"Flowers...flowers..." I whispered out of habit. Beads of sweat were forming on my face but the flowers weren't appearing.

I closed my eyes and tried again. Speaking it's name and imagining it's vibrance. Yet the little blue vase was persistently empty.
"They'll grow." A familiar voice assured me.

"I've been trying for a day Mum." I complained, massaging my aching fingers. "Plus, it's not a hard spell."

"Let me try," she sat down at the dining table beside...

Molly loves the Earth. The bright blue oceans, the green grass, and the beautiful sky. One day, Molly wakes up with a question on her mind. She asks her mother as she gets ready for school, "Momma, how can I keep the Earth happy?" 

"Hmmm," her mother thinks. "Can you turn the sink off while you brush your teeth? We don't want to waste water!" her mother says.

"Yes!" says Molly. She turns the water off and finishes getting ready. 




...

he aimed his damned arrow:
poisoned at the tip,
decorated in curses,
and shot with force.
there's an unethical joy he finds
in the torture of his victims,
creating ill-fated romances
and all the brokenhearted.
so when he hit me,
i knew i was screwed,
that there was no way
a relationship would last
between me and you.

misery has come to hide away
just as love frames your face like ringlets
through the stolen glances in low light.

i didn't write this poem for you
you, with your eyes that tell a million stories
and your smile that makes the darkest sky explode into a thousand tendrils of light
oh, darling
you're my universe

but this is not for you.

   no,
i dedicate this to life
to freedom
to the world outside of my little pocketful...

The shadows drop a little bit of themselves into my cup, laughing. I see them pulsating through the tree branches and vaporising at certain kinks but their pattern never reaches my intelligence, so I bow my head. At this, they laugh again and are quiet most immediately after.

“You are too respectful towards them.”

I raise my head but only to look into my cup where their penumbrae swirl without diffusing into the water. Then, I wait. 

Nothing speaks again...

Hello again.

I have been thinking about my activity on this site since my last post about leaving. A month of holidays has given me the time and environment to think and write. I thought that I wasn't able to express things that I wanted to here but I realised that I was wrong. This place has been my home for writing for so long and I am sure I won't be able to find another place more comforting and...

I finish the corpse. She is alive and beautiful because I dressed her. I dressed her in a washed yellow; the shade of what used to be an artificial sun but is now a rich palmful of sand. It is what my mother would have called a good colour; one that knows its place and grows healthily from the soil, well-balanced and modest; but perhaps this confuses you. I remember that your language does not permit an understanding that my...

I kissed you goodbye that day 
Leaving you with only the memory of me 
And a promise 
That I'll be back 
I sent you letters, souvenirs, pictures 
To fill up the empty promise that I made to you
A promise of a lifetime 
With you and me
How could I do this to you? 
Five years filled with broken promises
I told you I'd return
I told you I was going to marry you
But I'm still here, 
4,760 miles...

Jemma couldn't figure out if she were awake or still unconscious. If she was awake, she must be in a dark room because everything was black. Shuffling blindly around her new surroundings, she found herself in a cage- a iron, metal rod cage. What was she, an animal? 
Am I in heaven? 
Jemma always thought that heaven would be a paradise, something beyond words. A paradise with Fitz... because she didn't want to be anywhere without him. She felt hollow...

Over the hill
by a silent creek
on a silent night.

Embers are gleaming
like the wings of a Phoenix
sitting by my chimney.

A home away from home
made by bricks and fire
all straight out of my imagination

"I have finally found my home,"
the man said,
"I will stay here until the silence begins to scream."

So I am setting you free,
for gardens to bloom in your lungs and
vines to crawl their way out of your throat.
What is more romantic then coughing up blood and hyacinths? Call it a condemnation if you like; I prefer blessing.
Is there anything more beautiful than crying rosewater? The smell will cling.
To hair, to silk, billow into clouds above your head and you will find the lovers you longed for
smell it on the sheets. Every...

My hand reaches up to the shining pinpricks of light above, fingers grasping air. I could get lost in the kaleidoscope of stars, of the great vastness of the sky. In that moment, I am nothing and no one. A comet streams above me, its body burning away in a second as a shooting star. As the wind rustles my hair and a chill steals up my spine, I look deep inside and ask myself for my wish. As my...

