Basic creative stuff

[Floyd Pinkerton]

I do so many different things in the way of crafts that I'm just opening one blog thread rather than a thread in creative corner, poetry, creative writing, etc.

This is where my songs/song covers, poetry, writing prompts, novel excerpts, photography highlights, and other crafty things will be documented. I do a wide variety of things so this is going to be a very broad-spectrum thread.

I'll start out by posting one of my poems and a few of my pictures.


Trigger warning for EDNOS, anorexia, bulimia, alcohol, smoking, suicide mention, and self-harm

Ages

7. I’m a normal, happy little kid. I blow bubbles and colour and play with my Barbies and everything is perfect. My cousin always talks about makeup and exercise but I don’t know why.
9. I learn what “fat” is when the kids at school tell me my stomach bulges out too far and I learn what “ugly” is when my cousin tells me why I need makeup and I learn what “useless” is when my dad yells at me for not cleaning my room or getting an A.
11. Middle school starts and I wonder why the boy I’m in “love” with doesn’t have any interest in me. I wonder if it’s because I don’t look like the thin, pretty girl he likes. I start to look at teen magazines and search diet tips online.
12. I spend half of my lunch sitting in the bathroom with my fingers down my throat while I pray why God why? WHY can’t I look like them!?
13. My boyfriend breaks my heart when he dumps me after I show him the gouges and burns on my wrist and up my arm like a rough sketch of a road map.
15. I spend my birthday in the mental hospital with the staff monitoring everything I eat and being watched in the bathroom so I don’t make myself throw up or kill myself.
16. I think I’m better but rage is building up inside me and I just don’t want to deal with it anymore.
17. I relapse and count my calories during math class while I slap a rubber band against my wrist so my hunger pangs just stop, just stop, just stop. I wonder when I’ll finally put the gun to my head.
19. My breath reeks of alcohol as I gag with my fingers down my throat to get rid of the 400 calories I ate that day. I write and rewrite my suicide note in my head 5 times a day as I breathe in the smoke that makes my pain stop.
I sleep.
I go through the motions and I get drunk again.
Maybe one day there will be a successful end to this poem. Maybe one day I’ll see that I am NOT defined by the size of my waist and that I deserve to take up the space that I do and that I am WORTH more than 700 calories a day.
I wonder, when my mother was pregnant with me, if she pictured a completely different life for me.

[Floyd Pinkerton]

Some pictures

[Seraphin]

Welcome to your little corner here Floyd!

Are those your photography! They are gorgeous!

And please don't hate or hurt yourself. You have your own beauty. Please offer yourself love, comfort and acceptance rather than hatred and pain. I think it is better for you to surround yourself with people (even one person) who care about you, respect you, listen to you, and love you. You are worth it and deserve nothing less!

The fact is that you were not born hating yourself or feeling ugly, fat or unlovable! Some other folks in your life just treated you in manner that makes you feel the way you do right now but don't let them continue doing it. Done let them control your perception. You have your own.

[Floyd Pinkerton]

Unfortunately a lot of stuff that will go in here with my poetry and songs and stuff will be kinda pain-filled. Rough life and all that.

Here's some more pictures to lighten the mood a bit

[Floyd Pinkerton]

Have a cover I did.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-1Lnku ... 05mHsBQbSQ

[Floyd Pinkerton]

Part 1 of a novel I'm writing.

