- Danielle is the type of person to cry over her chipped clear nail polish
- James voice always matched pitch to the rest of annoying whines
- Simone never went to the canteen alone, and she always brought extra money
- Justin, with a smile on his face, always gave his sandwich to Liam when the other boy asked 
- Liam asked Justin for his sandwich because he was hungry for more than food
- Alexander never shared his crayons, but always gave away his erasers
- Dean would secretly rub his eraser against his dark skin underneath the table
- Riley cant go one day without knocking on their wooden desk
- Jess always mismatched her eyes with her smile
- Lauren read romance books between the pages of the bible during chapel 
- Mrs. Coleman miscarried 3 times and yet would lovingly call us her children when we asked about family
 

I miss my place in her arms.

How my own trembling branches would wrap around her steady chest - drenched in memories of teddy bears and cold nights. I felt soggy after every hug, like my limbs would fall apart at the slightest touch, like my heart was too heavy, like it would rip through my paper thin ribs if I dared breathe too fast. 

She would feel the shaking of my fingers as they danced along her back, and trapped me tighter in her embrace. Her own hand, steady and firm like the roots of my tree, would find themselves on my shoulders - reminding me that I'm real. That I'm here. That my fragile skin was enough to withhold the beating of my heart. 

She left kicking and screaming. A black figure grabbed her by the lungs and dragged and pulled and tugged until her body could hardly handle keeping up. The figure won the race, and took...

7 things I wish I had written down before you found me;

1) My body no longer feels like its in the present. Always two seconds in the past, lagging, waiting to be left behind between dawn and dusk of a repeated day. Hiding in your sighs as you sleep, my body sits in the dark, indiscernible from the growing shadows. I wait, hoping to be noticed. 
 
2) Your towel is a lighter colour. I hadn’t noticed, but its paler now, bleached with regular use. I wonder how long its been on the floor, or why I’m too much of a coward to pick it up. I leave it there, surrounded by your footprints and hair, and wonder how long your shadow has been haunting my apartment.
 
3) My alarm clocks has been dead for 3 weeks. I don’t have the energy to fix it, knowing you would have if you were here. I barely have the energy...

7 things I wish I had written down before you found me;

[1] My body no longer feels like its in the present. Always two seconds in the past, lagging, waiting to be left behind between dawn and dusk of a repeated day. Hiding in your sighs as you sleep, my body waits in the shadows to be noticed. 
 
[2] Your towel is a lighter colour. I hadn’t noticed, but its paler now. I wonder how long its been on the floor, or why I’m such a coward to pick it up. I leave it there, surrounded by your footprints and hair, and wonder how long your shadow has been haunting my apartment.
 
 
[3] My alarm clocks has been dead for 3 weeks. I don’t have the energy to fix it, knowing you would have if you were here. These days I barely have the energy to wake up, knowing that my left side grows colder, and...

I couldn’t believe my own mother turned me in.

She left me here, in a place of strangers and disgusting vermin - without even a glint of regret. Even when I reached through the bars and pleaded, she relented. Told me, with that bittersweet smile plastered on her face, that it was for my own good. That is was time to grow up.

I guess I understood. On some level, I could tell that she had been getting annoyed with me. Would lecture me about being good, about God, about how I was doing this and this and this all wrong. Maybe I did need to grow up, but not like this. My pride couldnt possibly take it - there must be another way.

I glanced at the glaring sun, already feeling the sweat glint off my back. The day was still young, fresh, and the strangers intimidated me as they surrounded the courtyard. There were rules in place,...

John Smith's a seemingly [undisclosed]-year-old detective, living  only to hide, who strolls at daybreak only to cloak himself amidst shadows. Known for being skittish and toneless, he wants nothing more than to down the amber liquid among his charcoal teeth. He pretends to be everyone he's not, when in fact, he feels like something less than indecisive - his biggest fear not loosing himself, but actually finding something between his restless muscles. What he's really needing is a fresh glass of that liberating nectar; but the metal gun to his balding head was getting in his way.


 

John Smith's a seemin'ly [undisclosed]-year-old detective, livin'  only to hide, who strolls at daybreak only to cloak himself amidst shadows. Known for bein' skittish and toneless, he wants nothin' more than to down the amber liquid among his charcoal teeth. He pretends to be everyone he's not, when in fact, he feels like somethin' less than indecisive - his biggest fear not loosin' himself, but actually findin' somethin' between his restless muscles. What he's really needin' is a fresh glass of that liberatin' nectar; but the metal gun to his baldin' head was gettin' in his way.


 

My Great Grandmother had her finger bit off by a crocodile. 

(The first time I heard this little tidbit, I hardly believed my mum. They told me she came from the amazon rainforest, and despite my Peruvian background - my westernized brain could hardly believe even this.)

