journal.scribbles

United States

she/her
Asian American
INTP-T

if i'm not writing, please force me to. if i'm writing, please yell at me to do my homework. it's the only way i'll ever get anything done.

Message from Writer

May or may not be active during any given time in November because of school and NaNoWriMo (let's be buddies there! I'm these_scribbles)

“The road to hell is paved with adverbs.”
—Stephen King
(...welp. I guess I'm going to hell.)

“The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reason writes."
—Andre Gide

“Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.”
—Virginia Woolfe

Currently obsessed with folk indie music, TED talks, and the Tinker Bell movies (they're better than you remember)

Always obsessed with too many book fandoms to list, Hamilton, intellectual debates, and philosophical poetry

Congrats on having the patience to scroll this far.

Published Work

To-Do (constructive criticism please!!!)


i’ve never been very good at the whole
    complete-the-sentence 
thing. see, i have this habit of answering 
trivia in the form of a question
and yes, i know that my identity is anything but
trivial, but ‘jeopardy’ will always be a proper noun to me.
and maybe that’s not the most advantageous strategy
in figuring out this whole
        life
thing, but 2020 is a-

familiar pen stroke.
and i know that someday, that 
familiarity will be from my
    memory
and not my
    muscle memory
but for now, it’s half of a question mark
concluded by a horizontal wall
followed by an empty hole.
rinse and repeat and 
i soothe my dry hands with a phrase
    we will get through this
that’s really more of a question
        will we get through this-

facts have always grounded me:
    days are 37 minutes longer on mars
    there are an estimated 100 billion stars in the...

Assess the Situation

the overwhelming majority of
the systems in which we operate
are a perfect storm from generations of hate
we need a new organization to construct 
a new culture of deescalation
but we’ve reduced complaints by this much percent
and no excessive use of force
is the ultimate objective
and everyone should be able to go home 
and in tense situations just control your stress
and for a valuable training opportunity
become their friend
perceive things differently
and it’s an important job
emotionally draining
doing what we do
assess the situation
make a split second decision
life and death
unarmed and shot
justice and pride
fix the system
a good thing, i guess

In a House with a Piano

I want to live in a house with a piano
where I can run my fingers along the walls 
and feel the brushstrokes of history.
Classical music mingles with the crackle of the radio
and I stare at the rain drip out of the gutter.
It smells of fresh muffins and old books.
Dusty, forgotten treasures are displayed on each bookshelf,
waiting to be rediscovered by a wistful glance.
It’s always cold enough to justify both a sweater and blanket.
Under the warm glow of a single lamp
my favorite pen meets a page of stories
and my words meet hundreds of beautiful minds.

See, My Best Friend

I'm my best friend's only best friend       she hates both labels and hugs but can't seem to escape either,        and she mourns each one she pushed away          and I don't think she really knows that I'm writing this poem      (she doesn't really know who I am)       she knows that she's still becoming who she is,        so she wonders who she is      see,     'becoming' isn't a very satisfying name for a 'now.'

Sometimes my best friend hates herself for hating this body,       and she doesn't really mind each new curve,     she just hates the way it traps her mind      her thoughts     herself      in the first and only thing people see when they look      so she hides this body in the back     and hides her answers in her unraised hand     ...

lead to this

I’m addicted to life and it’s killing me slowly / you’re addicted to living and it’s killing me slowly / your words are second-hand smoke / every breath is one closer to our last / I’m terrified to inhale at all / holding my breath / suffocating in my own words / I let them fall out of my mouth / somehow they keep landing on the page / my index fingers keep straying to the ridges on the f and j keys / I close my eyes / let the little ghosts painted on my nails dance under the blue moonlight of the screen / and back when you let me paint your nails I was nice enough to use a neutral tone / and now it’s all I see when your shadow is within my sight / and foggy evenings lead to sleepless nights lead to messy metaphors lead to this / and somehow I keep chasing reality...

Fictional characters as people: Harry Potter characters

Neville Longbottom- dirt under their nails, too many plants on the windowsill, has tripped over everything in existence. has a specialty in wrong answers and raised hands and often knows the right thing to say at the wrong time. report card covered in all B+s and one A (to be extensively celebrated). cherishes old photos and current friends. 

Ron Weasley- hand-me-down sweaters and faces blushing as bright red as their namesake’s hair. saying British phrases just for the sake of it. pretending to read books recommended by their best friend and constantly made fun of for an irrational fear. watches the minutes pass on the classroom clock until they are free. will not tolerate any disrespect for their favorite sports team. willing to puke slugs for their loved ones. just wants to be enough for someone.

Hermione Granger- color-coded planners and calendars full of extracurricular events. extra credit isn’t optional. voted most academically inclined and is. plans every friend’s birthday...

All Talk

Condolences

    Niara.

    You don't get to call me that anymore. It's ma'am to you.

    Yes ma'am.

    I did what I was told. Why are you here?

    Miss Niara, the Agency is asking for a favor.

    The Agency?
    
    They extend their deepest condolences for... for what happened.

    So you're here on behalf of the Agency. 

    Yes ma'am. 

    Tell them no. And tell that insolent brother of yours to stop sending his sister for his apologies.

    Thias didn't send me. 

    Sure.

    He didn't. And I don't think he's going to apologize any time soon either.

    What does the Agency want?

    They want to arrest someone.

    So send a different agent.

    This person isn't easily arrested.

    What's the background?

    The Agency needs Thias and our father...

Journey of journal.scribbles (inspired by Coolgirl2020)

    "Good evening. Or morning. Or night. Or that awkward time where it's not quite the afternoon but-"
    "Roger!"
    "Yes, yes, sorry. Geez. No need to go all Professor McGonagall on me, world's second favorite commentator." 
    "Ahem. I believe you have misspoken. You meant 'world's favorite commentator.'" 
    "Suuuuuure. Well, today I, Roger Delansson, and my colleague, Jen Harrison, are going to be discussing journal.scribbles' journey on Write the World!"
    "Who?"
    "journal.scribbles!"
    "Don't you mean best_at_procrastinating?"
    "Nope, it looks like she's changed her name."
    
"With good reason. The other one was rushed and really not very creative. For a writer, she doesn't seem to be very good at writing usernames. Or much of anything, really."
    "At least she deleted those pieces from two years ago. Those were..."
    
"Roger. They can't see you shuddering."
    "Oh. As I was saying before my shuddering...

Remembering RBG

About Injustice

Dear Ruth,

    I’ve been meaning to write this letter for a few weeks. I kept staring at the blank page, trying to find the words to pay proper tribute to you. Now, as I finally sit my butt down to finish this, I realize that’s impossible. 
    There are no words I can use to thank you. I’ll never be able to find the right way to appreciate everything you’ve done for the world. For the first time, I see that sometimes, actions really do speak louder than words. You can’t imagine how painful it is for me as a writer to use that cliché, but I guess clichés do exist for a reason.
    So I’ll keep this brief. Thank you, Ruth. You will be remembered. But I know that fame and recognition wasn’t your goal. It was to bring justice to the world. You’ve inspired so many people, including myself, to work towards that goal as well....

