You wish you could run away,

Immortal and torn apart,

A voodoo doll, you will stay.


This is terrible but I gave it my best shot XD!