My hand reaches up to the shining pinpricks of light above, fingers grasping air. I could get lost in the kaleidoscope of stars, of the great vastness of the sky. In that moment, I am nothing and no one. A comet streams above me, its body burning away in a second as a shooting star. As the wind rustles my hair and a chill steals up my spine, I look deep inside and ask myself for my wish. As my...

You promised me a lifetime together
But then you left me
With only a kiss goodbye and another promise
That you'll return
You sent me letters to mend my broken heart,
souvenirs to fill up my empty shelves, 
pictures of your lovely smile to cover my bare walls,
and another promise with each stamp.
That you'll be back 
But that was five years ago
And now I don't know
the person with the bright smile
staring at me
From the...

“Dakota, over here,” Jaylean called from across the cafeteria.
    Dakota smiled over the head of the crowd and maneuvered her way to Jaylean’s table. “Why the change in seating arrangments?”
    Jaylean rolled her eyes. “‘Cause I felt like it.” She took a bit of her apple pie and glanced over at Dakota’s food. “You’re a rabbit.”
    “No, Dakota said. “I’m not.” And then she took a bite of her salad.
    Jaylean chuckled and pulled her book...

Can I be honest?
Truth is, I never knew I would ever be writing something like this
I never knew I would ever feel like this 
I don't even really know where to start.

I really miss you
And yeah, I know I'm supposed to be happy now
I'm talking to someone
He loves me
I love him
But that doesn't matter.

Because I still think about what could have happened
I think about where we would be if this...

I am
    the paint on her bedroom walls 
    the skin of the grapes on her side table 
    the robes of her majesty left thrown on the floor 

I am
    the bruises he made on her delicate skin 
    the broken earring laying on the stone tiles
    the lipstick smeared across her mouth 

I am 
    the blanket that shields her lifeless body from prying eyes
    the dried blood left under her fingernails
    the delicate daisies from her son sitting in a vase
...

     That is one suspicious man. I went back to examining the evidence from Alyona Ivanovna’s case. Only one piece of evidence had been recovered from the scene. The rest seemed to have vanished along with the pawnbroker’s wealth. It was hard to suspect who did it as no one had gained a surplus of wealth in the previous days. The picture, showing dusty handprints and scratches from what seemed to be a knife, was the only piece of evidence recovered from the scene.   

“Hey Ilya!...

Mielita, you're gentle and sweet
To be with you, is such a treat
You're a loving mother
A caring friend
You have a heart of gold
You're brave and bold
As fast as an arrow
As gentle as a doe
Eyes that shimmer like stars
A heart as big as Mars

Ceniza, you love, you care
You followed your mother everywhere
You were a perfect pair
When she was alone
You came to her side
You never left, nothing could...

I know you don't see it
You're just playing with your bow
And that insult that you shot
That was pretty low
Your arrow hit me in the chest
And that shot... that shot was your best
But it was aimed at me
And don't you hate it when I live
Despite every attempt to kill me
Hate it how my wound seems to heal
And there's no scar where that arrow used to be

And I hate it when...

My gods are not dead
Our lack of attention has not weakened them
Their bellows from their domain have not waned

My gods are not cruel
They are loving and protective
Just and fair to all they oversee

My gods are not primitive 
They are no less divine that The Lord 
Who sits bloated in his own ignorance

My gods are not ignorant
They grow and change as aeons pass
Always accepting from the start

 

I met her under the morning sun
as the summer flowers bloomed
She wore a crown atop her head
of ivy tipped with dew

Her eyes were green, her branches strong
Thickly grew her leaves;
She danced alone on the river's edge
and swayed in the summer breeze

The wind was howling through the field. Barley a glimmer of spring was visible, though the grass was turning greener, recovering from the harshness of winter. The sound of boots squelching in mud cut through the orchestra of nature. It was vicious, out of place. The sky grew darker with every passing second. It was as if the earth itself could tell that something was about to happen. For a moment, the wind stopped. The world stood still, the sky...

Perhaps home is a place, perhaps it is a person; in any case, one must always have a bit of the world inside of them.

i am what i consume: minefields laced with mockery, hands clutching glowing mobiles, half-set masks, glassy fatigue, maths at 12am, twilight, fog at the knees, ink-stained palms, callused fingertips, burning midnight oil, blueberry scones, comfy chair, writers corner, the scent of petrichor, jalapeño chips, salted sunflower seeds, trampoline, mickey mouse mug carrying hot chocolate, cracking codes, breaking firewalls, watermarked sketch paper.