I have no idea what to title this, help please!

lately i’ve been thinking 
about the fence we snagged those raspberries and snap peas 
through. why didn’t you just drop them in my basket? 
why didn’t your next-door neighbor 
ever spray us for our thievery 
with that garden hose you always told me 
was a snake? 
maybe they liked the idea of the summers we got away with 
as much as i do. 
maybe you liked the taste of getting away
too much to share.

hey, didn’t we say
it’d never be too late to
salvage those smores, even so bitter
we forgot that sugar was sweet?
just wait for a moment, 
pretty please?
it’s only fair to let me catch 
up with you. don’t you want
to chase my shadow 
on the driveway too?

watermelon juice dripped through our fingers,
through our t-shirts already soaked
with sweat, and i never was the one
to suggest going home to change. 
maybe i couldn’t see that i was drowning
until the...

Anxious Dialogue

for a moment, you shield 
your pupils from the world,
but the noise persists.
it grows louder and deeper and 
sounds more like the truth
with every passing moment 
it feels like this is 
all there is
nobody really cares
it won’t get better
just worse and worse
and worse and worse and worse
and worse and worse and worse and worse and-

stop.

a tiny voice whispers,
silences everything.

but quarantine-

stop.

but politics-

stop.

but school-

stop. 

but the world- 

stop.

you feel the voice embedded somewhere within your chest.
maybe it doesn't have ears 
or maybe it doesn’t care,
but it ignores all the
shouts
cries
calls
demanding your thoughts.
it whispers
whispers
whispers
until you have no choice but to
listen.

it will be okay.

Introspection

I. 
people say the sky cries when it rains. i never thought of it that way. i romanticize my crying - my eyes are raining, i cry. and somehow that makes me feel better. water slides past my skin. down my face.

II.
the sad part is that i don’t need the therapy. just the therapist, just a listener, just a human that doesn’t judge. and the sad part is that if i could talk, i wouldn’t write. these words wouldn’t exist. and the sad part is that i’m considering the sad parts of my sadness, and the sad part is that there are sad parts plural at all. i pick up a pen. i stare at my words. sad loses all meaning.

III.
songs feel more sentimental from a music box. maybe that’s why i crease myself along each vertex of the polygon that is my image and put mirrors on each wall so my silence echoes inside. i...

Writer's Club - Chapter 3: The Two

    My cousin and her family came to stay with mine after the tornado. As much as I wanted to help anyone impacted by the tornado, I hated sharing clothes. And a room. And my house, in general. 
    Yes, yes, I know I should have been feeling more charitable. I tried to be nice to Robin. I did. I told her to let me know if she ever needed anything, which she didn’t. She just started using my toothpaste without saying anything at all. Disgusting. The whole situation was disgusting. I really did hate seeing my favorite sweater on a 12 year old, especially when it looked better on her than it did on me. I had never appreciated being a single child until then.
    Have I mentioned that I hate sharing? I kept repeating the words in my head like a mantra as I tried to ignore the sound of Robin’s breathing and fall asleep: ...

Writer's Club - Chapter 2: Sit and Listen

    It had been approximately 37 minutes since a much more comfortable silence had settled in the East Cornerwood High School library. Well, it wasn’t exactly silence, but the only noises were keys clacking and papers rustling. Again, Lucas was the one to interrupt the not-so-silent silence.
    “I have to go. My brother gets mad when I’m late.” He stood up and slipped his arms through the straps of his backpack.
    “Hold up.” Kade’s voice was only half joking. “I didn’t write all this for nothing. We’re not going to read the writing?”
    “Nope.” Stephanie stood to follow Lucas.
    “My cousin and her family came to stay with mine after the tornado.” Mika waited a few seconds for Lucas and Stephanie to sit down again, Stephanie with an audible sigh. “I’m going to read mine. I don’t care whether you read yours. Just sit and listen.” She cleared her throat and began again. “My...

Writer's Club - Chapter 1: Four People

    Four people sat in the library of East Cornerwood High School at 3:31 PM. They each waited for another to speak. They didn’t mind the awkward silence because what the hell, the only people here to witness it were three other losers, and they weren’t contributing any small talk either. 
    But the word “loser” is funny. It suggests that life is a game, and if there are losers, who are the winners? Who wrote the rule book? Who’s keeping score? Is it a game of skill, or one of chance?
    Existential questions aside, the four filled seats around that library table was the result of an impossible roll of the dice. What it would set into motion was even more so. For a moment, let’s observe each card that was played to lead us to this turn. 

    6:24 AM: Stephanie Rubins chewed on an overly ripe banana. She had given up on brushing out the frizz in her...

A Venn Diagram of These Two Pandemics (revised)

We’ve been socially distancing for longer than I thought.
We were all infected long ago. 

I’d go with Mommy to the store. 
I’d put on a mask of polite I’ll just
get out of your way
.
I’d knock potato chip bags to the floor as 
I avoided this unknown walking down 
the grocery aisle. This unknown, this danger,
I’d step back to let them pass,
and I’d pass by without knowing that 
I’m the only dangerous one.

Only now as I see people get sprayed in the eyes
and shoved to the ground fighting the virus I inherited
from the founding fathers of our world, I see 
how deadly it is,
because we hold these lies to be
self-evident that people
who don’t look like us aren’t people, 
and people who don’t treat people 
like people never look like
us. All men are created equal. 
That’s a fundamental truth. 
Why does it get warped in our minds
into just another symbol? ...

Ode to the Mask

Thank you mask, for all that you do
Please ignore all of your haters
Yes, you’re a bit uncomfortable
But we’ll all be grateful later

You shield my smiles and mouthed curses
And that stubborn pimple under my lip
You save my mints from saving my breath
And you easily move when I need a sip

But mask, most importantly, you keep us healthy
So I’m ashamed that people are taking sides
Nothing will ever stop me from wearing you
Not my discomfort and especially not my pride
 

How Short Always Can Be

    Once upon a time, there was a crow named Robert. Every day, Robert would stop by Mr. Smith’s classroom’s windowsill, where food always awaited him. But it’s funny how short always can be. Because one day, there was no food on the windowsill. Only a key and a prophecy. Robert flew off with both items.
    Once upon another time, five lonely girls found each other. They became best friends. Then they grew up. And they weren’t best friends anymore, no matter how badly they wanted to believe it.
    But once upon another time, those girls were more than just girls. They each possessed a powerful magic as they climbed up the playground slides and were saving the world as they hung from the jungle gym. They didn’t care how unrealistic their pretendings were, so the line between reality and fantasy, impossible and possible, truth and fiction, blurred. And those pretendings were no longer just pretend. They were real. ...

such a thing

“there’s no such thing as healthy negativity” and i want to reply that the reciprocal
isn’t true, ‘cause the thing is, there is such a thing as
toxic positivity - it resides in that side of the battery with which
you close the circuit and charge the world. 
“i’m gonna change the world” we all grow up saying, 
but growing up means falling down and landing
on the cold, hard truth - it hurts, and when 
the truth is hard, it’s easy to lie
“stop” i beg of you, on my metaphorical knees,
the formation of these upside-down thoughts on 
your tongue - and then maybe we can all melt a little,
and I can stand up with these creaking joints,
and then maybe we’ll be both healthy and positive.
imagine such a thing.

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 3

You are laying in a field of daisies. You stretch your fingers and feel each stem and petal brush against your skin. Sunlight coats your body. You feel like you are glowing. You are glowing.

