adlyn

United States

Just a girl with a keyboard who gets bored really easily.

Published Work

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2020

Threadbare

I do not understand how she asks so many questions. Do all things little wonder about the things that are big? If so, why does it not work the other way, with the universe gazing down on ants with impassioned curiosity, with the universe holding its sons and daughters with peering love? But it’s always the universe this, the universe that. 

How long has it existed, mama? I don’t know, but long enough to have created and destroyed love a million times. How big is it, mama? I don’t know, but big enough that we aren’t afraid of losing it. Can we lose the universe, mama? Yes,you can lose anything. No. The universe is our home. It’s here to stay. Just like our house! She giggles while I think of a pile of bills too high for her to reach. Yes. Just like home.

I am wrong. The universe has stopped and started a million times. I do...

Nostalgia

Lost in the stream of days and nights,
drowning in the cascade of time,
I long to see who I once was,
but I know she’s no longer mine.

til death do us part

Loving too much
will be the death of me.
Sign my last breath,
I want you to kill me.

logic has emotions too

I got a chest full of heart,
and that’s okay;
the problem is my head
is filled the same way.

Aching Mint

Loose change, 
all weathered silver and bronze,
flattening the skin on my palm.

(You said you loved me)

You wouldn’t think that
dimes and nickels and pennies and quarters
could weigh you down this much.

You said 
                   you loved me.

Holding coins for a minute is easy,
but days, weeks, make my arm ache,
and I know I should just give it up.

You said you 
                    loved me.

My hand flips over,
and they fall onto hardwood - slow at first,
then a copper sea descends.

You. Said you. Lovedmeyousaidyoulovedme.

At my feet are dozens of coins,
everything to the frayed man on the street,
but worth nothing to me.

You said you loved me.

The Walk of Life

    No one ever falls in love. People only say that to make it seem more dramatic. Love is not a quick descent; love is when your pace matches someone else’s, and not by accident either.  Sure, you might bump into each other by fate or destiny or whatever your poison is, but naturally, one person’s pace is quicker and the other’s slower. Together, you work to make them line up. 

    It’s hard. It’s hard to be perfectly in sync with someone every step of the way, so you move in and out of harmony constantly, but you do your best to make up the distance. Sometimes, one person is committed to going too fast, or the other too slow. Sometimes they settle in the middle. Sometimes it holds. Sometimes, one person is left panting and the other moving, twitching.
    
    No one ever falls out of love, either. You don’t lose a spark, but you do gain distance. Stride and...

just a blur and then the bang #kickoff

    My momma told me that the universe began the first time papa smiled at her. Before, she said that everything was blurry, like when meemaw doesn’t have her glasses on, but when she saw papa, it was like bang! There was the universe.

    I asked papa how his universe began, and he said that when he was my age, he fell down in the sharp, dark mines and hit his head and visited God for a little bit. I asked if everything was blurry before that, and he said that he guessed so since he don’t remember nothing much before then. I told him how momma’s universe began, and he looked like how my puppy does when I come home from school.

    I don’t know how my universe started, but it must’ve one day. Ain’t nothing blurry for me; when I’m outside, I can see trees swaying in the wind all the way down the road. I asked my...

Dear Dork #Helpme2020

Dear Dork,

You’re such a
n e r d.
You make the worst jokes.

“Let me give you my two cents”
while placing two pennies in my hand.

You’re so
l a m e.
You say the weirdest things.

“New business idea: Go Kart obstacle course”
one late, late night.

You’re so
c r a z y.
You do the most demented things.

“I threw water out of bucket to see how fast it would freeze”
when you were in Alaska.

But you make me laugh.
Really, really laugh-
a snorting, ugly pig laugh
that you make fun of me for.
Now I’m a “little piggy”
but you have always been
“my dork”.

I’m thankful for that.

you morph a million times until you morph into dirt

How wondrous and enthralling it is
that we get to live many lives;
how dire and damning it is
that we die only once.

not with a bang, but a whimper #kickoff

Stale air.