When I imagined her,  I saw tall silhouettes and untamed hair - bronzed skin not afraid to shine and bright, large eyes. My mum would rave about her accent, its strange yet intriguing intonations - how the jungle shaped her tongue and her the words wrapped around it like vines, twisted yet inviting, the voice of a storyteller.  She told me of her secret smiles and whispers, and swore that she held secrets in those long, enticing eyelashes

My Great Grandfather saved her (Or at least that was what I was told). He saved her from family and friends, and, without a look back, brought her into a world of apartments and locked...

why does the milk,
leave without saying goodbye?
why do the stars,
duck between their cloaks?
why does red,
bleed for its mistress?
and the blue,
weep for its hymn?
why does the tree,
curl around the ants?
why does the tea,
rumple between the layers?
and why does the cement
groan within the blossom?
why does my passenger seat,
duck its head?
why did you leave,
your grip encompassing my waist?
why can I still feel,
your nails between the bristles?
when did loneliness,
with its sweltering smell,
and its damp voice,
whisper such promises,
of cradles and sunflowers?

Why did I accept?
 

Your steel capped boot crushes my neck, and I choke on the words in my mouth,
the 'please', 'stop', 'help', 'understand', why they catch between my velvet skin,
skin struggling to even breath, to feed the beating of my heart,
the echoing liquid pours out, between my teeth and rolling tongue,
and I watch it spill beside your gun, the colours mixing into a deathly hue.

And the words, the echo's of hope and peace,
why they beg to come out, to voice their protests,
it pleads to be heard, above the shouts and shots
of the booming voice screaming
'get down!'
And yet the boot presses harder, silencing my outcry,
silencing my breaths, my pain and screams,

And the black smoke billows, out from beneath my skin,
the fire singing the edges of my patience, wearing thin under the flames,
until it finally breaks, and even your steel capped boot
why, it...

I wish I had an app to tell me when my ma' was in a bad mood.

Maybe then I could come earlier from home, maybe pick somethin' from the neighborhood gardens like the orange lilies I know she likes. Maybe I could wake 'er up with some bacon an' pancakes, the smell of badly made coffee 'cause mine ain't ever that good. But ma' still smiles, so I'm sure it ain't too bad. Maybe then I could ask 'er about the book she readin', that mockin' bird novel that she's been strugglin' with for the past week or sumn'. I might even let 'er read a page to me, only one though, 'cause she ain't ever have the patience for mo'. An' I wondered 'bout these things, things that made ma' smile an' laugh, an' I wonder if that's why she's always so sad - 'cause I ain't ever do 'em.

I wake 'er up that mornin' with pancakes....

embracing depth

the moons light dripping from my skin. my body. felt darkness puddle at my feet. scratching and whimpering to be embraced, the darkness. to be hugged. a fool i was. to fall.


floating 

closes the book deftly. letting the words echo resonate deep. in my chest. i notice the soft, changing, winds. the words that float through them. away. into the presence of another. sentences, characters, dreams get caught. in the net of my hair. fixed, by a quick shake of my head. a shake fixes a lot of things. 


 

Terror pierced the feathers of the baby blue bird, blood seeped between the veins of Her decaying leaves as the poison unravels like rippling waves - She would never breath so long this race rests heavy against Her chest, each breath closer to heaving, each shout more like shrieking. 

Anger seeped into Her veins like the roots of a willow, grounded and spreading.

Her feet walked through riverbeds, Her soul old and cracked as sunlight streams between the ravines of her palms. A grey mist covered Her land, a blanket protecting the trees from wandering eyes. Like a shield to its beauty, like She was afraid at what they would do with such emerald, such richness ready to bargain with.

Her golden ethereal eyes gazed at what She once called Her love, destroyed by those to whom first claimed it. She came to seek those not yet intoxicated - drunk in fear turned hatred - yet She found addicts to...

Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it, and eventually they will believe it.

A man is but the product of his thoughts; what he thinks, he becomes

ideas are more powerful than guns

yesterday is gone. tomorrow has not yet come

because sometimes, history needs a push

and the man who moves mountains begins by carrying small stones



[1] - Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf, vol. I, ch. X (German politician & Leader of the Nazi Party)
[2] - quote by Mahatma Gandhi (Political Ethicist)
[3] - quote by Joseph Stalin (Georgian Revolutionary & Dictator)
[4] - quote by Mother Teresa (Saint of the Catholic Church)
[5] - quote by Vladimir Lenin, 1924 (Russian Revolutionary)
[6] - quote by Kong Qui (Confucius, Chinese Philosopher)

{1} True freedom, without the pressure of social and ethical construct, is terrifying, and humans who posses it more so.

{2} Choosing to believe in free will is your first choice, and one of the most important.

{3} I will never know what lies in the space between life and death - and so i shall bring heaven to earth instead.