A gentle breeze unsettles the landscape of white flowers. In your peripheral vision, you can see the violet tint on the underside of each flower blur. You sit up, and it’s just you, the daisies, the sun, and the sky. You inhale. It smells like the grass stains on your shorts from rolling down a hill. You let yourself smile.

You feel a sudden pinch on your forearm. A bee buzzes past your ear. You open your eyes and frown at the red welt on your arm. There’s so much wrong in the world, you think. Here I am, enjoying a nice moment, and a bee has to come and sting me. 

The Earth lets out another breath. The wind reaches through the flowers and...

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 2

You are in the bathroom of the preschool you attended. Everything is exactly as you remember it. There’s the tiny toilet, the step stool to reach the sink, and the wall-sticker quote on the mirror. You can’t see what the quote says.

You walk toward it. As you near, the words don’t become any clearer. You recognize a few sight words: do, can, and see. You do your best to sound out the other words, but they become jumbled in your mind, and as soon as you get through one word, you forget the first letter to it. You try, over and over again, but the only result is your own frustration. You kick the wall.

The sticker peels off of the mirror. It lands on the floor, sticky side up. You stomp on it, and it sticks onto your shoe. You shake your foot, but the wall-sticker doesn’t come off. You bang your head against the wall. You kick...

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 1

You are standing in an empty street. It’s raining. It’s dark. Flashing lights reflect off the wet concrete.

An ambulance drives away. 

There’s a person in the ambulance. Their blond hair is wounded. Dull scissors snip away at the split ends. The person cries out in pain. The hair keeps falling. It fills the floor of the ambulance, golden strands around your feet.

An ambulance drives away.

You look up, and you’re in a barn. The strands are hay. Three horses munch on it. They tell you between bites that you are lost. You agree. After a moment, you start munching on the hay too. The horses begin galloping toward you. 

You are knocked to the ground. Your hair hurts, and it’s wet. You squint, and in the distance, a siren wails. Red lights flash.

An ambulance drives away.

Nobody Else Can Hear (Arr. by a self-aware dancer)

-as in a cadenza-   sometimes   (Dates unknown)   it feels like I’m dancing   Fine   to a tempo nobody else can hear   simile   the crescendos are silent, the lyrics   Shhhh   make no sense, and   mp   even I can’t find the melody and   mf   sometimes   (Dates unknown)   I wonder whether you’re the harmony   pp   but then I wake up and   rit.   remember that I haven’t heard your silent nonsense yet and   molto rit.   this deaf musician of a heart is best solo and so   accel.   I keep swaying in the silence and   chaotically   spinning in the nonsense and   mysteriously   falling on my face and   With a spirited groove!   shaking off the bruises and   moderately   hoping that someday   (Dates unknown)   I’ll find the melody and   fermata     the...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 6

Challenge Completed

Day 1: 

    Smile. 

    Just do it. (No, this isn’t a Nike commercial.) Go ahead, you can say “cheese” if it helps. 

    Are you smiling yet? Why not? Smile. 

    Even if today is the worst day of your life, even if you’re wearing a mask, smile. Especially if you’re wearing a mask; it’ll take your mind off of that sweaty nose. I can guarantee that smiling will make you infinitely more beautiful than any mascara and will brighten your day infinitely more than any sunshine. So let that dimple on your left cheek show. Ignore the cupcake stuck in your braces. Just go ahead and smile. 

    Are you smiling now?

    Good. I made someone smile today. Good job, me.

    (I’m smiling right now.)

Day 2:

Just being here: that’s enough. I am enough. I have always been enough and always will be. I do not need to prove that I’m worthy of this life. I might not change the world in a...

Writing Streak Week 6 Day 5

I used to struggle with regret and shame. I used to stay up at night imagining what-if scenarios, playing a game of tetris with my memories. I think I’ve overcome that struggle by looking forward instead of back. Some people look out into the world and see darkness. All the negativity out there. I look out there and see the beauty of it all. There’s a whole world out there -a whole universe- with billions and billions of other people, living their lives and maybe even having the same thoughts. There’s so much to see and learn and do, and I want it all; I want to see everything and learn everything and do everything. Now, I know that’s impossible, but that just makes it that much more exciting. Out of all the opportunities I’ll come across, I’llbe the one deciding which to pursue. Sure, maybe I’ll stay up late wondering if it was the right choice, but maybe...

A Venn Diagram of These Two Pandemics (please read message box!)

I’m not sure whether this needs a tw, but it’s on the topic of racism and recent events. 

I’ve been socially distancing for longer than I thought, 
but I caught the virus before I was born. 
I’d put on a mask of polite 
I’ll just get out of your way 
and knocked potato chip bags to the floor as I avoided 
this unknown walking down the grocery aisle. 
This unknown, they may be dangerous, maybe, 
so I’d step back to let them pass,
and I’d pass by without knowing that I’m the dangerous one. 

Only now as I see people get sprayed in the eyes
and shoved to the ground fighting the virus I inherited from
the founding fathers of our world, I see 
how deadly it is. 
Because we hold these lies to be self-evident that 
people who don’t look like us aren’t people, 
and people who aren’t people never look like us.
 
So as I walk...

Writing Streak Week 6 Day 4

    This is the last American presidential election that I’ll have to sit through without being able to vote. 
    In four years, I will be of voting age. I’ll be able to cast my ballot and contribute one vote to the candidate I support. And because this is a website for teens, that’s the case for most of us Americans. It doesn’t matter what political party you support. The next time that our country decides a new president, our voice will matter. 
    That’s pretty darn cool, don’t you think?

Writing Streak Week 6 Day 3

Respect is both a noun and verb. Both an action and an abstract concept. I’ll respect my elders and treat my peers with respect. Generally, I know that self-respect is used as a noun. But I think I’d like to use it as a verb in the future. Instead of telling myself I look terrible in the mirror, I’m going to self-respect. When I feel like waiting until the last minute to do a school assignment, I’m going to self-respect. If I can’t find the motivation to work out, I’m going to self-respect. I’ll respect my elders and treat my peers with respect, but I'm also going to try to prioritize self-respect. I'm going to respect myself and all the future versions of myself in the same way I respect the people around me.

Writing Streak Week 6 Day 2

Just being here: that’s enough. I am enough. I have always been enough and always will be. I do not need to prove that I’m worthy of this life. I might not change the world in a superhero-movie-preventing-the-apocalypse way, but I do know that I will change it. Because changing one person’s world is enough, and every day, every single person on this planet does exactly that. I am a part of, and have therefore changed, the life of my mom and my dad, my brother and my sister, my friends and my neighbors. And that’s enough. I don’t need to change the world because I already am changing it, one life at a time.

Writing Streak Week 6 Day 1

    Smile. 

    Just do it. (No, this isn’t a Nike commercial.) Go ahead, you can say “cheese” if it helps. 

    Are you smiling yet? Why not? Smile. 

    Even if today is the worst day of your life, even if you’re wearing a mask, smile. Especially if you’re wearing a mask; it’ll take your mind off of that sweaty nose. I can guarantee that smiling will make you infinitely more beautiful than any mascara and will brighten your day infinitely more than any sunshine. So let that dimple on your left cheek show. Ignore the cupcake stuck in your braces. Just go ahead and smile. 

    Are you smiling now?

    Good. I made someone smile today. Good job, me.

