BeyondTheTrends

You sit in your room, the dim glow of your desk lamp casting shadows on the empty sketchbook in front of you. It’s been months—maybe even a year—since you’ve touched a pencil with the intent to create, and the thought stings more than you’d like to admit. There was a time when drawing, painting, or sketching was your escape, a world where nothing else mattered. You could spend hours lost in the flow of colors and shapes, pouring your heart into every stroke. Back then, you felt alive—free. But now, it feels like a distant memory, a luxury you no longer have time for. Your schedule is a blur of deadlines, expectations, and responsibilities. School demands perfection. Family expects results. The world moves too fast for you to keep up. The pressure presses down like a weight on your chest, suffocating every ounce of creativity that once flowed so easily. You stare at the blank page, the pencil trembling in your hand. You want to draw, to paint, to bring that part of you back to life. But...

The Shattered Hourglass Time once slipped between us, like sand through an hourglass— steady, quiet, inevitable. Now it shatters. Grains cut the air, sharp as the silence we never meant to hold. Your presence was a lighthouse— bright, unwavering, but drowned beneath waves no ship could outlast. Not yours. Not mine. A storm sent by skies we couldn’t name. Each unspoken word falls like glass shards. I step through them, careful, cautious— yet they still find my skin, leaving marks I’ll never show. What is distance, if not a thief, stealing what could have been with hands unseen? We were not fire, we were not flame. We were smoke, soft, dissolving. And though the hourglass is gone, its grains still linger, tiny, relentless, etching your absence into the marrow of my bones. -Sheeza

the quiet of the dark, A spark dares to dance. Brief but bold, It whispers of chance. It flares in the stillness, A fleeting fire, Yet in its glow, Lies a silent desire. Not every step is measured, Not every move planned, Sometimes the spark ignites, With no map in hand. -Sheeza

 Staring at the ceiling, sight unable to shut my eye, Yet so hurt, the intensity cries. Don’t know what for, or what not, Remorse rolling in, no clue what for. My screams are silent, yet too loud, People seem worried for the thoughts I've buried proud. Waking up to my emotions bound, To the strings holding me confined. Feeling so pressured while being free, Screaming like a bird buried under the crimson tree. The sky so bright, I could take flight, But my wings are tricked, can't seem to get the motion right. The cage might, Strike right, Hold me tight, But too long in it, I may lose the fight.

Hey everyone! Just a quick update on the 'Never Alone' story I’ve been posting here. I know many of you have been eagerly waiting for the next chapter, and I can tell you're all really excited to find out what happens next. Well, I’ve got a bit of bad news... I won’t be posting any more chapters on the blog due to some personal reasons. But don’t worry, I’m still working on the story! I’m hoping to finish it up and maybe even publish it on Kindle – who knows? It’s been tough juggling writing with school, but I’m really happy to see so much interest in my work. I always try to be consistent and post every day... emphasis on try . The good news is that I’ll be posting a new poem today! And if you’ve got any ideas for short stories you’d like me to write, feel free to leave a comment below or email me. I’d love to hear your suggestions. As for school... well, it’s been... fine, I guess. Nothing too serious yet, but I’ve got tests coming up, and the procrastination is real. The...

  The Blade of the Shade There, my feet cling to an invisible string, Stuck as the tears refuse to spring. The sting of cold winds grasp like a fling, Yet inside, a fire begins to sing. The lingering gaze we all must feel, Sweat dripping, masking what’s real. Our voices shut as the whispers grow, Inside my head, chaos starts to blow. I try to speak the words unspoken, But the chains within leave them broken. Guess the words will stay locked in a cage, Their echoes drowning in a muted rage... They mold me into someone not my own, A stranger shaped from seeds they've sown. They think they can fix me, Shape me to fit how they see me. But it’s me who knows the truth of me, Yet so silent, it drowns—I can’t scream. How can I judge those who judge me, When I’m the one I cannot redeem? Doubting myself, I begin to steam, Words left unspoken, lost in the stream. Like a ballerina bound to her stage, I dance to their rhythm, locked in a cage. Grace in my movements, pain in my chest, Wearing a ...

Hey guys, what's up? So, this is me, writing my unasked and unwanted opinion at 12:06 AM on Friday, the 17th, '25. I just thought I’d clear the air and write to connect with you all—because why not? For those of you who enjoyed reading my Never Lie chapters, chapter by chapter, you might be annoyed that I haven’t posted anything in a while. Well, I’m here to talk about that and let you in on what’s been going on. The thing is, to write, you need a clear headspace, time, and no pressure. Of course, you can write without these things, but if you want to create something amazing, something that truly hits, these factors matter. I’ve scrapped so many of my drafts just because they didn’t feel right, you know? If I hate something I’ve written, I’m pretty sure you all wouldn’t like it either. I want to share pieces that are interesting, thought-provoking, and out of the ordinary—not just random writing but work that’s carefully crafted and cared for. That being said, with no time on ...