Two years ago,
my palms sweat
as your camera clicked.
It’s not a big deal,
I unsuccessfully
chided my palms.
I smiled at you instead of the lens.

Five days ago,
you said you lost the picture.

Twenty months ago, 
my face was a radioactive red
as you explained gamma waves.
I didn’t catch a single word you said,
and to this day know less physics
then what I know of longing.

Eleven days ago,
you forgot about our study session.

Yesterday,
we ate lunch across from another.
Nothing fancy, just burgers and fries.
We spoke without conversing
until you gave new meaning to
"fast food".
You rose from the table,
and I knew.

I breathe, forcing air to move
in and out of my lungs,
even as it cries
to remain still.

not with a bang, but a whimper #kickoff

Stale air.

Two years ago,
my palms sweat
as your camera clicked.
It’s not a big deal,
I unsuccessfully
chided my palms.
I smiled at you instead of the lens.

Five days ago,
you said you lost the picture.

Twenty months ago, 
my face was a radioactive red
as you explained gamma waves.
I didn’t catch a single word you said,
and to this day know less physics
then what I know of love.

Eleven days ago,
you forgot about our study session.

Yesterday,
we ate lunch across from another.
Nothing fancy, just burgers and fries.
We spoke without conversing
until you gave new meaning to
"fast food".
You rose from the table,
and I knew.

I breathe, forcing air to move
in and out of my lungs,
even as it cries
to remain still.

Love After Love

A Creed

I will read before bed,
even though I have other things to do.
I’ll get them done tomorrow,
have things left over at the end of the day,
and read in bed once more.

I will play music out loud in my apartment,
singing along like it’s my living,
and ignore my sister
pointedly put headphones on.
She will join in one day.

I will look through my past writing
and make notes in the margins, yes,
but never with red pen, 
and put smiley faces and exclamation marks
next to lines that I like.

I will hype myself to go to school,
saying that I will learn something amazing,
or at least see my friends,
or hear an amazing piece of dialogue
from my classmates.

I will do all these things,
not because I need to 
in order to survive,
but because life feels lighter
when you are kind to yourself.

Now to Then

The Oven

Practice room five
is the coolest spot in the music building.
That is, to say,
the lowest rack in the oven.
Today, my sweaty fingers fly up
the violin’s fingerboard-
you can tell where my fingers have been
by little dark patches under the strings.
Next to me, Louis’ noise wrinkles.
You’re still flat, he sighs,
and I mirror him.
We are two peas in an oven.

Three days from now, 
I will be on stage,
a shiny new model of oven.
It’s designed specifically for my form
and has two settings:
off and full blast.
I will attempt upbow staccato
but it will appear that heat stroke has gotten to me first,
burning my cheeks into a crusty red,
and making my brain liquify in my skull.

Two days ago, my teacher told me this:
Just relax.
That’s it? I asked.
That’s it. She nodded.
Pretend that you’re just practicing,
that the world is only notes
archaic and slow. ...

To Speak

A rule of silence:
kill ideas in the womb
before they can be born.

Persistent force pressed on skin, 
tattooing disabling fear-
this is the mark of the silent.

He was edged with venom, 
and a chemical that makes air thicken;
his words constricted my throat.

Blood and sweat and fear
dripped and pooled on the earth.
I needed air.

Rotting vocal chords- scratchy-
but then slow and archaic,
low and somber.

This is how you speak?
Spin the air into thought?
This is power that could burn into sin-

Can’t remove a tattoo if it’s your whole skin,
but a bodysuit will cover it up.
Vocal chords are now available.

Basement Ghost

If I don’t turn the light on in the morning,
the absence will cling to my body tissues.
I’ll borderline exist in the dim-
no sun will greet a basement dweller-
until someone demands communication
and bulldozes me into action.
Inertia will carry me for an hour or two,
but eventually I’ll sink back into sheets
and drown in fuzzy spirals.
Why don’t you just make sure
you turn the light on right away?
Friend, if it were that easy, 
I would never know darkness 
by his shadow cast on raging waves.
Turning on the light means wanting
and who am I to want? 
Wanting is too good for me.
So I’ll pretend to be dead to myself,
whispering all throughout the morning:
I’m a basement ghost who needs no light 
and exists in only thought. The thumping
in my chest is only wishful thinking.