    (I’m smiling right now.)

The Moon

the moon
does he feel
     he flashes across     every new     on a reel
is he real
does he see
     the trees and seas     of he’s made of     a part of 
does he watch
he circles all
     never falls     that’s enough     to look backwards up 
do the hands
pass him by
     clap and wave      to the pointing     each finger timeline
does he miss 
the sphere here
     crumbled from     stumbled from     jumbled from     he
the moon
is he real
     from jumbo     to crumb     let’s jump up     and ask her 
the sun

All I Am

I am a 日本人
but also pledging allegiance to this flag
so when my first grade teacher asks us to 
talk about our veteran relatives,
all I can think is my 曾祖父 cooked
for the men that killed yours
and when we learn about the internment camps,
all I can focus on is if I had lived here 78 years ago,
I wouldn’t have this meaningless space I call my room
and when someone asks why my parent, a teacher, 
has to study for the citizenship test,
all I can say is it’s not illegal,
he has a green card
and when we discuss the subject of patriotism
and the teacher nods approvingly at the
kids who stand up when told
stand up
if you would lay down your life for this country,
all I know is I am a日本人
but also pledging allegiance to this flag

Acetone-Free

my mother wears nail polish 
for a weekend of watching HGTV
but for Monday, the house reeks of acetone-free remover,
because that color isn’t mom-like enough
and I wonder, before all of our arguments
before the judgemental neighbors
before doing laundry 
(because men are apparently incapable of that)
before she was my mother,
would we have been friends?
would I have helped her with math,
and she help me with life?
when she was just Natalie,
not Molly’s mother,
would I still hate her
and love her
like I do?

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 3

Challenge Completed

Day 1: 
Sometimes,
when everythings aren’t
things
and the wrongness of it is scribbled in red ink,
I wonder whether it's really ink
or red at all
and what's right? 

because some possibilities are impossible,
so why waste dreams on a lie?
fake it till you make it 
they tell me
but what if I’m never going to make it?
what if I can’t tell where false ends and true begins?

left-handed starfish call me
into their ocean of nonsense,
and I embrace it. 
hugging the comfort in discomfort,
greeting the familiar in the new

but then I wake up.

and
I can’t I can’t
but can’t I?
so I do


Day 2: 
hiding all the tear-stains
excuses for the eye-bags
staring out a window-pane
waiting for the jet-lag
folding piles of paper-cranes
watching Buddy’s tail-wag
the never-ending story-chain
that’s crying for a dog-tag


Day 3:
Once, 
I thought the moon was a star.
They told me to look for ...

Writing Streak Week 3 Day 5

There are words that are found 
more often on a page 
than from a voice:

magic:
not many dare to speak
about a concept that isn’t real
to them.

soul:
it’s too deep a word
for casual conversation
for most.

love:
a word spoken only
to those few who matter
to us.

Though these words aren’t spoken
very often or very loud,
they are here. 

Everyone deserves to hear them.

So find them.

Writing Streak Week 3 Day 4

I think 

I was a seagull in another life. 
on a street lamp
and coasted on the wind
and salt spray 
and waves 
and gritty sand 
- beneath me. 

I could fly. 

my feather flags,
from the top of the castles of crabs,
and collections with special ordinary stones,
forgotten in the cupboard of that little rented house.

but if
reality is a fantasy,
metaphors are stolen from
literature by misused literallys
I can.

I can fly.

I think

Writing Streak Week 3 Day 3

Once, 
I thought the moon was a star.
They told me to look for
the rabbit, pounding mochi. 
But I knew better.

Twice,
I used salt instead of sugar.
Everybody pretended
that it was fine.
So did I.

Three times,
I locked myself up in a room
and pretended that
I was right.
They were wrong.

Four times,
I tried to count the days 
until my birthday.
I always forgot Sunday.
But I knew tomorrow.

Five times,
the weather forecast said 
it would snow.
It just rained.
So I made a rainman.

Six times,
Mama called me by 
my sister’s name.
I didn’t correct her.
Neither did my sister.

Seven times,
I looked at the moon
and couldn’t see the rabbit.
They said it wasn’t there,
but I knew better.

Writing Streak Week 3 Day 2

hiding all the tear-stains
excuses for the eye-bags
staring out a window-pane
waiting for the jet-lag
folding piles of paper-cranes
watching Buddy’s tail-wag
the never-ending story-chain
that’s crying for a dog-tag

her face should wear a smile

grass dies and dries on the side of the highway
and there’s something in her breath
not fog, not dust, not smoke
dirt.
maybe she dissolved into her old namesake,
kicked up in the air by a careless wind.

there’s a wall of shrubs and a tunnel of trees
and somehow she shines on a man-made street,
like the moon does, under certain footprints.
there’s no wind there.

and there’s a school bus. 
it floats in a sea of ferns
empty, rusting, conducting heat,
so she touches it and burns and keeps touching,
and feeling skin peeling, 
she sinks into before.

that’s all she was taught how to do.

and some teachers need to learn.

and not all lessons are the truth.

Writing Streak Week 3 Day 1

sometimes,
when everythings aren’t
things
and the wrongness of it is scribbled in red ink,
I wonder whether it's really ink
or red at all
and what's right? 

because some possibilities are impossible,
so why waste dreams on a lie?
fake it till you make it 
they tell me
but what if I’m never going to make it?
what if I can’t tell where false ends and true begins?

left-handed starfish call me
into their ocean of nonsense,
and I embrace it. 
hugging the comfort in discomfort,
greeting the familiar in the new

but then I wake up.

and
I can’t I can’t
but can’t I?
so I do

Dust Jacket

My extremely late answers (sorry!)

Thank you so much to everyone who asked questions! I skipped a few that were either already asked, were asked in more detail later on, or that I didn’t have a good answer for. I hope this Q & A helps you get to know me a little better!

batman_is_a_cracker:
What's your favorite piece(s) on Write the World?
Well… *copy and pastes entire list of pieces I’ve liked* Just kidding. There are so many great WtW pieces, but a few of my recent personal favorites are the Stereo Tropes Co. series (I think all of the other pieces in the series so far are linked there), watercolor with tears, and Decomposition
Who're your favorite authors on Write the World?
*copy and pastes entire list of people I’m following* Just kidding. Again, WtW has so many talented writers, but my favorites would have to be Doodleninja, inanutshell, and mia_:). I also enjoyed many of your pieces, ...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 2

Challenge Completed

Day 1:
Lukewarmth is the color of almost things: second place awards and cookies left in the oven thirty seconds too long. With a gentle nudge on the color spectrum, lukewarmth becomes your favorite color. 

Day 2:
Kitchen sink is the color of dad jokes and “here’s a tissue, squash the spider yourself.” It’s old t-shirts, baseball caps, and terrible singing while making pancakes with too many chocolate chips.

Day 3:
Tomorrow morning is the color of fresh beginnings, empty notebooks, and new calendars still wrapped in crisp plastic. The color of photocopying blank pages just for the familiar warmth of printer paper. 

Day 4:
Curtsy is the color of resentful pleasantries, of malicious fake smiles and poison-filled handshakes. It’s the wine that Dolores Umbridge, President Snow, and Mother Gothel share.

Day 5:
Beyond is the color of the space between facts. In a bright room, beyond is the darkness. When a book is taken out of a bookshelf, that...

