me, the critic


The title, midnight train, is repeated frequently throughout my writing. It has a literal, yet, symbolic meaning. There’s an actual midnight train; yet, she goes on the train to escape her problems. The midnight train is her sense of calming and stability. She always looks for answers inside of the midnight train, when all she needs to do is to step outside of her own boundaries.

Heartbreak is one hell of a drug. I wrote about a girl who goes on the midnight train every-night. She only wants a temporary numbing to her pain, her sacrifice, despite searching for the answers she had wanted her whole life: why the girl she loved never recuperated her feelings. After looking at the moon, she realizes that the answer is outside of the midnight train. Instead of a moon, she welcomes a sunrise. By stepping out of the train, she had accepted her fate, and moved on from a first love.

Has my heart been broken? Not really, so stop worrying. This prompt came upon me in a daydream, which isn’t shocking, because I daydream quite a lot. In this dream of mine, I met this girl on a train, and she was staring at the moon. I remember feeling vague pangs of jealousy, only because she put all of her attention and love into a moon far, far away. This mere moment inspired a whole poem, and this specific part:

You always hated the moon.

It’s too bright.

It outshines all the good in your life.

And it holds the one thing you desired.

Her love. Her attention. Her heart.

Technically, this is my first, official poem on my blog. I didn’t write a poem because of criteria; but, I wanted to branch out my skills to include poetry. For my first-time, I was extremely happy with the end result. I thought I would be a bit rusty with poem writing; but, I think I pulled it off perfectly.

At first, I was hit with major roadblocks. I didn’t know how to continue the poem for the life of me. I would type, delete, and correct as if my life depended on it. Despite my initial concerns, once I got a steady flow of inspiration going, I finished my poem well above the minimum word-count. I remember feeling a bit shocked at the amount of words I had, as I originally thought that I couldn’t make it past 300 words.

Overall, I was surprised that my peers liked this poem so much. I didn’t think it was good, until my peers praised me otherwise. Thanks, to everyone, for making me see this poem in a new light.



Unlike my other symbolistic titles, this one is quite literal. This writing piece is about my first love. Though, the term “first love” could be said loosely, because love is the hardest factor of my life.

To be honest, I avoid this writing piece like it’s a plague. I hate showing vulnerability, or love, and it physically pains me that I put myself out there with such an exposing writing piece. Despite my pains, I understand why I did it. I write when I need to put my voice out there; and, as I came to the sudden realization of cupid, I did what I did best: I wrote.

As I grow, I have differing opinions on life; and, despite how much I want to disagree, this writing piece is true. Sadly, I have been in love before. I’m still stubborn and stuck-up to my own “I hate love, love is hard” ways. When my friends ask me who this piece is about, I pretend that I never heard them. When Ms. Hunnisett asked me to read this piece on Monday, I said that I couldn’t.

It’s not that I can’t read this piece, it’s that I won’t read this piece.

My writing has vulnerability, it has pages. The fact that I allowed myself to be vulnerable, to put myself out there in the name of love, is why I’m proud of this piece. I write about love like it’s my dying wish; yet, I refuse to let myself be absorbed by the depths of love itself. It’s ironic, foolish, and the double-edged sword I put onto my own blog.


· 。゚☆: *. .* :☆゚.


I deleted this part on June 19, 2020. Sorry..?

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