I tapped my pencil on my desk. Repeatedly. Tap, tap, tap. The date etched into the dull chalkboard said September 7th, 2011. Anxiously, I glance around the classroom. The rain slammed against the windows, sounding like drums, and the crashes of thunder afterword sounded like the cymbals at the end of the drumroll. Lightning flashed every now and then, illuminating the darkened classroom for just moments at a time. The dim light of the projector shone in front of me while students behind me shifted in their seats. I looked behind me, out the window at the rain, which poured down without indication of stopping anytime soon.
The shrill, dinging sound of a notification ringtone sounds. The noise cut through my rain-induced trance and startled me back into reality.
“Oh, it's my son,” she smiled. Along with running, hiking, and general nature activities, her sons were one of my teacher's favorite topics to discuss.
“Their school is having an early dismissal because of the rain. Isn't that kind of ridiculous? It's only a little rain!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes ever so slightly.
I wished so badly that she had been right.
Rain continued to come down, bludgeoning the earth into a soggy mud puddle. It didn't stop the rest of that class. It didn't stop the rest of that school day.
The last class of the day was activity period. I always spent that time in a friend's homeroom where we joked around and rarely did homework, like we were supposed to. The bright classroom made the outside world look even more dark and scary, but made me feel safe inside. I shifted on my stool to face away from the windows so I could ignore the storm. At this point, my friend started pressing the reset button on the outlet in the lab table where we were sitting.
“Stop doing that; you're going to blow something up,” I joked.
Lightning struck the school mere seconds later. I saw a blinding flash out of the corner of my eye, and the noise that subsequently sounded was so great the ground shuddered beneath me. All the lights, even the backup lights that were hooked up to the generator, went out and turned back on a few seconds later, and the fire alarms sounded. Hearing the fire alarms, students filed out of their classrooms and headed for the nearest exits, thinking the school was on fire. A voice came on the loudspeaker telling students to return to their homerooms. I'd had about enough excitement for the day.
When the last bell rang students ran to their buses with jackets, book bags, and books held over their heads to keep from being pelted with rain. I, along with them, hurried to my bus for some shelter.
I had no idea just what I was going home to.
See, it had rained a good portion of the day before. In fact, it had rained a good portion of the entire week before; we had just gotten the remains of Hurricane Irene, and now we were getting the remains of Tropical Storm Lee. It had rained overnight. It had rained that morning while I was getting ready for school.
I awoke at my not-so-usual five in the morning to my dad calling for me from downstairs in the kitchen. Groggily, I fumbled my way down the steps into the kitchen, where I noticed my dad was missing. I heard his voice coming from another floor below, telling me to join him in the basement. When I got there, he told me I needed to take all of my clothing baskets, both clean and dirty, upstairs into my bedroom.
I opened my mouth to protest, thinking he wanted me to do chores. It was 5:00 am, I was half asleep, and I really didn't want to deal with mundane chores at that point in time.
“Look at the drain,” he cut me off.
We have a French drain in our basement. It's basically just a hole in the floor, maybe about four inches in diameter. Because of this, almost anything that can go down the drain can also come back up. Most of the time, that would be water. I looked down into the drain and I could see the water line where the groundwater was starting to come up into our house.
We were used to this. Our house is about one eighth of a mile away from a major creek in the area. Whenever it rains a lot, the water in the creek breaks its banks and the groundwater rises up through the drain in the floor. We often see the creek in the neighbor's yard or get little puddles of water in our basement after a big rain storm. I wasn't too concerned that morning, but I took my laundry baskets upstairs to my room anyway.
The rain didn't cease all day and that's when I started to get nervous. The bus ride home was awful. Farmers' fields looked like lakes. Small streams had turned into full-blown rivers and blocked off streets to the point that even my bus couldn't get through to take students to their stops. Rain cascaded down from the sky so heavily nobody could see. The windshield wipers were moving so fast I was sure they would fly right off the bus. Every single student on that bus had their heads turned to look out the window to see the damage.
Relentless, the downpour didn't stop.
When my bus finally reached my neighborhood and dropped me off I almost thought I would need to swim to get to my house. I live on a dead end street, so when it rains the water has nowhere to go. The street fills up quickly. The water in the street on that day was past my ankles. I could see the creek water, maybe twenty feet from the end of my street, all brown and cloudy and rising closer and closer to the road. I wanted to stop in with my neighbors and see if they were okay or if they needed any help, but my anxiety was getting to me and I needed to beeline it back home.
Now, we had flooded before. It was 2006; we got eight inches of water in our basement. I thought that flood was the worst thing ever because my beloved cat, Sophie, died in that flood. I figured this would be just like that.
I wasn't prepared for what I was about to open the door to.
I walked into the kitchen, set down my bookbag and my purse on my chair at the table, and tiptoed over to the basement door, my shoes making squishy noises as I walked in my soggy socks. I opened the door and flipped the light switch.

[Floyd Pinkerton]

I wrote a song :3

What a way to live
what a way to give
Working for the commanders
just to gain a bit.
Slaving day and night,
your future isn't bright,
earning meager pennies
to the boss's delight.

Well you're stuck at a job
that you've hated for years
working on the machines
that've been oiled with the tears
of the workers.
You're lowly workers.

You're better than them so they
won't give you decent pay
better forget about taking a day
for yourself.
You're grounded here,
a product of the factory line,
branded with the name of the company.
When they're supposed to
give you some peace of mind
they're slowly stealing all of your money.

[chorus]

You lowly workers.