Writing Streak Week 2 Day 5

Beyond is the color of the space between facts. In a bright room, beyond is the darkness. When a book is taken out of a bookshelf, that dusty, in-between color is beyond. In a dictionary of colors, it’s definition is see shadow. Shadow’s definition is see beyond. It’s the color of infinite misunderstandings, building over each other, layering into an impossible net of lies and confusion. But darkness is all that it really is.

Writing Streak Week 2 Day 4

Curtsy is the color of resentful pleasantries, of malicious fake smiles and poison-filled handshakes. It’s the wine that Dolores Umbridge, President Snow, and Mother Gothel share.

Writing Streak Week 2 Day 3

Tomorrow morning is the color of fresh beginnings, empty notebooks, and new calendars still wrapped in crisp plastic. The color of photocopying blank pages just for the familiar warmth of printer paper. 

Writing Streak Week 2 Day 2

Kitchen sink is the color of dad jokes and “here’s a tissue, squash the spider yourself.” It’s old t-shirts, baseball caps, and terrible singing while making pancakes with too many chocolate chips.

Writing Streak Week 2 Day 1

Lukewarmth is the color of almost things: second-place awards and cookies left in the oven thirty seconds too long. With a gentle nudge on the color spectrum, lukewarmth becomes your favorite color.

Letter Writing Competition 2020

Thanks for the Daisies

Dear Vivian,
    The last time we spoke after you moved was on my ninth birthday. Our parents set up a video call so we could see each other. You mailed me a bracelet, and my mom gave it to me after you sang Happy Birthday. It was yellow, your favorite color. I still think of you when I see yellow in the profile picture of a stranger on the internet. I wonder, is that Vivian? Did the universe decide to let our paths impossibly cross again? I know that I won’t ever see you again, but part of me still hopes I will. 
    I owe you a huge thank you. Our second-grade friendship is probably insignificant in your life, but it changed mine. I was never as talkative as you, and I’m still not. I was alone, with no friends, and no desire to make any until you decided to help me with that daisy chain at recess. You showed...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 1

Challenge Completed

Day One:
Thoughts from a midnight walk

  1. Consumption. Everything is about consumption: midnight snacks and the assumption that “you are what you eat.” Why can’t I be where I go? Why can’t I be made up of the places I’ve been and faces I’ve seen?
  2. Maybe felines are luck-thieves. When a black cat crosses my path, maybe my luck transferred to its mews, although I mustn’t’ve had much to begin with if its fate was perpendicular to mine. 
  3. It’s funny how short forever is and how always never lasts. I’m infinitely ending and occasionally asking. I think the good might be lesser than bad in size, but it’s greater.
  4. I miss the wonder in not knowing. I want to know where I’m going, so I can miss not knowing. 
  5. I want to turn off the electricity and watch the lamp stay on. 
  6. I think I’ve just thrown a failed hail Mary, but it’s better early than late, better late than...

Writing Streak Week 1 Day 5

Things I wonder:

  1. Is there somebody thinking about me right now? 
  2. What if somebody somewhere is wishing for 11:11 wishes not to work?
  3. Am I in a coma? Is my life and reality just an extremely long dream?
  4. When I’m old, will I be proud of what I’m doing right now?
  5. Do colors look the same to everyone else?
  6. Am I just a character in a book? 
  7. When I stare into the mirror, is someone staring back?
  8. Would I be a different person if I was raised differently?
  9. Will technology ever answer any of these questions?
  10. Why can’t I remember any of my earlier ideas for this list?
  11. I’ll probably remember all of them the second after I click publish, won’t I?

Writing Streak Week 1 Day 4

Struggles of a bilingual and biracial daughter

  1. Eating pasta with chopsticks and forgetting how weird it is.
  2. Combining words from separate languages and assuming everyone knows what I’m talking about.
  3. “You can speak Japanese? Ooh, say something!”
  4. Cringing at mispronounced words quoted from anime.
  5. The stereotype that Asian kids are smart. (Maybe I am smart, but that shouldn’t be judged by my ethnicity. It makes me wonder, am I smart? Or am I just Asian?)
  6. Awkward moments when people at the grocery store talk to their families in a language they don’t think anybody will understand. You don’t want to know the things I hear…
  7. From hugging and shaking hands with distant relatives on one side of my family to bowing and talking quietly with distant relatives on the other side. 
  8. Raw fish is not disgusting, and I will fight anyone who says so! (Just kidding, I’ll probably just see you as another sushi-hater.)
  9. Memorizing not one, not two, but...

Writing Streak Week 1 Day 3

My definitions of happiness:

  1. Staring at a full bookshelf. None of the books are out of place. They’re all lined up perfectly with no spines sticking out or empty spaces. I’m not reading, but I know I can, because these books will be here for me when I need them.
  2. Laughing and not caring how ridiculous I look. Everything else disappears and all that exists is me and the people around me. The only thing that matters is that I belong. I belong. I belong. I can feel it with every hiccupy attempt to calm down.
  3. Knowing that there’s a whole world out there. This is the opposite of my definition of hopelessness, feeling like I can’t escape and there’s no point in suffering. It doesn’t matter how trapped I am. This knowledge is powerful. It frees my dreams to go live a little impossibly, because there’s so much else out there. Who am I to define what’s possible?
  4. Saying...

Writing Streak Week 1 Day 2

How to write:

  1. Hide all your inner feelings. Bottle them up and cork them. Don’t allow anything to spill out. Passion needs to be saved for more important things.
  2. The pressure will build. That’s okay. Within you and around you and everywhere. It will be hard to breathe and sometimes hard to live. It will be worth it, so keep up the straight As and fake smiles. Everything will be okay.
  3. Even with all of your feelings hidden away, thoughts might sprout up in your mind. Write them down immediately. Then delete them from your memory and push the cork on your bottle tighter so no more emotions manipulate your thoughts.
  4. Wait. This step will come suddenly, so all you can do now is wait. When the moment comes, and you’ll know because it will involve lots of crying and screaming into your pillow, let it happen. Then grab a notebook and a pen (not pencil. don’t allow anything to...

Writing Streak Week 1 Day 1

Thoughts from a midnight walk

  1. Consumption. Everything is about consumption: midnight snacks and the assumption that “you are what you eat.” Why can’t I be where I go? Why can’t I be made up of the places I’ve been and faces I’ve seen?
  2. Maybe felines are luck-thieves. When a black cat crosses my path, maybe my luck transferred to its mews, although I mustn’t’ve had much to begin with if its fate was perpendicular to mine. 
  3. It’s funny how short forever is and how always never lasts. I’m infinitely ending and occaisionally asking. I think the good might be lesser than bad in size, but it’s greater.
  4. I miss the wonder in not knowing. I want to know where I’m going, so I can miss not knowing. 
  5. I want to turn off the electricity and watch the lamp stay on. 
  6. I think I’ve just thrown a failed hail Mary, but it’s better early than late, better late than never, and...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