The Society's Weight Am I really so bad? They twist my actions, shape them to fit, Words I never meant, they sharpen and spit. Salt stains my lips as I try to speak, But truth dissolves where the judgment leaks. Can I never be loved? Their eyes hold knives, sharp and unkind, Each glance a cut, a verdict confined. I wear a face they’ve forced me to shame, As they whisper and laugh, fueling my blame. What’s wrong with me? Parents’ eyes, heavy with disdain, Crash over me like an endless rain. They pour their anger onto my skin, And I sting myself, again and again. Why do they tear me apart? Every flaw they find, every wound they see, They magnify until it defines me. Their words are chains I cannot escape, I crumble beneath the weight of their hate. Am I beyond saving? The mirror reflects what they want me to see, A stranger, flawed, unworthy of me. But beneath the mask, a voice still cries— A faint rebellion against their lies. Could I still be whole? If I shed their scorn, break thr...

The Dream, The Drift, The Reality. The tiny twins, moving up and down, Reaching higher, as far as they dare. Hand in hand, they lift the frown, Fleeing the noise, they wander somewhere, Through snow, rain, sunshine, an endless affair. Yet as they grow numb, the weight pulls me back, A darkened hollow, a shadowed track. The sense of home, once tightly spun, Now scattered whispers I cannot outrun. But was it ever truly a home? The whispers rise, then fade to screams, A fleeting calm that breathes in streams. Too much to hold, though still I cling, Until I’m lost in the dreams they bring. And there, in dreams, I reach the sky, A place where chains dissolve and die. But waking comes, the hollow calls, Its shadowed hands, my fortress falls. I flee, I fight, yet still I stay, Forever bound to yesterday. Note: Hello everyone. This one is a bit deep, and sadly, realistic—something many of us may face. If you’re one of them, it’s honestly amazing that you’re strong and bold enough to face it, a...

  Chapter 5 ‘ Ting!!’ The school bell rang. Students rushed to their classes, running, talking, pushing. Their whispers faded as the thudding of footsteps vanished. My feet led me to my class while I tried to stay invisible. I froze when I saw the booby trap—a disgusting mess waiting to humiliate me. My heart sank as I heard him, his wet laugh filling the air like static. The worst part wasn’t the trap; it was that I wasn’t surprised. This was how my day was going to go. ‘Yo, smelly! Watch out for your pants,’ he said, smirking. Before I could process the sting of embarrassment, she stepped in. ‘Wow, how original,’ she said, her tone razor-sharp. I looked up to see her—a girl with fierce green eyes and a confidence that cut through the room. The way she defended me was almost surreal, like it came out of nowhere. Why was she helping me? People like her didn’t notice people like me. ‘Nice catch on the chair,’ she said softly as she walked past me to her seat. ‘Not ever...

The air in Antoine’s study was thick, almost stifling, with the mingling scents of burnt sulfur and lamp oil. The faint sputtering of the wick seemed louder in the oppressive silence, filling the room with shadows that flickered against the walls like restless spirits. Antoine sat hunched at his workbench, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, ink smudged on his hands where he had carelessly wiped them. The crystal sat in the center of the chaos, utterly still yet impossible to ignore. Its faint, unnatural glow illuminated the scrawled diagrams and equations littering the table, casting long, distorted shapes across Antoine’s meticulous notes. He had written and rewritten the same sentence three times: Energy without destruction. An infinite system. The laws—are they laws, or are they boundaries waiting to be broken? He leaned closer, the brass lens trembling slightly in his hand as he adjusted its angle. For a moment, he forgot to breathe. The light refracted through the crystal’s edges sp...

  Chapter 4 Tony’s Journal Entry 3 I woke up from a strange dream today. It’s hard to explain, but it felt so vivid like I could still feel it even after I opened my eyes. There was a girl in the dream—at least, I think it was a girl. I never saw her face. But I could hear her, her voice clear and calming, though it also carried something unsettling about it. She kept telling me to trust her, that she knew what was best for me, and that she could help me figure things out. I wanted to believe her. I really did. But there was something about the way she said it, something off, like a warning hiding behind her words. It felt like I was standing on the edge of something I wasn’t ready for. Like something dark was coming, something I wasn’t prepared for. I couldn’t see her face, but I felt it—this sense of dread, as if everything I’d been trying to avoid was about to collide with me. I don’t know what it meant. But I can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe it’s just another bad dre...

  Chapter 3   Tony’s Journal Entry 2 The weirdest thing happened today. I was walking home from school, just trying to make it through the day like usual, when this feeling hit me, like a chill running down my spine. It's not the first time I've felt it—this unsettling, crawling sensation—but today, it was stronger. Much stronger. It's like someone was following me, even though when I turned around, no one was there. At first, I brushed it off as nothing, a product of my overactive imagination. But the feeling didn’t go away. The air felt heavier, pressing against my back, urging me to look behind me. I kept walking faster, trying to shake it off, but the sense of being watched grew stronger with every step. I kept telling myself that it was nothing. That I was just paranoid. Maybe I was, but the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t ignore the feeling that someone—or something—was just out of sight, lurking in the shadows, watching me. It felt like I was...