The light switch is five feet away.

My Pollution Story

It’s selfish but still I write twitching
this is the vial of the air
I breathed, please take it
here’s how it became polluted, please
listen with your ears and eyes and heart
these particulates weren’t supposed
to be here, they weren’t supposed 
to be in my lungs, see
how they swirl inside the glass, unnatural, he
he is the one who put them there, please stay,
but if you must go bring the vial with you and
keep it in your coat pocket and hold it up
to a candle before you sleep, never give the particles
the shade of the night, or else they will disappear.
They were there, he was there, I was there

A Forever Like

Know this, my dear:
I don’t just love you, 
I like you.

Beyond the traits anyone could name-
your lopsided smile, your friendliness,
how you put your hands on people’s shoulders-

I’ve seen you. You, dancing poorly to music from the 50s,
you, making funny faces at babies, your raw nature emanating 
as you dote over a friend that’s sick. This is why I like you-

you are what I hope humans to be, light and caring and
gentle, yet still steadfast. The reasons I love you
aren’t as important as why I like you, though I do cherish

the way you say my name in the morning, like
a hushed prayer, the look you give me on drizzling nights, asking 
if I’m okay with only the light in your eyes. I hope we’ll endlessly

love each other, that nothing could make us
separate, but don’t fear, my sweet; even if we find we cannot love, 
know that I still...

The Figure at the Top of the Hill

You were too bright,
    (A star that would burn up the sun, sizzling it to shame)
You were too fast,
    (A cheetah dashing through the tall, swaying grass just for the exhilaration)
You were too electric,
    (A crackle in the air with every movement, a smile of a thousand volts)
You were too unattainable,
    (An inhuman, five steps ahead-no, not even touching the ground, but flying)
But now I see,
(A dreary rainy day, a grey slab, a monochrome bunch of flowers)
That all you really were 
Was lonely.

When They Leave #HomoSapiensStory

For some, it’s the moments of silence that gets them. When the dust settles and you’re sitting on your kitchen table with a cup of tea at two in the morning, you can feel how the yarn joining you to someone else has been snipped. You still have it tied around your wrist- double, no triple knotted- but it just hangs there, worthless rubbish that you drag piously everywhere. The air becomes still, suffocating, and you’d give anything for the noise that comes with affection.

For others, the busyness of the day makes their heart ache. When you’re walking with a group of friends downtown, chatter and electricity crackling in the air, you reach out your hand, but find that in that one spot the air is dead and dispassionate. Suddenly, the whole earth loses her color, and your friends become motion-blurs with too bright smiles, and all you want is somebody to bring back the colors and stop you...

Calls of Yesterday

Isn’t funny how the smaller we are, the more life we see?
Little kids with wide eyes, soaking up the earth,
And a middle aged somebody no longer looking for magic.
Wasn’t it better when we didn’t know?
How much time it takes to get home from work,
How to smile with our lips, not our eyes,
How to count quarters and dimes without using our fingers.
I wish every night to lay down and shrink,
To climb chairs in order to sit in them
To use the step stool to wash my hands,
To be sung a lullaby as the stars greet me-
Maybe that would make my heart beat again, 
Maybe I could breathe,
Maybe I could sing,
Maybe I could look out the window, unafraid of tomorrow
And feel reassurance from the trees whispering,
“The Earth is big.”

What's Left Behind

An unfeeling slab of granite.
Worn eyes reading the engraving.
A right hand rubbing his left ring finger.
Smog and haze inside and out.

Baby Hands

“You got baby hands, girl.” 