Thanks for the Daisies

Dear Vivian,

    The last time we spoke after you moved was on my ninth birthday. Our parents set up a video call so we could see each other. You mailed me a bracelet, and my mom gave it to me after you sang Happy Birthday. It was yellow, your favorite color. I still think of you when I see yellow in the profile picture of a stranger on the internet. I wonder, is that Vivian? Did the universe decide to let our paths impossibly cross again? I know that I won’t ever see you again, but part of me still hopes I will. 
    I owe you a huge thank you. Our second-grade friendship is probably insignificant in your life, but it changed mine. I was never as talkative as you, and I’m still not. I was alone, with no friends, and no desire to make any until you decided to help me with that daisy chain at recess. You showed...

we won't ever smell summer

lately i’ve been thinking 
about the fence we snag the raspberries and
snap peas through. why don’t you 
drop them in my basket? there’s no point 
in pointing fingers, and yours are stained with a natural paint.
just wait for a moment, won’t you?
the momos won’t fall; the mammas won’t call
and all the magma in the cosmos won’t ever burn your soul.
from their japanese peach trees, they preach
about how they teach,
and we fearfully reach 
for the branches. we’re not afraid, just like we have 
always said, and ants crawl on our smallest hands
because vitamin d is for decisions, but we 
sun-block them from our tongues 
with an oily lotion recognizable by its smell,
but we won’t. mowed grass and shattered glass
and sea salted almonds assault us everywhere
and all the mounds of mountains won’t ever reach our sky
or our skin, scraped by the ivy vines 
that won’t ever poison my voice,
and...

spies chapter three

    I roll my eyes and walk off, hoping my confident stride hides my unease. I can’t let anything distract me from what I came here to do. I don’t want to give Agent Allsbeulb the chance to prove himself right, and the only way to do that is to prevent the suspects from knowing that their identity is about to be uncovered.
    I set my champagne down on a nearby table and glance at the clock. I know that Suspects One, Two, and Four have been invited to this gala. I have a few hours to eliminate -or confirm- the three suspects here. My eyes flicker over the heads in the room. Even with the heels that I’m wearing, I’m shorter than almost every single one of these men. So Suspect Four, Mike Chadwick, towers over me. 
    My heels click against the floor as I walk casually. As I pass him, I stop and pretend to suddenly recognize his face....

Random Drawing Lottery Thingy 2.0! (and a Q & A...?)

50 followers!? What!? It's crazy to think that fifty individuals decided to click the little teal button under my bio. Thank you so much! Each and every single one of you has helped me gain confidence in my writing. 

This time, I am going to choose (well, the random name generator is going to choose) three winners. Each winner will receive a follow if I'm not already, a review, and at least three likes on their pieces. Let me know what you would like me to review. I will also write a description of what I love about their writing and a recommendation of pieces of theirs that y'all should read. I'm sorry that the prize is so small; I'm currently extremely busy trying to finish the required work for my classes because being me, I left it all to the last minute. But I digress. (I love that phrase, "but I digress." I've always wanted to use it. Somebody correct...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 13

Challenge Completed

Day 1:
solar-powered window hula dancers
click click click click click
a metronome for the music of my words
my sister slams her door 
turn that thing off, it’s driving me crazy!
but it’s impossible to turn the sun off
and how can it drive anything to a place called crazy?
I clack enter click the next line
there’s nothing to write
and yet I’m writing it
they say nothing is impossible
but it’s possible
I’m writing nothing
click

Day 2:
These words are my tears rolling down the screen
They’re my screams compacted into clacks of the keyboard
My arms wrapped around the page where there are no other arms
Head buried in pillowy paragraphs to drown out everything else
Staring into a poem of mirrors that reflects only what I am
Beneath a blanket of anonymity I breathe out everything I’ve inhaled
Unspoken secrets (not typed) don’t count as lies 
(or I’m bad at lying and terrible at...

Writing Streak Week 13 Day 5

Distant tires on a distant road
Making sound waves in an ocean of silence
In that space between a headache and a dream
My head pressed against the black cross-hatched screen on the window
Cold air ahead, warm behind
Unwritten songs on an unending loop
How do I follow my dreams when my biggest is for one to come true?

Writing Streak Week 13 Day 4

This moment will never come again
So take advantage of this second
And make the most of this minute 
Take what you can from this hour
So you won’t regret today
There are speeches to be spoken 
And stories to be told
There are discoveries to be made
And music to be sung
Don’t be afraid to take the opportunities
Don’t doubt any possibilities
Don’t worry about the future or the past
Just make the most of this moment
Because it won’t last

Writing Streak Week 13 Day 3

I try to let go
of my future and
the fears and the tears
of my past and 
to the hopes and dreams
just barely
Holding on



Now try reading the poem from the last line to the first.

Writing Streak Week 13 Day 2

These words are my tears rolling down the screen
They’re my screams compacted into clacks of the keyboard
My arms wrapped around the page where there are no other arms
Head buried in pillowy paragraphs to drown out everything else
Staring into a poem of mirrors that reflects only what I am
Beneath a blanket of anonymity I breathe out everything I’ve inhaled
Unspoken secrets (not typed) don’t count as lies 
(or I’m bad at lying and terrible at keeping secrets)
Second-guessed comments, and third, and fourth
Intended nuances lost and reinterpreted not wrongly
I haven’t heard the words grammar, punctuation, capitalization, or rules
Not because they weren’t said, but because they weren’t typed
There’s no way to know what you are until you write it
I don’t know what I am until I write it

We Keep Safe

thanks for watching, have a great night

if you or a loved one need help, please call us
until it’s over, we’re in it together
here, but only when we know you need us
we’ll continue to provide hope to the community

when we need each other
at a time, we keep safe
that’s one less person exposed
there’s a catching up to-do

count all those “didn’t hugs”
feel like getting out back - there again
we’ve always put safety, first for the future
we’re america’s number one

quality of service is our highest priority
still buying now 
time to replace them?
at home maintenance, free delivery, and online ordering

with no strings attached
at no additional cost
tough time; raising money during a crisis
that’s life for you

join us this weekend 
visit ourwebsite.com

and now, here’s your host.

Writing Streak Week 13 Day 1

solar-powered window hula dancers
click click click click click
a metronome for the music of my words
my sister slams her door 
turn that thing off, it’s driving me crazy!
but it’s impossible to turn the sun off
and how can it drive anything to a place called crazy?
I clack enter click the next line
there’s nothing to write
and yet I’m writing it
they say nothing is impossible
but it’s possible
I’m writing nothing
click

Beyond Reason

Crying Minus the Tears

Is it still called crying
if you subtract the tears?
Why is the day so bright 
when we can only see one star?
Is life just another impossible 
perpetual motion machine?
If a tear falls and no one is around to see,
did it ever even matter?

Part 4

Love. It was humanity's downfall and then... its savior. 
It all started with a boy and his father. They were the rulers of their land, the beloved royal family. Every year, the crops would flourish, the devastating storms narrowly miss the kingdom, the wars that raged on stayed distant into the far off lands. And so, the citizens threw massive, beautiful festivals and parties all to celebrate and thank their dear king and his son. Because they came when the people were in need. They made it rain so the crops may grow. They used their sorcery to fend off the devastating storms. They threatened the lives of any tyrant that sought to invade their land. 
The people adored them. The ladies (and men) of the kingdom threw themselves at the prince and king, hoping to win their hearts. And they were always - always - kindly cast aside with the words "my family is all I need, romance isn't for me"...

Crash Landing

My dreams are crash landing on Earth
Parachutes were deployed
Career counselors and self-doubt
But they were just jellyfish in the sky.
And I got caught in their tendrils.

