Poetry

These Letters

“After you were gone, in a place beyond
both space and time, I realized
how much was left unsaid.”

I hold this letter, knowing there’s no worldly destination to send it. It holds all the secrets my heart couldn’t bear to say. All the things I wanted to share, soul to soul. I wanted you to know what you meant to me. I wanted you to see how much I loved you. But in the end, no matter what I said, or what I did, it felt like nothing was ever enough. Especially after you were gone, in a place beyond both space and time, I realized how much was left unsaid. So now, I’ll keep writing in hopes that somehow you’ll find them.

© Sarah Doughty

This was written in response to the #NovemberNotes challenge. Today’s inspiration was Letter Never Sent by Young Summer.

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Poetry

A Little Broken

“We find our strength in coming out the other side.
Wiser. Braver. And yes, even a little broken.”

We never talked much, you see. We didn’t need to. The conversations we could have with our eyes alone was enough to fill the void within us. the holes left behind by the ones that broke us. Left us to rot. But that’s exactly what sets us apart from them. They’re the ones broken in a way that can never touch us. Where they feed off pain to feel powerful — trying desperately to be in control, because giving in leads to a darkness so profound that they feel the need to spread it — we find our strength in coming out the other side. Wiser. Braver. And yes, even a little broken.

© Sarah Doughty

This was written in response to the #NovemberNotes challenge. Today’s inspiration was Great Escape by Gavin James.

Random Thoughts

The Dreaded Block

“The words may be on a break. But they’ll
be back. They always come back.”
Returning

I’m often asked about writer’s block. What to do? How to overcome it? How long will it last? These are all good questions, but they only really need one answer. Keep writing. Every day.

You may feel uninspired, like nothing you put on paper or type on the screen holds any value, but odds are, there is something there. Don’t delete them or throw them away. And the worst thing you can do is to put the pen away and do nothing.

There’s millions of things you can try to wake up your muse, but even if your mind comes up blank, you should write something. Even if it’s only a journal of what happened during your day.

My first fiction novel, Just Breathe, was based on a dream. Back then, I tended to forget my dreams and move on, but I was fortunate enough to journal the next day, and my mind kept going back to that scene. My focus shifted, and the story began to unfold. So, lovelies, don’t ignore your muse when it stirs, you might miss something incredible.

© Sarah Doughty

In the comments, let me know what you do to overcome creative blocks.

Poetry

Wreck

Don’t you see? I’d do anything to keep you safe.

There’s a place for being soft, for being kind, and for being a comfort. But when it comes to things that truly matter — the things that can leave us battered and raw, or headstrong and defiant — there’s nothing wrong with planting our feet, looking someone in the eye, and using the ire in our veins to make sure that we won’t be victims, and we won’t sit idly by in silence either. Because sometimes, little eyes are watching and learning what it means to breathe fire. To be a warrior.

Never a wreck.

© Sarah Doughty

This was also inspired by the incredible Nikita Gill. Her observations of Cersei Lannister from Game Of Thrones.

At the core of Cersei, her actions were always done with her children in mind. For better or worse, monster or not, she put them first, and was willing to do whatever it took to keep them safe, even letting her youngest die with poison, rather than letting him be tortured and eventually killed by the enemy. That is a strong mother. I think being capable of breathing fire to protect our children is admirable.

This was written in response to the #NovemberNotes challenge. Today’s inspiration was Wreck Of The Day by Anna Nalik.

Poetry

Forever Midnight

“I accepted my place in the darkness and made it a home.
Still lost, but still home.”

It’s been years since I’ve seen the light of day. Years trapped in a place of perpetual darkness. A forever midnight, under a blanket of stars and among a land with violent creatures that lurk in the shadows. It took time, but I’ve adapted. Now, my eyes can see. Now, my instincts are heightened and I’ve learned to listen to them. Now, I have a place to lay my head to rest. I accepted my place in the dark wood and made it a home. Still lost, but still home.

© Sarah Doughty

No matter how hopeless your circumstances seem, there’s a way to adapt, there’s room for hope. Don’t give up.

This was written in response to the #NovemberNotes challenge. Today’s inspiration was Midnight by Coldplay.

Poetry

Open Eyes

“Your eyes, they tell me all your secrets.”

Your eyes, they tell me all your secrets. I see the happiness. Those rare moments when you’re unguarded, free. I see the hesitation. Your heart telling you to dive, but your mind cautioning you to wait. And I see the fear. That moment you realized it was too late. For better or worse, you’d fallen. But, darling, I don’t mind. Because I will protect your heart until my last breath.

© Sarah Doughty

This was written in response to the #NovemberNotes challenge. Today’s inspiration was Chariot by Jacob Lee.

Poetry

Possessed

“She wanted him to be hers, like she needed air in her lungs.”

She wanted him to be hers, like she needed air in her lungs. Their entire future together flashed in front of her eyes and she knew he was the one. But she failed to realize that it was all in her head and he was nothing like she imagined. Before she knew it, after a string of excuses, apologies, and forgiveness, she found herself trapped with no way out. The worst part was, she no longer felt like herself, and lacked the strength to try to break free.

© Sarah Doughty

This was written in response to the #NovemberNotes challenge. Today’s inspiration was Possession by Sarah McLachlan.

Poetry

Broken Pedestals

“I wasn’t supposed to be your savior,
but you were the one
that put me on that pedestal.”

Don’t you remember the hell you put me through? You told me that day, as the snow dusted the ground, that you didn’t see a reason to live. That you wanted to be dead. It didn’t matter to me that I was tired. Or that school was in session the following day. I drove to you, that night, and convinced you to go to the hospital. I sat there, long after midnight, in that dim waiting room for someone to tell me they’d helped you. You see, you were alive, and that was all that mattered. But later, you told me that helping you was worse. Because I failed to make you believe you should live. How is that right? To put that kind of pressure on a sixteen-year-old girl? I wasn’t supposed to be your savior, but you were the one that put me on that pedestal. And then you burned it down, with me still on it.

So yes, your words sliced like knives. They burned like acid. And that was my reward for trying to be your friend.

© Sarah Doughty

This was written in response to the #NovemberNotes challenge. Today’s inspiration was Words As Weapons by Birdy.

Poetry

Inconsequential

“Life was filled with inconsequential things.
Like you and me and where
the night would take us.”

I miss how we used to drive through the night, letting the moonlight guide our way. Back when we were young, everything was so much simpler. Life was filled with inconsequential things. Like you and me and where the night would take us. If only we could have a little bit of that carefree life again. Maybe the harshness of reality wouldn’t seem so bad if we could have one night like that again. Or maybe reality would have torn us apart. Maybe that’s what reminiscing is for. Remembering the good days. The past. And letting us hope for something like that again.

© Sarah Doughty

This was written in response to the #NovemberNotes challenge. Today’s inspiration was Headlights by Dave Barnes.

Poetry

Little Things

“You see, it wasn’t one thing that spelled
the end for us. It was all those little things.”

Have we come to this point? Is this really the end of us? Did something so small and inconsequential break down everything we built? Everything that made us real. Everything that made us last. Everything that made up the foundation of us.

Looking back, I see the fault lines, and those tremors that deepened the cracks just a little further over time. You see, it wasn’t one thing that spelled the end for us. It was all those little things. Left unchecked. Left to fester. And before we knew it, always and forever became here and now. A horizon that couldn’t be crossed unless we went our separate ways.

© Sarah Doughty

This was written in response to the #NovemberNotes challenge. Today’s inspiration was Don’t Speak by No Doubt.