We were arguing about something- instruments? basketball?- when you grabbed my right hand and laughed. My hands were small, fair enough, but you didn't have to point it out. You certainly didn’t have to grab one of them too.

We would bicker like our lives depended on it, all bite and no bark. But, for whatever reason, this time I couldn’t make my throat work. All of my body’s ability had been limited to my eyes. They were staring at your hand holding mine.

My silence caught your attention, and your eyes followed mine.

“Oh, uh. Sorry.” You mumbled, and let go of my hand, instantly awkward. “I didn’t mean to be weird or anything.”

“It’s uh...that’s okay.”  I managed to choke out.

The bell rang, and we hastily departed.
----
“You got baby hands, girl.”

You chuckled as you looked down at our linked hands on the couch. “I can’t get over how mutated...

A Trillion Trees

The Battle Speech

Us trillion trees now stand
At the edge of the concrete death-
A so called a "city"-
As a nation that was sworn to peacefulness
Choosing to sway rather than resist-

That is,
Until today. 

Mankind has shot their last shot.

They have burned our kind brethren,
They have slaughtered our elderly
And enslaved our youths.

Now today is the day.

Man will tremble when the force of nature
Is no longer a loving mother.

Flash Fiction Competition 2019

Your Sneakers

I found them last night.

They were a far cry from their original white. Shoe laces frayed, aglets gone. They were scuffed and blatantly abused. 

Dust shifted in the room as I let out a snort.

You were made to move. Every day you’d run circles around me, a smile in a motion blur.

“Let’s go!”

I tried, but my mind and soul were rooted into the soil. Not all of us can run, you know.
 
My knees popped as I rose. Off-white sneakers found their way inside black plastic.

I hope you got where you wanted to go.

The Vacuum of the Prison House

Words are the currency of the outside; they flutter and fight and touch and teach. They sail through the air and are barely detected by my small ears. But as soon as the door shuts, a thud becomes the only thing heard. In that prison house, no words were spoken. Even if the guards would allow it, there’d be no use of it anyway. The door itself made us dumb, ideas coming to us briefly, but dying in our stomachs before they could be born.

The first decade of my life carried on like this; a persistent force of silence pressing on my skin, tattooing a disabling fear on my arms that would follow me even after the door was far away. Words were sin waiting to happen, and I was far too good a girl to succumb to the earth. I was pretty and quiet, the wives told me. I’d make a man so happy one day. They’d wink...

The Separation #imagineit

He was the sun itself, blindingly bright with hints of warmth and sweetness, yet he was also her entire world.
They had known each other their whole lives; from diapers to action figures then braces and finally to love.
When she looked at him, she knew exactly who he was, every bump and layer of his being.
However, when they started senior year, she could feel him changing, and it wasn’t just his clothes.
He never said he loved her in front of his friends,  just grunting when she left.
He stopped calling her “sweetie”, and she couldn’t remember exactly how her said her name.
It felt like one of her arms was rotting off, a slow, painful decay.
She was usually agreeable and timid, but she knew she should say something.
He had to hear her out- who would just leave her crumbling?
So, that night, she picked up her phone and texted him.
    Hey, I’ve noticed you’ve been...

This Is a Love Poem Loser

Hey.
This is a poem for you,
A bumbling idiot,
From me,
The best person in your life.
You better like it,
'Cuz I worked super hard
But only for five minutes
Because I’m not a sappy idiot,
Unlike some people.
(cough, cough)
This is probably the bestest poem you’ve ever read,
As I am an  e l i t e  w r i t e r,
But please refrain from swooning 
When I see you later,
Maybe tonight?
I can pick you up at seven.
Circle one and throw this at me 
During fifth period science
Or else.
After all,
This poem is too great for YOU to keep it.


Yes            No

Universal Knowledge

The Language of the Air

The language of the universe is the stillness of the air; the moments when everyone else is asleep and the moon only exists for you, the moments when everything stops and you can feel the dust settle on your bones, the moments when the atmosphere feels more blanket then oxygen.