{4} Humans are selfish at heart, yet from this ugly centre stems love, curiosity, and bravery.

{5} Age does not dictate wisdom, and each word coming from anothers mouth should be taken seriously and considered.

{6} i should never want to close myself in on opinions - as the wisest are those who can consider the other side .

{7} there are 3 sides to a coin, one tale, a second story, and the truth in the middle that binds the two together.

{8} extreme to either side is harmful - a balance is the only way to live...

if you lowered a microphone to the dirty street outside my home, you would not hear much other than the rumbling of wheels trekking through the gravel. The sounds of school bags swinging to the ground as students wait for the bus, with perhaps a background noise of hurried footsteps tap-dancing down the pavement.

​if you decide to lift a microphone towards the sky, perhaps you will find a different story. One of crows shrieking something foul between phone lines, or the pitter patter of warm rain hitting against our rooftops. if you listen closely, and stretch your arm out as far as you can, you might even hear the rumbling of planes finally reaching their nests.

​if you walk 5 minutes to the left, and then lift the microphone with your tired hand, you'll hear a story far more adventurous than any other. Listen closely and notice the sands crunchiness under your open toes, or the sizzle of hairs on the...

Mrs. Jones was, perhaps, the most bland teacher I ever had the pleasure of meeting. She welcomed her class, wrote the textbook page number on the board, sat on her comfy chair in the front of her classroom and read a book.

Many of my friends  insist she was never our teacher - they would not remember one so boring - but how could I forget one so impacting to my life.

Now, as I write this, I admit I would not be able to tell you the tone of her voice. I would not be able to tell you her first name, how old she was, nor her ethnicity. She, to me and to most, is simply a boring person that easily went unnoticed in the buisness of the school term. Like the blank page slipped in between the title and authros note, unbothered as we thumb past it. She wore grey blouses, pants that I never could remember...

Renting a broken home for two;

The difficulty in believing that your humanity is what validates your own self-worth is a chaotic divorce between your thoughts and heart. Self-respect is knowing that accepting happiness is far from selfish but is instead the product of freedom and is worth the pain of acceptance.
 

I suppressed a giggle every time the car drove over a speed bump, trying my best to ignore the seatbelt digging into my side. It hurt, even more when we went past the speed bumps, but I had a job to do - one that I would not fail. Finally, I see bright lights through my squinted eyes as we arrive to a quaint looking house. Inside I could here soft music, something Ma' would play whenever she pours a glass of wine - some old band she used to listen to, she would tell me, but all I heard was weird piano notes that made no sense. I wrinkled my nose in distaste but quickly settled my expression once I heard Pa' open the drivers door.

Its time, I tell myself, furrowing my eyes in concentration.

Laying my head down lightly and closing my eyes I imitate sleep, the seatbelt feels so uncomfortable but I don't let it disrupt my position. It was...

Refuge, a simple term to describe the complexity of love and safety in an environment of chaos.

To a little 8 year old girl in venuezela, refuge is not having to worry for the next meal gracing you plate but rather how much butterfly clips you can fit in one braid.

For a 15 year old boy in Burma, refuge is not having to gaze down a barrel, your life threatened to comply - but instead having the freedom to shoot a ball the farthest it can go.

To a 14 year old girl in Bangladesh, refuge is not smelling the breathes of smoke from your so called husband - captive - but instead smelling the sweet smoke of your mother cooking.

​Refuge is the feeling of kneeling down and begging, for an angel to grace your weakened shoulders, and to feel that spark of hope ignite your heart to beat 2 times faster because this is it - a...

          Social Media, in laymen’s terms, is a hub filled with hundreds of sites that allow us to communicate, inform and collaborate with the outside world. On the other hand, Social Media can also be used as a harmful platform, used to cyberbully and misinform others. We are, right now, the most interconnected we have ever been with humans outside our own little world – yet whether this is a benefit or disadvantage is still up to debate.
 
            As a teenager born in the 20th century, social media is all I’ve known. As surprising as it may seem to some, though, my hands have not been stuck to my IPad since birth, nor was I born with Airpods in my ears. I was born an ordinary child, immigrating to Australia at the age of two, and have grown into a girl that enjoys to read and write while taking my paintbrush out on the weekends. So, to a...

Self respect is knowing your boundaries, respecting your body, your morals and beliefs, ones that will keep you grounded and unchanged, ones that wont change for other people or popularity.

​Self respect is sometimes being alone, respecting your silence, your reflections and thoughts, keeping a moment or two of the day to focus completely on the maze that is your mind and heart.

​Self respect is acknowledging your flaws, respecting them for what they are, because they are what make you human, not shunning them our or ignoring them, but working on them and embracing them.

