Laydee B Writes
Bio
I’m an observer at heart, always catching moments, conversations, and emotions that spark a story. Ideas follow me everywhere, and I don’t breathe easy until they’re written down.
Through my writing, I hope to leave a lasting impression!
Stories (31)
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A Letter's Life. Top Story - January 2024.
I felt your emotions as you wrote them, pure and heartfelt. Your cool breath sinks into my pores as it whispers across my surface. The ink took some time to dry before you could stuff me into the private walls of an envelope. It’s dark but breathable within its confines. The sound of the envelope roars in your anxious hands. You seem sure but fearful, but more sure than fearful. I like that you’re following your heart.
By Laydee B Writes2 years ago in Fiction
Anger's Point Of View
Settled in the background of every encounter, I am present, waiting to spill over. I am observant but hasty when I am released unto the very person or thing that beckoned me. I am anger in the raw, misplaced, and searching for an outlet. Most times I am neither in the right place nor do I come forth at the right time. I run rapidly within the heart and I race through the mind. Even in my absence, people are aware that I may surface at any given time. It seems that I get the best of those who are unsuspecting. I tend to go rogue in situations that calls for my support, my intervention is a fire that's hard to put out. At times, I can be a domino effect, a leader of destruction. Sometimes I am not seen, but I am heard and I am felt. I am misplaced and don’t know how to balance my footing. I want, no I need an understanding. Very few people are inclined to figure me out, but even with them, the perception of me keeps a fraction of them blindfolded. The contentious dialogue of everyone who describes me has rendered me a threat, a missile ready to explode. I can’t explain myself to anyone, as their understanding of me was never meant for a resolution, but more like an action to quiet my storm and redirect my route. I am an earthquake who shakes the the minds of those within my possession. The focus of my wrath is to destroy any sign of good will or happiness that I may come across. I then ask myself, why must I make other people feel uncomfortable? Why am I misplaced? Why am I misunderstood? It’s as if no one wants to get to the gutter of my wreckage but take pride and tell stories of how they fought me with fire in their tone. I am misplaced because I haven’t been acknowledged for the undercurrent of the matter I represent, but I have been exploited and misjudged. How do I not emerge to a day inside the clumsiest person who steps in a noticeable mud puddle of rainwater? How do I stay hidden when I’m at the theater watching a movie but the person in front of me loudly screams at almost every scene? How do I ignore the fact that the piece of tissue that I’d been unknowingly walking around with on the back end of my shoe is stuck with gum? How do I keep silent when I am provoked? Those questions will go unanswered and I will remain present in the person who has misplaced me. The burning that I'm destined to release is sometimes misguided. I am a brewing war in people's minds and hearts. I am a tsunami of emotions that threaten to swallow anyone who carries me whole. I am a contradiction of strength and weakness. Although I am misplaced, I am a well known stranger in this world. I am present in everyone but tamed by no one. I take pride in the ways that I crash through people’s lives, leaving a trail of destruction in my wake. I am a storm that ravages everything in its path without mercy. I am a force to be reckoned with. To learn to control me is to understand me. I am misplaced but I am fair. I am misplaced and I am timeless. I am a reminder of everything that has gone wrong in people’s lives. Where can I begin if I never end? I am a mirage of opinions and misjudgement. I am a trail of fire to some of the most unexpressed and deepest hurts. I am abashedly misplaced, because in this world, I was already determined but not truly explored.
By Laydee B Writes2 years ago in Fiction
The Contemplating Thief
I reminisced at the joy my mom and I shared while walking through the familiar antique shop. Dean, my mom's dear friend, had always shared stories behind each antique and this time was no different. I listened attentively, sometimes fascinated, sometimes bored.
By Laydee B Writes3 years ago in Fiction
That Small Moment
It was the year 2001 when I was in the fourth grade and struggling to understand multiplication. I had always been a diligent student but lacked not only confidence in my ability to learn but also the knowledge. Mr. Greene, my teacher was kind and friendly, but no matter how long we practiced, I just couldn't seem to grasp the concept.
By Laydee B Writes3 years ago in Motivation