These Four Walls #Home

Blindfolded or blinded,
20/20 with or without
concave, convex, complex correctors,
an equation stacked with foreign objects
to them
is a
five steps forward,
90 degrees left, 
around the table,
second drawer to the right
to you.
The back of your hand
never could know
the familiarity,
The picture-in-your-mind-ness,
the belonging,
that these four walls give you,
breathing in and out in time,
a rhythm, 
a melody,
a song,
lyrics memorized long ago,
guiding you to rest,
knowing that the world
is now measured
in square feet.

Lunar Phrases

Rough Hands

It was the calluses on her feet after a hard day’s work.

Later, the moon became her old dog, greeting her when she came home.

And the moon was also her mom, distant but so beautiful.

Sijo

The Precipice

I always find myself sitting fifteen feet from the edge.
Watch the others; see how they walk straight into the unknown.
One day, my time will come, but now my courage must grow. One day.

Micro Memoir

Stop Your Heart

Please don’t fall in love again. Even now, as I lean on you, as I feel your heartbeat, I can imagine you with someone else. Someone else who makes you laugh. Someone else who makes you glow. Someone else you share a soul with. 

You tell me you’d never leave me. You say the words over and over again, but I can’t stop my heart. What if you can’t stop your heart? What if she’s beautiful, what if she’s kind, what if she’s intelligent and funny and charming and all the things I could never be? I would be the last person to blame you. You deserve the world, you deserve the sun. You don’t have to settle for me.

Despite me knowing that, when your body shifts slightly beside me, I flinch. I instinctively hold you tighter, as if that could make you stay. Soon that’s not enough, and I find my head buried in your chest. Now your...

The Broken Hour

It is 3am.
I sit on my bed,
Blankets pushed aside,
Telling the world I know it’s not asleep.
While it may be a cold night,
I feel the heat on my back,
The heat of you, of all of you,
And your whispers,
Oh, your whispers.
The heat turns into the crawling,
Into the squirming up my spine,
Into the writhing into my head,
And finally, it reaches the brain.
Explosion.
I hear you, world.
I knew you weren’t asleep.
You always have to say something,
So what’ll it be tonight?
Entertain me.
I sit and listen
To a baby cry
To a child’s innocence
To a teenage mask
To an adult’s existence that cannot be called a life.
I listen to it, I listen to all of it,
The secrets, the truths, the lies, the backstabbing,
All in broken fragments.
It is 4am.
Finally, the world is 
quiet.

Open Prompt

The Girl Who's Always Been

“Why?”

The question tore out of my throat, my voice quivering. My father was across me, his hands mirroring mine as they sat behind his back. I searched his face, but it was unmoving and flat. The skin on the small of my back crawled.

“Just tell me why. Please.” My voice broke with desperation.

I hated it. I hated that he could keep me in purgatory, searching for answers and meaning. I hated that he could twist my putty heart into grotesque amalgamations. I hated how guilt slid off of him, the excess pouring and burning across my skin. I hated him. I hated myself.

“Why? Why?” The force of my words pulled me closer to him. My pride was left behind. All that mattered was an answer.

He moved a step forward, his face a concrete slab. At that moment, it occurred to me that I was alone with him in the house. A savior would never appear...

A Hush #Lovegood_24'sContest

On the horizon, the hint of the monster,
Peering through the mountains.
It’s not yet over,
But, for now,
I can rest.

Legs folded on the top of the hill,
Debris surrounding me.
Moments ago they were tossed by the enemy,
But, for now,
It can rest.

Ten minutes later,
And I hear your whine.
Loyal eyes lose their light.
Sorry, friend,
You can now rest.

In the eye of the hurricane,
There is quiet
For just a moment-
A yellow sky.
We sit after the first wave,
Knowing the day is not over,
But, for now,
We can rest.

Water Body

my friend, the ocean

I make my way to you,
Moonlight reflecting,
Silent, vigilant,
Asking what I’m doing.
“I don’t know,”
I whisper to your waves
Then your tide hugs my ankles
It’s alright, it’s alright.
As I sit, slightly soaked,
You show me a sweet melody,
A steady beat with a lilting harmony,
And I breathe-
In and out and in and out-
With your song.

