Category: Creative Writing

See You Again

by Rhobie Toussaint, posted in Creative Writing

Even though you’re not with me now,

I won’t sit and mope around,

For I know I’ll see you again.

On that day we’ll talk for hours,

Laughing at what we went through without

each other,

And when you have to leave once more,

I won’t feel an emptiness in my heart,

For I know I’ll see you again.

In a few years’ time we’ll say hi and

embrace,

We’ll talk about the challenges we faced,

And I’ll meet your three kids you swore

you’d never have

But when it’s time to part ways,

I know I won’t be afraid,

For I know l’ll see you again.

If we both get to be gray and old,

But you’re the first one to go,

I won’t be worried,

For I know I’ll see you again.

Perhaps it’ll be in another life, a vision, a

dream,

But I’ll see you again.

And It’ll feel like you never left.

Our last encounter will not be the end.

Dedicated to my friend who I haven’t seen in way too long, I hope you’re safe ❤️

In Your Eyes

by Rhobie Toussaint, posted in Creative Writing

In your eyes, there is someone who is broken; someone who is hurt; someone who is lost.

When I look into your eyes, I see trauma and hardships. I see depression and expectations that weren’t met.

When I look into your eyes, I see someone who is fighting; fighting emotion and trying not to fall once more.

But I also see a glint of hope. I see a little light. I see someone who, in the midst of their hurt and sadness, is desperately searching for happiness and brighter days. I see someone who, as much as they’d want to, wont let that hope go because then, there’d be nothing to live for.

Above all, when I look into your eyes, I see someone who is strong. I see a fighter. I see a survivor. I see greatness that’s yet to come.

Hands

by Rhobie Toussaint, posted in Creative Writing, Experience

I am my hands. The pen marks all around my palms and the side of my fingers signify my love for writing in colorful ink. I refuse to write anything not required in all in black ink, in black ink. The cramps on my hand remind me of the Sundays filled with me playing my clarinet. Each finger has to cover a specific hole for specific notes, or else a squeaking sound will come out of the clarinet. My right thumb is placed under a back-piece of the instrument to support it, leaving my thumb aching. Every time I look at my long nails, I am reminded that I should cut them, but there’s never any time to do so. Between the typing of articles, writing of poems, and carrying of books, there’s no downtime. My hands help me reach for the pencil I’ve dropped for the fiftieth time. I try to catch it in the palm of my hand before it rolls under someone else’s chair.  My hands help me write birthday letters and lengthy paragraphs of encouragement. The end of my thumb and index finger hold the pen and my other fingers support them while the tip of my pen touches the paper. My hands help me comfort a friend in need of emotional support by placing my warm hand over theirs, gently squeezing it. My hands help me excitedly wave to someone I recognize across the hall as I try to gain their attention. My hands help me tightly hug my best friend after a long, tiring day at school. They touch the back of his shirt with a firm grip, giving us both comfort.

Throughout my life, my hands have been there for me. From car accidents to test days to breakups and makeups, my hands have been with me. They are more than a part of my body. They are more than something connected to two of my limbs. My hands are my support. They help me pick myself up after I fall. They remind to relax as I clench and un-clench them in distress. Most importantly, through the support that my hands give me, I can support others.

Thank You

by Rhobie Toussaint, posted in Creative Writing

The boy stands in his dimly lit room, letter in hand, debating whether or not to open it. It’s from his ex-girlfriend, Lilian, who he hadn’t seen in a little over a month. He isn’t quite sure if he’s ready to hear from her, but he knows that nagging “what if” question will bug him if he doesn’t read the letter. With much reluctance, he slowly sits on the edge of his half made, twin sized bed, while staring at the piece of paper with intent. He takes a deep breath, and begins to read.

Dear Devin, 

First, I hope that you’re doing well and on the path of accomplishing many great things. Secondly, I think that you deserve some closure. I know that you tend to place the world’s weight on you shoulder, and blame yourself before others, but what happened wasn’t your fault. Don’t think for a second that you weren’t an amazing boyfriend. You’re caring and respectful and supportive and hilarious. You stuck by me despite of the drama that seems to be embedded in my life. Family problems, physical injuries…Whatever it was, you were there. You’ve helped me master the art of positivity and looking forward. I became a better, a happier person because of you. You have such a big heart, and I love you for that, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you limiting yourself because of me. You were willing to give up the internship you spent your whole high school gearing towards because of the situation with my mom and aunt. I understand that you wanted to be there for me, but you also have to do things for yourself. You deserve it. You always want what’s best for me, and what kind of person would I be if I didn’t do the same? I can use everything that you taught me about finding the silver lining  and not dwelling on the past. I can continue to implement them in my life. That wouldn’t have been possible without you. Thank you for supporting me. Thank you for not leaving when things got hard. Thank you for all the good memories we made together. Thank you for those surprise dates and six hour long conversations. Thank you for loving me. 

Sincerely, 

Lily. 

P.S. I’m waiting for the day I go on Instagram or turn on T.V. and hear about all your contributions and achievements.You got this. 

His Life

by Rhobie Toussaint, posted in Creative Writing

He wakes up. He goes to school. He smiles.

He walks down the hallway, greeting people left and right. He shows respect.

He goes home, talks about his day as if there was much to it, then walks into his room.

He plays sports, goes on late night trips, attends parties, all while maintaining the perfect 4.0 GPA.

“Be a man”, “Men aren’t weak”, “Be strong, don’t cry”, they said. “Fake it ’till you make it”, they said. “Be the best, nothing but the best, and win”, they said.

Did ‘they’ ever think about how much those words can affect someone? Did they ever think about what that kind of pressure can do to an individual? Did those people consider the effect of bottling emotions?

He wakes up. He goes to school. He fakes a smile. He follows his daily routine- going through life each day, pretending that everything is okay.

He shoots, he scores. Cheers are all around him, but even in the midst of his victory, he can’t help but feel like he’s losing. He’s losing the game called life. He’s dying inside.

 

Although I am an optimist, filled with hope, I am also aware of the different issues present in the world today. My last post, “Hurricanes”, focused on an environmental aspect. “His Life” focuses on an emotional one. Throughout adolescence, there’s a great deal of pressure because expectations are set higher and everything, from people to different types of platforms, is telling you who you should be.  I wanted to try and raise awareness about one thing that some teenagers struggle with.

❤