Bugsy Watts

Joined July 2018

0 stories

Bio

Got bit by the writing bug.

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/bugsywattspoetry/

Achievements (1)

Runner-Up in From Across the Room Challenge

Stories (50/0)

Supernova
I never reflected on being the last because I never thought it possible. When the Sun rose up to swallow the Earth I imagined we would all go together.
By Bugsy Wattsabout a year ago in Poets
Runner-Up in From Across the Room Challenge
I Heard You FirstRunner-Up in From Across the Room Challenge
Lulled into the company of strangers by well-meaning friends, I was immersed in the heart-pumping, hair-raising, stifled breath
By Bugsy Wattsabout a year ago in Poets
If I Don't Answer
In a strange way, everyone is at our fingertips. Even if they aren't really here. I mean physical presence. Here. Beside me.
By Bugsy Wattsabout a year ago in Poets
I Remember All the Great Teachers
I am reserved by nature. Growing up as the "quiet kid" in school, I'm fairly certain my favourite teachers do not know their impact on my life. But I remember all the great teachers.
By Bugsy Wattsabout a year ago in Confessions
Cobblestone
I walked the streets of cobblestone where once we walked before. They were not the piles of broken bone I imagined anymore.
By Bugsy Wattsabout a year ago in Poets
It's Just School
It’s just school. This is a letter to all of the young people around me who are still studying. I promise you, your worth is not measured by the grade on that paper. You are not “better” because you were accepted into a post-secondary institution. The prestige of your school and your area of study does not correlate to your earnings, your abilities, or your happiness. I have been told countless times by adults who supposedly knew better than me that education is the key. They are not completely wrong. But, they are only partly right.
By Bugsy Wattsabout a year ago in Education
Mr. Black's Death Day
Sitting in the centre of the hospital's first floor was neither criminal nor suspicious. If not for the pistol under his jacket, and the target emblazoned on his brain, he might seem like any frequenter of the refuge for the mourning. The cafeteria comprised of jell-o for the future widow, stale coffee for the broken mother, and a hitman for Mr. Black.
By Bugsy Wattsabout a year ago in Fiction
Be Still
The clouds hung low though they had finished crying. I surmised they didn’t know I was here, sitting in the alcove of my front door,
By Bugsy Wattsabout a year ago in Poets
Descendants
What do I want to have left behind after my soul has flitted out of this world? What mark will be stamped by my act of living so my children and their children and their children after can be proud of their DNA?
By Bugsy Wattsabout a year ago in Poets
Hair
“My hair is falling out,” I told the doctor. The clinic in the basement office was cold. Doctor’s offices are always cold.
By Bugsy Watts2 years ago in Poets
Rain
The song said to "go away" come again another day but, I implore you, please stay give the clouds a chance to play. ***
By Bugsy Watts2 years ago in Poets
My Mother's Hands
I know everything about my mother’s hands. I remember their touch now, as if they are cradling me, the way they did before I could walk,
By Bugsy Watts2 years ago in Poets