Chapter 2 Tony’s Journal Entry 1 I’m terrified. I cry, and it feels like the whole world is watching me, judging me. Every single tear that falls feels like a failure. Society is so hypocritical, and I’m scared of being seen as weak. Even my parents—who used to love me—now look at me like I’m something broken, something to be discarded. I miss being their little boy. The one they held in their arms, the one they whispered would always be safe. I miss the warmth of their hands wiping my tears, the promise that no matter what, I’d always be loved. But now, I’m nothing but a disappointment. A failure. Dad comes home drunk every night, and every night, it’s the same. His words slice through the air like a knife, blaming me for everything that’s wrong in his life. Yesterday, it went too far. He tried to hit me. Mom stepped in, but then they were fighting—shouting, pushing. I was forced into the closet, hidden away like some dirty secret. I could hear them screaming, louder and louder. It w...

  The Past Chapter 1- Tony My feet trembled as if caught in a storm that suddenly erupted—thunderclaps of harsh words and lightning flashes of hurtful accusations, leaving the once peaceful surroundings in chaos, with the wind howling through broken branches of trust. Acid rolled down my flushed cheeks, marking my imperfection as if it were a part of me. It defined me. The clock ticked, mocking me, while the sky—washed of its color—flushed with the overwhelming incidents it had witnessed. Wetness surrounded me, no—it was me. The suffocation clouded my mind, painting pictures of harsh possibilities that would make this miserable moonlit night excruciatingly painful to endure. My veins pulsed with the increasing sounds and passing comments. My feet trembled, as though I were standing on the edge of a cliff, the world around me tilting with every word spoken, uncertain if I would fall or stay rooted in place. The biting chill of winter contrasted sharply with the sweat still stu...

Good morning, everyone! Have you ever dreamt of being able to sleep in, wondering how amazing life would be if you could wake up with a fresh mind and plenty of rest? Well, me too. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve laid in bed, wishing I could just stay there forever—cozy, warm, with no responsibility to rush anywhere. Sounds perfect, right? Well, except for the chickens and roosters, I guess. But is it really all that amazing? I used to be someone who thought the best mornings started with hitting snooze—again and again. I’d convince myself that a little extra sleep would somehow make the day easier. But one time, I woke up late—really late—and realized how quickly the morning can spiral into chaos when you miss that peaceful, slow start. It wasn’t just the time I lost; it was the panic that settled in when I realized how behind I was on everything. And honestly? It didn’t feel good. That day felt rushed, and overwhelming, and I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I’d missed somet...

 Prologue "Wait, what is that? Street 24 underground! I repeat, Street 24 underground!" I screamed into my walkie, my face puffed bright red. "We are on our way, Officer," came the reply. The gate opened as the recruits' thuds filled the silence with echoes. The leakage of gases from the wet, moist rocks made it harder to breathe. The rusted copper braids unraveled as the lock tying them together was parted using the forbidden cipher, releasing them. The metal door shuffled upward, almost as if it was disguised as a ruined portal, hiding its true colors. I swallowed the water I had, pulling myself together, knowing it’d be a shame for the other officers to see me like this, eyeing me down as if I were unworthy. My eyes searched for clarity they’d been loo— "Officer Tony, are you alright?" the medic asked kindly. "All good," I replied, forcing a calm tone. "I see the others have already gone inside. I should get going too....

Hey! So this would be one of my late posts (12:40 am), but hold up—I’ve got a reason for that. Yesterday, I was so mind-wobbled by an idea I had for a story that it kept me from sleeping. Yep, another one of those nights. It was a school night, so sleep was essential. I knew I was going to go all freaky at school if I didn’t prioritize it. But yet, there I was, procrastinating at record levels and scrolling on my phone—definitely not prioritizing sleep. Suddenly, in a random burst of instinct, I opened my laptop and started typing the prologue for my idea. And then I thought—why not share it with you guys? Get some feedback and opinions? Maybe even some creative ideas in the comments? Do check out my father post (yes, it’s a typo, but it’s staying) for that, otherwise this one might get too long and boring. Mehh. Oh, and for those of you wondering: yes, I did go to school. And yes, without sleep. I got my grades, ate, had fun with my friends (somehow not feeling sleepy), and then wh...

Hey, I'm Sheeza, a typical newbie at this blog thing. I've thought about blogging but have never, y'know, done it. Lord knows what kept me from doing so, but setting a commitment here is what I think will help me find my true self—as well as find people I connect with. Friends? Well, I do lack them, but the ones I have are truly all I need. The smaller the friend group, the more real it is. I figured there might be—actually, definitely be—some teens like me who want people who are similar, understanding, and, moreover, just like them. People who don’t judge them for who they are and simply respect their true selves. It’s the idea of not having to fake something or try to be someone who isn’t “boring” and is “fun.” Finding people who naturally bring out the true you isn’t so easy for some of us. Maybe this blog can help connect with people like that—a free, non-judgy space to dump your thoughts. I don’t have a specific plan or idea about where this might lead, but I’m hoping...