​Self respect is being able to not get sucked into the whirlwind of hate. You don't need to hate mainstream, you don't need to hate the people who hate mainstream, you don't need to hate the people who hate the people who hate mainstream. Don't be 'woke', be reasonable.

Self respect is difficult to get right, but when you do, Self respect is being...

Sebastian Crow was crazy, to put it lightly. He was also, as many could notice, a mere child. Walking through his small village with a smile that reached the clouds he never spoke more than 7 words to anyone with a heartbeat, instead he chatted all night and day to his own shadow. The black figure followed him wherever, like most other shadows, and to Sebastian this was the epitome of a trusting best friend. His stressed mother tried, she really really did, to tell him that the shadow was merely a shade of something that was not there - yet he just smiled and walked outside into the blazing sun. After all, his friend only came out once the sun shone brightly, because - Sebastian figured - his friend was quite obviously afraid of the dark.

​This gave the gossiping women of the small English town amazing opportunities for rather unsavory conversations. Especially, when that mornings newspaper showed a...

The suitcase laid, dead on top of the wardrobe. To me, the dust stacking upon the plastic showed truly how long its been since an adventure, since a journey escaped from within. When I was younger, I would take it down from its high place and lay it on the bed - id pretend to pack my clothes, my toys, my books and snacks. What clothes would I wear to the Bahamas? How many books could I fit to a trip to France? Will 3 cameras be enough to go to brazil?

​Now, even my imaginary temptations of adventure have abandoned me. I stood on my toes, taking down the suit case by the handle almost toppling from its dead weight. It was empty, this much I knew, but as I lugged it to the bed if felt like stacked weights and made my arms grow weak. Heaving it on top of the low mattress, I huff at the taunting...

i write for selfish reasons not needed to be discussed, not even to myself whom does not know why it is i relentlessly spill my thoughts out loud for those whom need not hear it.

its terrifying

how I grip

the words

from your lips

​like a life line


​my heartbeat flattening

as you grow

silent

and my eyelids

sinking

as my cheeks

​grow violet
 

Fools try to dare the universe with 'What If's'.

 ‘Ignorance is bliss’ – I don’t know who said this but they probably put pineapple on their now soggy pizza, and think Donald trump is the next messiah.

          The google definition of Ignorance –
‘Lack of knowledge or information’ and, personally, what I think should be added
 ‘and an unwillingness to gain this knowledge or information’.

          Ignorance is the reason as to why humans are zits on this green earth and why they are just naturally drawn to conflict. Whether this be conflict between people and nature, countries and their leaders, the cause of civil wars, the reason of a breakup, the explanation as to why my goldfish died – all because of ignorance.

           Little Scalene didn’t stand a chance when she was brought in to my chamber – unknowing of the fact that my lazy ass would fail to feed her, and then complain to my parents that they never taught me how to...

    I'm a female. A young one, at that - and growing up with the internet around you molds your mind from a very young stage. I would learn, from very early on, about the heavy bigotry that followed our sex and the ways in which females are discriminated against. Whether this be from rape culture to equal stands in the work place, I heard so much about the injustice against my sex and the stand my fellow sisters were taking against it. And of course, at first, I agreed. Why wouldn't you? To place your self as a victim, to fight an injustice, to be a hero as you overcome this boundaries that set you in a cage - to break free from iron clad words ditched at you from a young age. After hearing countless of stories, stories of warrior girls who have overcome their abusive pasts, victims of rape, celebrities using their platform to proudly display their feminism views, i couldn't...

    I'm a female. A young one, at that - and growing up with the internet around you molds your mind from a very young stage. I would learn, from very early on, about the heavy bigotry that followed our sex and the ways in which females are discriminated against. Whether this be from rape culture to equal stands in the work place, I heard so much about the injustice against my sex and the stand my fellow sisters were taking against it. And of course, at first, I agreed. Why wouldn't you? To place your self as a victim, to fight an injustice, to be a hero as you overcome this boundaries that set you in a cage - to break free from iron clad words ditched at you from a young age. After hearing countless of stories, stories of warrior girls who have overcome their abusive pasts, victims of rape, celebrities using their platform to proudly display their feminism views, i couldn't...

The sun rises once more
and with this,
the ​birds in their nests
Clouds are grey from light rain,
Trees calm

​Thunder now in the background
​grey turning deep
trees thrash against the wind
​Lightning striking tears through the grass
Thunder in the forefront
Air sizzling with electricity
​ground damp with wet soil
deep turning grey
​a blanket of silence becoming

Trees calm
​air damp yet soothing
ants crawl our of their homes
and with this,
the sun sets once more
 

 

Cotton candy clouds
​deliquesce beneath frozen
​poisoned rain

I am from cotton clothes stitched by hand,
​where the beating sun burns our working skin,
​and our sweat waters the soil on this harsh land
Our trees reaching for mercy, frail and thin.
​

​