My first-grade teacher said, “Shoot for the stars,”
My fifth-grade teacher said, “So you’ll land on the moon,”
My algebra two teacher says, “Passion isn’t talent.
Few people escape the atmosphere of reality.”

I saw my future as a station in space
An unmanned spacecraft waiting for my arrival
It waited too long
If I was going to meet it wouldn’t I by now?
Bye now.

My dreams are crash landing on Earth
Burning up in the atmosphere
Scattering pieces of my hopes
It wasn’t impossible, only improbable. 
And probability was never my best subject.

Possibly someday can be translated to probably never
How am I just now learning the alien language of honesty?
I’m not bilingual
I think I’ve given up on speaking dreamer.
(That can be translated to liar.)
...

If Truth Looked in the Mirror

before there were cameras there were only mirrors and words
nobody knew what they looked like when their eyes were closed
but that can’t be true
isn’t true
we can shout “be true” but the truth won’t listen
the opposite of truth isn’t false isn’t dare
if truth looked in the mirror what would it see?
she see? he see? they see?
what is truth?
are reflections real?
they can’t be
if I move my image moves. not vice versa
or vice versa and the truth is the not
so when eyes are closed and no snaps are shot
stars still sparkle 
trees still sway
silence still speaks
rain still falls
stillness still stalls the truth
breath held
can words do that?
pencil strokes paint streaks percussion strikes
they do
so why not?
unless the truth is the not.
so why truth
marks unneccesary it marks undeniably
no use in trying but we still do
can we do that?
apparently...

This I Believe

Everything We Have in Common

I believe in everything we have in common. 

We all live, breathe, eat, and drink; we all ask questions and look in the mirror and stand up for our beliefs and make choices; we all experience deja vu and moments of nostalgia; we all laugh and cry; we all fall in love and rise from adversity. 

I believe in our common humanity. Yes, we are all unique and beautiful in our own ways, but in between those beauties, there are similarities. And I believe that sometimes, those similarities are more important than the differences. Because when it really matters, we will come together and fight for what is right. 

"You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty."
-Mahatma Gandhi

 

Of a Dancer #IAmContest

I am the body of a dancer without a stage
I wonder where these legs will carry me someday
I hear applause from a future that might not be my path
I see spotlights on a solo that I might not be cast
I want to learn the choreography to show me the way
I am the body of a dancer without a stage

I pretend that it's easy, each pirouette, each rond de jambe 
I feel stage-fright, stage-joy, and always stage-love
I touch ​every itchy costume and pray I won't spill my food
I worry​ the other girls hate me and just don't want to be rude
I cry​ when each curtain falls and I can't stay
I am ​the body of a dancer without a stage

I understand ​that not everyone can touch their head with their toes
I say ​I'll still dance for you if you're in the back row
I dream ​that all my dreams will someday...

Idioverous #create


i·di·o·ver·ous
/idēəverəs/

adjective

full of facts that may seem strange but often form a profound truth
  • "Her diction consisted largely of unplanned idioverous phrases."
  • "The brainstorming session produced many idioverous ideas."
  • "The poem had an idioverous theme that was relatable to many readers."

Enumeration

Just a Few Confessions (from some distance)

1. When the first warnings to wash my hands and stay six feet away from people reached me, I didn't take them seriously. It makes me feel sick to write this, to see the words on my screen, but it's true. The fact that I may have contributed to the spread of the virus haunts me. It sounds dramatic, and I'm sure others feel this way, but maybe if one of us had prevented another one of us from getting the illness, we could have saved one more of us.

2. My worries seem so little now. The crush at school that I obsessed over outfits for? I honestly don't care that I look terrible through Google Meet. The math test I was stressed enough to study for? I did fine on it, but that might have been because it was shortened to four questions. I can't tell sometimes whether I just don't care because my concerns didn't matter in...

For the French Fries #dramatize

I paused mid-chew as my mind settled on a decision. I had to do it. I had no other choice. I couldn’t keep going on like this. There was only one way to resolve the issue. I swallowed. My mouth was dry. Legs trembling from the effort, I stood. Then my legs stopped trembling. Because I wasn’t that weak anyway. Just. Lazy. 

I shook my head. No, I wouldn’t let myself think that way. I wouldn’t allow my thoughts to drag me into an endless, dark pit of horrible self pity. I needed to finish what I started. I couldn’t return to my french fries empty-handed. I couldn’t bear my look of disappointment and despair in the mirror anymore. I had to do it for them, but I also needed to do this for myself. 

I took one step. And then I took another. I forced myself to continue the entire distance to the object. It was large, taller than...

Hey Scary Monster

Hello? Is it you? Monster under my bed?
I wanted to ask about the things that you said.
You said no one loved me; that’s clearly untrue.
You said people hate me; I think that’s just you.
You said I won’t ever be useful on Earth,
Thanks for your thoughts; I’ll decide my own worth.
You said that I’m ugly, stupid, and mean,
Yourself in the mirror is what you must’ve seen.
Hey, scary monster, are you still there?
I’m gonna need you to move out of your lair.
You say that your home is under my bed,
But I think enough of your demands have been fed.

Amazing, Grace

It’s amazing, Grace
An eye-widening sight
How you carefully care
And only hopefully hope
Is there not enough sugar within your voice,
Or am I simply too wretched to be saved?

I wish there was no bitter 
At the beginning of sweet
But my whispers are now echoes
Your songs are now screams
Destruction is the only result of discussion

You’re supposed to save wretches 
Reverse all of our mistakes
Fix bonds that were shattered
Will it work with a thing never whole?

I once was lost 
Then I was found
Now I am lost again

Was blind
At least now I

see.

Please read and vote!

Yay! 25 pieces published! (Well, 27 when I publish this.) I know that I should focus on quality over quantity, but there’s no way to improve at writing other than actually writing. So commence with the celebration of publishing 25 pieces on WtW! Yay!

So here’s the thing. I want to start publishing a series on WtW, and I have a few ideas but I can’t decide which to do. Please, please comment your thoughts and let me know which one you would be most likely to read and give feedback on. You can just comment to vote which option, but I would really appreciate it if you explained why you chose that one too.

Here are my ideas: 

  1. A story about a secret spy agency run by high schoolers at a high school. They recruit kids and have missions and all that fun spy stuff. The story would center around a character that is recruited and learns something that...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 8

Challenge Completed

Day 1: 
Expectations are born when compliments are considered too often.

Day 2: 
It was strange - like walking into a room you've lived in your whole life and forgetting where the light switch is.

Day 3: 
One question has followed me in all of my endeavors: if I told my story, would anyone listen?

Day 4:
It’s impossible to tell the truth and I don’t want to lie, so I don’t say anything at all. 

Day 5:
Maybe we’re all a bit selfish sometimes, only considering things that are our own; maybe we should turn our thoughts from “my life sucks,” to “life is beautiful.”

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 5

Maybe we’re all a bit selfish sometimes, only considering things that are our own; maybe we should turn our thoughts from “my life sucks,” to “life is beautiful.”

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 4

It’s impossible to tell the truth and I don’t want to lie, so I don’t say anything at all.

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 3

One question has followed me in all of my endeavors: if I told my story, would anyone listen?