0-9

The Steps to a Cycle

One is a hesitant embrace. My head hiding in a sea of blue sweatshirt. Your calming cologne.

Two is little whispers of sweet nothings. My head on resting on your shoulder. Your soft humming.

Three is a disagreement over the remote. My head shaking slowly. Your half-joking, half-serious smile.

Four is a little snide comment. My head craning to examine my short skirt. Your eyes boring a hole into me.

Five is a streak of jealousy. My head resting on the wall. You scrolling through my text messages.

Six is a hand on my shoulder. My head looking up. You dragging me away from my friend.

Seven is the fight. My head pounding. You taking your things and slamming the door. 

Eight is the hollowness. My head swerving around but finding nothing, finding no one. You. I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t-

Nine is a hesitant embrace. My head hiding in shame. Your cologne makes me sick.

Myself (Song Lyrics)

Don’t mind me, girl
It wasn’t that grim
Tell me, oh tell me,
How’s your day been?
Friend, it’s not a big deal
I can get by on my own
Tell me, oh tell me,
How are things at home?

I’ll tell you again, again and again
My whole purpose in life
Is to be your friend
I can do it myself, all by myself
But truth is I’m going insane
Yeah, just a little insane.

It’s alright my dear,
It was just an average day,
Tell me, oh tell me,
What did your boss say?
Honey, it’s okay,
My problems aren’t really there,
Tell me, oh tell me,
The stuff you just can’t bear.

I’ll tell you over, over and over
My whole purpose in life
Is to be your lover
I can do it myself, all by myself
But truth is I’m going insane
Yeah, just a little insane.

Hello, my darling, my used to be,
How’s your...

She Would Not Die

The fog was a white sheet that she’d used to put on, pretending to be a ghost. It swirled around her, crippling all sense direction, forcing helplessness on her like a mother feeding a stubborn toddler. Tendrils of the fog reached out to snatch her, but the girl stumbled away, with pupils so wide they could swallow the moon in one bite, pupils so wide someone could have used them as a pair of surprised bowling balls. The tendrils attacked again, but the girl turned and scrambled in the other direction.
    
She would not die. She would not die.

The fog chuckled, poking the girl as she sprinted. Edging her on.

Run, run, little girl. Run.

Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes, but she faithfully retained her mantra. She would not die. She would not die, shewouldnotdie, shewouldnot-

Suddenly, the girl was airborne, feet searching for the ground, arms pumping like she was running until her...

Love in Words

Dear Dork

Dear Dork,

You’re such a
n e r d.
You make the worst jokes.

“Let me give you my two cents”
While placing two pennies in my hand.

You’re so
l a m e.
You say the weirdest things.

“New business idea: Go Kart obstacle course”
One late, late night.

You’re so
c r a z y.
You do the most stupid things.

“I threw water out of bucket to see how fast it would freeze”
When you were in Alaska.

But you make me laugh.
Really, really laugh-
A snorting, ugly pig laugh
That you make fun of me for.
Now I’m a “little piggy”
But you have always been
“My dork”

And I’m thankful for that.

At Home

A Park Bench

Your thumb brushed the back of my hand. My eyes lazily looked up to your face while my head never left your shoulder.

Your eyes had a glint in it, a light that contained years of familiarity. The breeze rustled your hair. After a moment passed, I let out a little hum. What’s up?

You smiled, and let air out from your lips. Your head found its way on top of mine. Again your thumb made its way to my hand and traced gentle circles.

Nothing much. You, love?

I started humming a lullaby. Quiet and smooth with a simple melody.

Just happy to be home.

Open Prompt

The Girl Who's Always Been

“Why?”

The question tore out of my throat, my voice quivering. I was standing in the middle of the room, across my father. His face was unmoving and flat. It was disturbing.

“Just tell me why. Please.” My voice broke with desperation.

