United States

Published Work

Trying to Recall

Trying to recall
looking at a photograph of a moment
an insatiable glimmer of childhood 
a flickering flame from a fire that was already put out 
trying to remember what it feels like
to have you as a friend 

Just because we are connected by the blood in our veins
does not mean I now know you at all 

that's why I am trying to recall

An Ode to Perfectionists

From the inconsistencies of my being,
To where my cognitive dissonance may lay

To when I see without really seeing,
And when I say what I don't mean to say:

May I finally come to terms with 
The act of making mistakes

May something finally grow from
A seed flown far away 


Hopeless Romantic

It is in the words unspoken
that the truest love lies

It is the stillness of two bodies
and the world passing by

that I wish to become the holder
of a union in the sky

But the clouds are merely dust 
and a mundane life is mine.

Snow This Year

I have always had a deep admiration for snow. Words are not adequate to describe the beauty of the small, descending geometric patterns, painting the sky with their softly powerful presence. But most years, the beauty also wreaks havoc on the routine of daily life. The world around me takes a pause from its constant business; I could take a walk in the white, surveying the quiet delicacy and the evergreen air, but in most instances, retreating to my house and burying myself in blankets with a warm cup of hot chocolate in hand would be ideal. The solitude that a snowstorm brings can sometimes feel melancholic: roads are layered in ice, I can't go anywhere, and the darkness of snowy nights feels ominously endless. 

Not this year, though.

I was sitting in my Spanish Zoom class today, conferring with my classmates, finding joy in what I could. In my peripheral, tiny white dots danced across the open sky. I...

Inner Monologue

Does everyone hate me?
I just want to make sure

I mistake empty reactions as whole disengagements
You don't want me to be your source and that's ok.

I'm not actually sure of any of this
But I could swear it on my life.

If you do hate me, could you please let me know?
I'm tired of the guessing game

Please just leave me with a flip of a switch
Turn my lights off

I'd rather live in the dark than not know

Please, you would actually be doing me a favor
I want to change based on what you think of me

I'd like to think I came to earth for myself, but everyone else swallowed me whole

Shape me into anything you want me to be

I just want to be made by you

Creative Nonfiction Competition 2020

The Musician

    Who was going to tell me that learning the guitar is such a daunting task?
    When I bought my first guitar this past summer, I discovered that seamlessly strumming pleasant sounds is a gradual process. The first stage of playing the guitar was a mysterious abyss. My brain navigated a new neural pathway, sculpted with sharp edges of chord progressions and fingerpicking that I undoubtedly crashed into. I struggled with the most fundamental of guitar growing pains: properly placing my fingers on the strings. When your fingers don't press down completely on a string, the string produces a harsh off-note. Sounds like these frustrated me to the brink of giving up on the guitar. What kept me motivated, though, was my eagerness to become a musician. In my mind, a musician was one who could pick up an instrument and instantaneously create magic with the swift movements of their masterful hands. I was light-years away...