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 2

It was strange - like walking into a room you've lived in your whole life and forgetting where the light switch is.

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 1

Expectations are born when compliments are considered too often. 

chain2

I've never met someone as in love with the world as Ozzy Perez. Not before I met him, and certainly not after. 
He was a hopeless romantic, with those rose-tinted glasses superglued to his face. He believed that there were no good or bad people, only people. He worshipped the icecream gods and constantly sacrificed his own physique in the name of them. He abused his hair; dyeing it, chopping it up, covering it in mud, the list could go on for miles. His skin was sunburned, while mine was sun-kissed from being dragged along beside him. His smile was rarely gone, especially after he got his braces removed. 
We never really talked. He would drone on and on about whatever was on his mind, constantly changing subjects. I was good at hearing. Listening, not so much. I had a short attention span, always spacing out-
"-And this absolute masterpiece of a musical ends with the words: 'Never surrender cause...

When we decompose

What’s the politically correct way 
To say wrong?
Eyes glued to the television
Telling our vision 
(it's the only one that matters)
Because the rising waters?
Not our fault
Just the effect of centuries of ignorance
Maybe unjust
But it won’t affect us
Just the centuries after
We die
And decompose
And release more carbon 
To this invisible bubble 

“Atmosphere” 
Our science teacher told us
It’s warmer now
It’ll be warmer tomorrow
(today’s all that matters)
When we decompose
Our silence will birth
The complaints of our children’s children
“Mommy, 
who let it get this bad?”
(it’s unrealistic to change)

Our ways?
Change them.
Is it any more realistic
For not yet existent
Populations 
To clean up our mess?
(invisible messes don’t matter)
(they can’t stain the clear consciences
and skies of today)

(today’s all that matters)
Then today,
(after today, 
that’ll mean tomorrow)
Keep following the sequence of sight
The consequences are more
than just cons to compare with...

Random Drawing Lottery Thingy!

Woohoo! 25 followers! Yay!

Okay, I know that's not a very big achievement, but I'm going to celebrate every milestone because why not. You know, I should probably do some actual writing too... ehh, I'll do that later. 

There's a bunch of contests going on right now, so I wanted to do something to thank my 25 followers without them having to do any extra work. Voila: Random Drawing Lottery Thingy! I put the usernames of all 25 of my followers into a hat and am going to draw one out. (Okay, not really, I'm too lazy. I just used a random choice generator. Sorry for shattering all your hopes and dreams.) The prize for the winner will be a description of what I love about their writing and a recommendation of pieces of theirs that y'all should read. I'm also going to go through their writing on this website and like at least three of their pieces. 

Drumroll...

The...

Some People #kayv(1)


They scratch at you
claw at you
they swing until you crumble
until all that’s left 
is a pile of rubble
some people call your name
they take pride in your lack of it
they smile when you don’t
they laugh when your existence is
laughable
when you’re unable to laugh
cough  sneeze  cover up the tears
it’s just allergies
but you’re only allergic 
to the clouds of dust erupting
from the crumbling structure
some people call your name
it’s impossible to tame the rushing 
thoughts and doubts and bouts 
of hysteria they unleash
because your foundation was already cracked
a sledge-hammer doesn’t need to swing so hard
to bring you down
crumbling into a pile
of rubble on the ground
they scratch at you
claw at you
but they only swing until you crumble
because it’s the only way they’ll ever be 
powerful
standing on the debris of other people’s names
their own foundation rotted away
and nobody bothered...

Direction

I run away.
But at the same time,
I am running towards.
I am running towards the future.
Away from the past that has haunted me for so long.
I am finally free,
Free from the memories, the old beliefs.
A new time has come.
And although I can only run physically,
I know I have escaped the limits.

Creating a story

With just my imagination
I can create a universe
I can make characters do what I want
Without having to rehearse
My fingers fly across the keyboard
And now a character has committed a crime
I hold down the backspace
And her life goes back in time
Just one simple button
Can do so much to change
The ups and downs of a story
That I have made

Why?

Why do I think it's cute when you don't push in your chair?
Why do I think it's cool when you mess up your hair?
Why am I impressed by your speed on the mile?
Why does it make my day when I make you smile?
Why do I catch myself staring at you?
Why are your eyes the perfect shade of blue?
Why do I blush when you talk to me?
And when I walk past, why don't you see?

The Anonymous Dance

But what happens when the dancers are anonymous
When their faces are just faces 
And all that’s left is the dance
Empty shells of bodies 
Executing movements
None of it is real
It doesn’t matter really
But you watch them
On a black scarred stage
Under bright staring lights
And the eyes
Of the strangers who just came to see a show
And see a showing not a sharing
And their names don’t matter
Point your feet not your fingers 
Straighten your knees not your life
All those spotlights are just spots
With light no one cares about
Your movement they’re looking at 
Them ‘cause everything else 
Is in darkness your shadow
Your darkness in shadow
You’re late 
Don’t be early
You better be better 
Or the next go-getter
Will be getting
You’ll be going
Go back
Back up
If you turn around
Or the stage turns around
Or the audience decides to move to hear the sound
Then you’re...

Names, Names, Names

Names

Breakfast joints (couldn't decide on just one):

  • Deb's Gourmet Cereal Buffet
  • Yo! (serves fro-yo minus the fro, i.e. just yogurt)
A new smartphone:
  • Illusion 11
An eyeglasses store:
  • Lookin' Good
A dog pound:
  • Dogwarts Pound of Petcraft and Lizardry
A highway:
  • Route 13 (locals say it's cursed)
An island resort:
  • Aye Aye Island (immersive experience: live the life of a pirate!)
A new constellation:
  • Stochastís
A pet polar bear:
  • Grizzly
A nail polish color: 
  • Cowgirl Leather
A new butterfly species:
  • Opal Tapestry

On Stage

    If you have ever been on a roller coaster, you know the exhilarating feeling that riding one can bring. Even though you know nothing dangerous will happen (probably) you get scared. Even though you know it is only a single ride on a moving object on tracks, you get excited. Roller coasters are often used in comparisons to contrasts in feelings, but a better comparison is the feeling before performing on stage.
    Through the curtains, you can hear the audience excitedly talking among themselves. You think of all those little children out there, waiting for the ballerina a in pink sparkly tutu to emerge from the wings, just like you had waited so many years ago. You hope you won't disappoint them and that you will cause that magical moment to happen: the moment they decide that they want to dance.
    What the audience never notices, but is definitely there for the dancer, is the pain....

I suffer too

Sure, I'm not the one being bullied
I'll never let anyone hurt me like that
Sure, you're the one who needs someone to talk to
But I suffer because of where I'm at

I just happen to be the one
Who you think you can explain to
What you don't know is my pain
From not being able to help you

 

 

Outside

Inside is crowded with people,
But I feel alone.
Outside, there is no one,
But the trees speak to me.
Inside is filled with excitement,
With children waiting for the snow to stick.
Outside is peaceful,
For the weather is silent.
Inside I am confined,
By the looming walls and new faces.
Outside I am free,
To express myself openly.

Friendship Tweet

Friendship

Friendship is the feeling that people that care about you exist. The feeling that you are not alone. 

WILD

Wild brainstorm

A whirling tunnel of inspiration,
Raining down ideas.
Imagination weaving into logic,
Curling around a prompt.