Feb 13
Fiona Ella's picture

ink deity

they tell me to separate the artist
from the art
to better take criticism. 

get distance,
they tell me,
you are not your writing. 

but you don't understand
,
i tell them as i unzip
my skin,

i am. 

and i let them see
that the only thing flowing in my veins is ink
and garbled music. 

let them see my heart pumping too fast,
spitting words out to my arteries
and fueling the great typewriter of my mind.  

let them see my lungs compressed 
a printing press which has forgotten its job. 

let them see that all i am is words. 

let them look for some kind of a glimmer of a person hiding
underneath the words
let them look behind my eyes
but they find only a cinema where my retinas should be
translating the experiences my body passes through
into grainy oversimple
cinema.
Feb 04
Fiona Ella's picture

my face

i do not wear this face
because society wants me to. 
if anything, 
i persist in wearing the face i do
because society did not ask me to. 
i do not wear this face because i think it makes me more beautiful. 
i wear this face because it makes me striking, 
dramatic, 
and slightly off-kilter. 
i wear this face because it affects how the world sees me
and i like the way they treat me
then. 
i wear this face because it brings me confidence. 
i wear this face because it is distinctive. 
i wear this face because it reflects me better,
i think, 
than any other face would. 
but i do not know if this face reflects who i am. 
i do not know if it should. 
i do not know if it is even possible to. 
i know that it reflects me better 
than layers and layers of eyeshadow almost the precise color of my skin
to make my eyes look bigger 
to change me into the model
Jan 28
Fiona Ella's picture

then

i am not a nostalgic person. 
i generally accept that i was embarrassing in the past
and that some things were better and some things were worse
because that's the way time works. 
i am not a nostalgic person. 
but today i read over my old texts 
and i found some from someone i text infrequently enough
that i could scroll all the way back to the ones i sent this summer. 
pictures of the view out my window over the courtyard in london, 
speckled with raindrops but still open a crack
because the heat was so unseasonable. 
photographs from london pride, 
my first ever pride event
and quite possibly the largest one i'll ever go to. 
i used phrases like "piccadilly circus" and "the tube" 
as if they actually meant something. 
i expressed anguish over my sunburn
and the fact that english drug stores don't sell real aloe, 
just scented and watered-down stuff. 
Jan 23
Fiona Ella's picture

unseelie teaser

This is the pre-credits scene of my TV Pilot that I've been working. I put up a pitch bible for it a while back, you can find it here if you want to get some background on this as a project. The pilot is long enough that I didn't want to put it up unsolicited but if this sparks interest for anyone, let me know and I'll find a manageable way to post the rest! (reformatting is a pain so it would probably be a link to a pdf)

TEASER
EXT. BANKS OF THE FOYLE - DAY

The River Foyle on the Lifford-Strabane border, drizzling greyish rain.

Ashes are falling into it from above. Ashes from a small ceremonial urn--someone's been cremated.
Jan 20
Fiona Ella's picture

why i dislike ghost stories

i realized
at about the same time i was old enough to appreciate a horror story
why they appeal to us so much. 
what it is that frightens us so much. 
obviously it's complicated--
the psychology of fearing ghosts,
for instance,
is a complicated interaction of our reservations about the time after death, 
the things we once failed to understand about the natural world
and the human fear of the unknown. 
but why is that slowly creaking open door in a house no one is supposed to be in
the notion that that statue might have blinked while you weren't looking
so much more frightening
than the ten foot tall fire breathing lizard monster? 
after all, 
one is a lot likelier than the other to actually kill you. 
what i think 
is that the creaking doorways and blinking statues
cater to our fear of the unknown. 
we fear what we don't understand. 
Jan 06
Fiona Ella's picture

Does Anyone Else Hear Screaming from the Culvert?

so: long story short, a friend of mine told me about a strange post a friend of hers saw on facebook and i decided to run with it and use it as a writing prompt. the end result was some kind of twisted love child of edgar allan poe and welcome to night vale and i'm hoping to record it and add sound affects at some point considering those influences. even i don't fully understand what i've written but here it is.
Dec 31
Fiona Ella's picture

pain

i thought of this while stretching yesterday, hence the unusual subject matter, and it's a kind of half-formed idea so if it's weird...

there's different kinds of pain. 
there's the kind when you stretch out a muscle
that you haven't used in a while. 
the pain of being unaccustomed
but jumping back in. 
it hurts in the moment
but when the pain stops, 
you're stronger. 
the kind of pain you get when you're crying over a movie
or a song
because these emotions are so much simpler
because the music and the actors
and the contrived situation designed to pull your heartstrings
lets your emotions loose from their cage in a way you can accept. 
there's the pain of peeling off a scab,
because it means you've healed. 
the melancholy
of sitting alone on a rainy day
in silence except for the drumming rain--
that's hardly sadness, hardly pain--
just peace. 
Dec 29
Fiona Ella's picture

Live Reading

I made all these characters, 
wrote their words, 
choreographed their actions, 
molded their cores, 
and set them loose on the page. 
I forced them to face their demons, 
twisted them into situations they'd never have imagined
and let them take up residence in my head. 
They live there now, 
forever--
speaking, 
whispering to me their outlook on life, 
offering me refuge when I can't handle the real world, 
waiting to be let back into life. 
I live all of their lives 
just a little bit
as I'm living mine,
and they frequently live mine with me. 
But today, 
gathered around a coffee table,
reading, 
they became something more. 
Not with actors, 
or people from the right country,
or right age group, 
but with my friends and family, 
they stepped off the page and spoke directly. 
Not to me,
not in the safety of my head, 
Dec 25
Fiona Ella's picture

enough

in the past, 
it was just a thing to say. 
a quirk, 
or on lazy summer weeks full of other people being on vacation, 
a superpower. 
i just don't feel social urges strongly.
this was the first time
i'd ever been made to feel
like it was a defect. 
i think some people see me as off-putting. 
i have the mother of all resting bitch faces,
i tend to wear black, 
and i have been known to be considered socially awkward. 
i don't usually initiate conversations with people
when i don't want to.
and i often don't want to.
none of those things
hurt me. 
i have friends,
friends who didn't care that my resting facial expression was a little off-putting
or i wasn't very good at seeming like i liked them
when we met. 
i do smile,
a lot. 
just not in pictures. 
i am funny, 
when i want to be. 
i don't greet people i barely know
Nov 03
Fiona Ella's picture

shards

i've had anxiety for years. 
my jumpy heart's been beating overtime
since i was twelve. 
and even before then--
when in as in first grade,
the school called in a psychiatrist
hoping to slap a diagnosis on me
and make me someone else's problem. 
he said i was just anxious too. 
my heart beats too fast,
there's never enough air in the room
and i can't crack my ribs open wide enough
to hold all the air it takes
to calm my racing thoughts. 
my brain runs in circles
and the room starts spinning and 
drifts away into another universe i can't quite
get to. 
my stomach starts churning
and i'm afraid i'm going to throw up. 
my chest flutters,
there's a buzzing in my head and i think
i'm dying. 
i always know i'm not, 
but there's that little sliver of doubt. 
my brain has been capitalizing on that sliver of doubt
for as long as i can remember

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