I hated it. I hated that he could keep me trapped and not even give me an explanation. I hated that he could break me so easily, that he could see me cry. I hated that he never felt guilt, while I felt it for both of us. I hated him. I hated myself.

“Why? Why?” I moved closer to him, my eyes burning. I had already lost my pride. My only goal was an answer now.

He moved a step forward. At that moment, it occurred to me that we were alone in the house. If he were to hurt me now, no one would save me. I wouldn’t even get to die alone- I would be...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2019

Nervosa

It fills me with a
SQUIRMY
nothingless.
The void has something inside,
Somehow.
Worms.
That’s it-
writhing worms-
Jerking in my stomach,
Crawling to my chest,
Invading my hypothalamus.
Apprehension-
Hysteria-
NotthisagainpleaseGodno-
Expulsion.
Worms battle and
My mouth opens.
Release.
For a moment,
The nothingness is
s t i l l.

Five Beginnings

The Beginnings

  1. My brother always said I was a chicken, but turning into one was not an actual goal of mine until today. 
  2. It's not that she was weird. She was normal, in fact. Dark hair, dark eyes, average height, average intelligence. Nothing warranted the adventure that would come, yet it still came, plowing over her normalcy.
  3. I knew I wanted to be your friend the moment I saw you come into first period, late but smiling, and referred to the teacher exclusively by "Sarah" on the first day on sophomore year.
  4. His shoes were filled with more mud, water and muck than feet. The hotel staff gave him dirty looks and he took the stairs up to the top floor. He was a jerk.
  5. First off, I want to say sorry to my mom, go screw yourself to my teacher and I know you told me so to my brother.

Flash Fiction Competition 2017

Locked Bedroom

Home is where the heart breaks.

Her vision was blurry, her breaths trying to escape as quickly as possible. Her breaths hated her, but her fingers, her fingers liked her. They were gripping on for dear life, trying to ground her. Still, they couldn’t win against her brain. No, he was an overpowered antagonist, relentlessly pounding her, force feeding thoughts, cramming in feelings. She wanted to kill him, but knew it would kill her.

Shut up, shut up, shut up! The girl screamed at her brain.

But he would not stop until he drowned her heart.

Flash Fiction Competition 2017

Locked Bedroom

Home is where the heart breaks.

Her vision was blurry, her breaths trying to escape as quickly as possible. Her breaths hated her, but her fingers, her fingers liked her. They were gripping on for dear life, trying to ground her. Still, they couldn’t win against her brain. No, he was a overpowered antagonist, relentlessly pounding her, force feeding thoughts, cramming in feelings. She wanted to kill him, but knew it would kill her.

Shut up, shut up, shut up! The girl screamed at her brain.

But he would not stop until he drowned her heart.

Other Worlds

Rhythms and Rhymes

Cracked lips moving with a sure rhythm, rhyming phrases streaming through the air, the father read to a girl clutching a blanket. She was witnessing pure magic, she swore. The fun little phrases of Shel Slivertein passed through her ears and to her heart. 

"Can you read 'Stupid Pencil Maker Again?' " The girl asked, already laughing.

The man obliged, a smile coming long before the punchline. He hadn't even bothered turning the page. For his daughter, he had memorized the poem and the delivery. The results were apparent. The room's light brightened and warm wisps of sun snuck through the window.

The girl with the blanket proceeded to intently listen in, absorbing the rhymes that would continue to stay with her for years.

Into the Woods

A Toddler

It was a three year old, stubborn,
Roots planted firmly in the ground.
I want to stay here,
I don't care how much the wind pushes me.
I. Want. To. Stay.

The toddler also refused,
Quite unreasonably, 
To be near a comb.
Its top was a bird nest,
Blue birds resting,
Barely peaking out from the barren brown.
There was also a mess all around it,
a finger pointing at the culprit,
Brown, crisp evidence of a fight with the wind,
And the toddler showing off its worn-down arms as if saying
I won, I won,
I won.