Blogging – a reflection

This blog was an assignment for school, but I really enjoyed posting my poetry and short stories here. Since I want to become a writer, I’m going to continue blogging. It helped me improve my vocabulary and gave me enough inspiration to finally start on the book I’ve been wanting to write for ages.

  • What have you learned about becoming proficient in English by writing a blog?

I’ve learned working with writing prompts I found online, I learned more about poetry, I learned how to write a short story, I got to educate others through my blog by writing about queer topics such as pronouns and I’ve expanded my vocabulary.
I also learned how to receive and give feedback, since my classmates and I often asked each other to check our blogs.

  • How could you do this with your pupils?

To become more proficient at writing you have to write, a lot. By having them write every week you can figure out the mistakes they make (grammatical mistakes like the use of then/than for example) and give effective feedback on their work. You can also check whether they are improving or not.

I would give them writing prompts, because some people just aren’t writers and they need a little help. I would also give them a lot of variety such as: poetry, essays, letters, columns and short stories.  In my opinion this is the best way to become proficient at writing.

Beet salad

This restaurant was a place of perversion, or so he said. “Did you take look at the menu yet?” He nudged my arm and pointed at the list of main courses “They’re all vegan! Bio dynamic, gluten free! Is there anything edible here?” I rolled my eyes and sighed “Well you asked me on a date, and I got to pick the restaurant.” He fumbled with the napkin and gave me a cold stare “You could’ve picked something where they served meat, not just fancy rabbit food.” 

This is a typical date when you’re a lactose intolerant vegetarian. Especially if it’s their turn to pick a place to eat on the second date (if there is one, mind you). The “vegetarian friendly” facilities usually offer a veggie’s worst nightmare: The beet salad.

Dear beet salad,

So, we meet again. I have to be honest, I did not miss you. Chefs seem to adore you because you’re quick and cheap, you’re also anything but creative. Then again, it’s your versatility that makes you appealing to the average cook. You and goat cheese have been a thing for years, but people also like to douse you in vinegar and call it a day. Dear beet salad, you’re not worth the money. After a long week of school I do not want to invest in something so basic, I deserve more. I deserve black bean burgers, luxurious curries and pad Thai. This is what happens when I let a meat eater pick the setting for our first romantic encounter. You manage to ruin my day, you poor excuse for a fancy veggie feast.
Dear beet salad, you kale my vibe.

Henry Tudor (poem)

Henry Tudor, Number eight.
Broke the scales With his weight.
Henry also had 6 wives,
Let me tell you about their lives.
Henry first married Katherine of Aragon,
As his brother Arthur before him had done.
Poor old Kat got a girl, not what Henry wanted,
So he started his own church… Because a divorce couldn’t be granted.
Then came young Anne from the house of Boleyn,
And at first the King’s heart she did win.
But after daughter two his love did stop,
So he sent little Annie off to the chop.
The third was Jane Seymour, she was so pretty!
Young and blonde, and incredibly witty.
She did manage to give the king a male heir,
But died in childbirth, how unfair!
Anne of Cleeves was lucky number four,
Henry sent painter Holbein to her door.
But the portrait wasn’t realistic, “She looks like a horse!”
And so the king got his second divorce.
Kathryn Howard, Number five,
Would be Henry’s youngest wife.
The young girl flirted with many men,
She was sent to the tower just like her Cousin Anne.
Katherine Parr was the last one,
Took care of Henry and his daughters and son.
She stayed with the King until his death,
Remarried and celebrated , “I kept my head!”
This was the story of Henry the killer,
Not that romantic, it sounds like a thriller.
He died at age fifty five,
Best known as the fat king who couldn’t keep a wife.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words..

The first time someone called me ugly made me afraid of mirrors because all I could see was a monster. They called me fat and I lost my appetite, and calling me dumb stopped me from raising my hand in class.

Why apply make-up to something that’s already ugly, why eat when you already weigh too much and why even try your best at school when you’re dumb.

I lost friends because I had built a wall around myself. I didn’t enjoy drawing and writing anymore, and nothing made me laugh.

Hundreds of people commit suicide every year because of bullying, it’s not a laughing matter. Today I got insulted by a group of young boys, calling me hideous, making disappointed noises when I managed to sneak in front of a bus and the bus driver approaching me slammed on the brakes. “Aw what a shame, didn’t get hit by that bus, would’ve loved to see that.” Were their exact words.

People often try to give you advice; “They’re just teasing, ignore them!” Or “If you react you’ll only give them a reason to bully you.” They expect you to act like a punching bag, shove your emotions to the side, dissociate and “Be the stronger person!” But how can you be strong when there are people feeding their own ego by crushing yours? And how is wishing someone dead teasing?

I’m fortunate enough to have an amazing group of friends I can rely on, friends who showed me that I’m a beautiful creative intelligent human being. Friends who made me believe in myself. If this had happened a couple of years ago, those boys would’ve destroyed me.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can kill.


When the sheets on your bed turn in to walls, a protection barrier, but too heavy to crawl away from once it falls.

when your pillow has two sides, one on which you sleep and one on which you cry.

When getting up is a fight, when there’s too much anxiety during the night.

Then you know.

Things you used to enjoy being destroyed,  every last bit of hope thrown into the trash because depression would rather see you crash and burn.

You fight, you fight a war no one understands because “Yesterday you seemed alright! ” And “You should really snap out of it”.

And snapping you do.

When you finally pieced yourself together, prepare to watch yourself crumble.
Hide under your blankets. Cry in your pillow.