Mya Doerksen
Bio
Hi there, I'm a student, a writer and an aspring author. At the moment I'll mostly be posting shorts, school assignments or challenge submissions.
Stories (25)
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Short Talk on Identity
I wanted to be Cinderella, so I dreamed of her ballgown. The blue enchanted me into its depths, and I wanted to drown. When I found her at Prom Forever, I silently wept. How disappointing it is to grow up dreaming of slim princesses only to find the unflattering feeling of wearing what’s not made for your figure. I bought a green sweater at Ardenes and I realized the colour that fit me; The colours that made me sparkle. I remember admiring the trees on long bus rides, and tickling blades of grass on sunny days. An element some believe to be ugly but surrounds our life and nature. When I bought my sage dress, I was doubtful and unsure, but I now notice its beauty, just as it noticed me.
By Mya Doerksen2 years ago in Poets
Short Talk on being an Insomniac Dream Addict
I toss and turn under colourful covers, my attempts to rest peacefully under white noise ignored by stubborn human functions. I restlessly press my eyes together, desperately distracted by the stars that shoot across my mind; I cling to them, hoping they’ll fly me away. Instead, I examine them in the dark hours, delaying the drift. When the clocks pass to AM I’m still here, dreaming with eyes wide open. The other night I could not pull my gaze away from the image of singing a flowerful melody for packed bleachers and theatre seats. Wandering with the feelings of ecstatic excitement, I promptly sat up to write this piece.
By Mya Doerksen2 years ago in Poets
Short Talk on my Reflection
I’ve discovered that time travel and the epitome of magic begins with our reflection, the tugging urge to press our fingertips against the clear glass and melt into another world. Were people as enchanted by rusted silver as we are with our bathroom fixtures? In the evening, I lock myself in the bathroom, when every sound is asleep. I gaze at the figure in mismatched pyjamas and flip a coin to decide whether to smile or cry. I fix my fingers through the folds of soft cheap fabric and impulsively clean the counters to procrastinate my bodily needs. Sometimes the anger boils so hot I come inches away from 7 years of bad luck. Instead, I splash the cold water over my many faces and fingers and decide it's time for bed.
By Mya Doerksen2 years ago in Poets
Sonder
I'm just a barista. Coffee-stained clothes and burnt hands are my accessories. A man sits in the corner our local café, alone at a two-seated table. He refuses to order anything, staring longingly at the window, clinging onto the hope that an imaginative lover would turn the corner. When he decides to leave, I’ll pour his black coffee. He’ll walk home, head low, and clumsily bump into an old friend.
By Mya Doerksen2 years ago in Poets
Gnasche
In the corner of your slanted room, we sit on your striped armchair. I lay sideways on your lap, a scarf draped across you. A weighted blanket pushed me closer. I rest my head on your chest and turn to the bright colour of your laptop, the sounds of laughter and rolling dice emanating from the screen. I’m miles away from home but never have I felt more at peace, exchanging soft touches and sweet affections. We smile and squeeze closer, the collision of beings never wanting to separate. Being here in the ironic innocence of your bedroom is where I feel at home, affixed in your embrace and consuming your magnificent essence. I wish to melt into you, become one with your flesh, and drench in your warmth forever.
By Mya Doerksen2 years ago in Fiction
Nightmarish Undead Band, You Quiet Hourglass
Bathed in incandescent light & a shower of sprinklers, the drum thundered patternly while a mannequin sang centerstage. Shattering our neck in pendulum-like motion, it accrues within us like hellbent harmony: we can’t breathe until they stop playing.
By Mya Doerksen2 years ago in Poets
