Dmoral

United States

est. 2018
she/her | taurus
old soul of a published writer.

junior | light-skinned/mixed
attempting to read all the classics i can.

Message from Writer

cría cuervos y te sacarán los ojos;
nolite te bastardes carborundorum
__________
part of the (unofficial) wtw welcome committee! *waves*
https://bit.ly/33YsBOK

Published Work

metamorphosis


ripped the stitches that held together with your
skin, all while crying out, this isn't how i want to live. and
who knows nothing more miserable than walmart at 3am,
where all you can think is, i don't want to end up like them
so you've waxed off every hair off your body, but still
it's not enough, that's why you took off your skin. the only thing
left of this moving on, is telling your lover it's time to stop
seeing them: i want all of the memories but you can leave me.

quickly, wrap the fire around your being; 'cause if it's true,
fire is human (it's living and breathing) and perhaps it can be a
part of you; but all you now is the burning feeling of swimming
in bleach at 7pm after work's done and you found misery the only
pay for the day. and for a person of no talents, you sure...

Welcome to WTW- From the (Unofficial) Welcome Committee | why i write

Words rush out of me faster than i can process, they form phrases and sentences of their own; half the time i don't know what i write until it's too late- and the piece is out for the world. my mind translates the stories, created from my heart;
my hands transfer the stories onto the blank pages; waiting for me to write. it's more like a job, than a hobby, my soul enslaves me and forces me to write out stories. i am not to ask about its inspiration, but my belief says it comes from the experiences, memories, and life it lives. to put it simply: i'm just a scribe, stories use to write, about their life.

Tell me, why do you write?

THE QUEEN'S LOVER, DON'T TELL THE KING YOU KNOW ABOUT HER OR YOU'LL FACE SOMETHING FAR WORSE THAN AN EXECUTION | edited

Cecilia sits on the garden bench surrounded by white flowers unknown to her, their petals soft beneath her curious fingers as she allows her thoughts to wander far past the kingdom where she currently resides. Behind her approaches Queen Carolina, who stops several feet away to admire Cecilia’s presence in the castle gardens.

Yes, Queen Carolina gazed at her lover. Cecilia's petite frame was hidden under a simple grey dress and white apron that was too drastically dull for her complexion. Shaking her head, Queen Carolina's eyes moved toward Cecilia's auburn hair pinned tightly in a bun, yearning to run her fingers through the softness of it, as she would do, in the ancient summers of their youth.

"I know you're there," Cecilia smirked, turning slowly to face her. Her pale blue eyes looked questionably grey as they held Queen Carolina's dark, tender, brown ones.

"You look beautiful," Queen Carolina said, making her way to sit beside her.

Cecilia snorted,...

teenage pregnancy: unfiltered


you started taking irony like pills; yes, that’s when it started. life’s too short and you knew that, so when boys started thinking you were cute that was everything to you. many mistakes were made but that’s life (or so you tell yourself) and so the day you find out, you think, how was i suppose to know it’d come to this?

mother hissed the words at you, ”you were better off dating a plant” and they’re funny in plain sight, but hurts when it hits at 3 am you start silently crying in your room. and you curse at everything when you realize your best friend was right, how changing the locks on your heart, was the truest thing to do at time. but now, it’s too late. so there goes your future dreams, though, there wasn’t much anyway; ’cause you never saw the point in getting a degree of something that doesn’t quite existbesides...

go to her // this is my poem of setting you free


shadow tears & irony; why do i love those who only break me? and pretends and wannabes appear underneath my nail as i scratch at the futures of our being; yes, in the beginning, i thought of us as everything. so remember how i always loved you far too much then i should've, and that it's okay to let go when you're hearts still unsure. 'cause i'd be damned if i kept the locks on too long; forcing you to love me would just be signing a contract to realizing you hate me. so please, go to her; and no more running back to me. safe isn't enough - nor should it ever be - it's loving that's worth eternity, not souls full of ifs and maybes.

and here, on your way out, take these: my collection of poetries from the muses composed of our (temporary) being, i don't want them anymore (now that...

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Fleeing Shadow

Her golden sandals slapped the ground; rain fell harder, colder; her shadow wrapped around her, strained, yet unyielding; bitter wind rushed past her, carrying harsh whispers: hurry up, no time. 

Glancing down at the bundle in her arms, tears stung Heidi's eyes. Life faded from her baby: his cheeks paled, his almond skin froze, his breathing grew heavy. She tightened her grasp.

Someone shrieked from behind, quickly followed by the piercing slice of flesh on a blade. Heidi's bones rattled; goosebumps pricked her skin; sweat mixed with rain. Briskly, she focused back.

"We're almost there, Elias," she murmured lovingly.

you are not enough.


no, you are never enough. and all those ”i love you”s
were phrases in the form of coins (you were the only rich
a man never wants to be), constantly you throw them into your
wannabe lover’s well of romantic fantasies; but this wish,
will never come true for you because you are not enough,
nor you never will be. so even though you just wanted to be
a person someone takes their earbuds out (because they
actually care what you have to say instead of nodding), that
doesn’t mean you ever will be. because you do not get to feel
the beauty after a waxing, you are nothing but the wax that burns the
person-you-pine-for‘s skin; they’re screaming at you ’cause you
are not nor will ever be worth the pain to them. and yes,
you are the definition of agony and loving you would be a
monstrosity, because if you mean nothing one...

your art of broken dreaming // shattered constellations.

    
                                                     you are a broken girl.
                                   who (once) believed in connecting the stars.

before.
you collected broken dreams, seeing them not as they are - but what they were. once they were pretty; but now they're lost and far too mundane, stripped of fantasy. 'cause once you have humanity with something, there's no longer value or meaning. no, humans want more than they are.
so you took these broken dreams and crafted them into stars. few dared to fall, those are the ones who's creators desired them once more. but at last, there's not much to make of second hand, broken dreams. unless they're you, but they're not, only you know the magic behind what you're doing.

                                                  you were not always broken.
                                            back when you painted constellations.

now.
no longer is midnight your canvas, you are no more sweet nor kind. shadow tears you cry, often too hot and boiling or as frozen droplets. they ripped apart...

they're each other's moonlit dreams, can't you see?


after the sun baked the life right out of him, he cowered to the moon as though they were a lost friend. perhaps, that's why the moon became kind to him, savouring the newfound affection. but at least, the moon had an endless amount of lovers and time was not kind, for even if they reached eternity, the moon still wouldn't be able to give them all the deserved attention.

so it was while he and the moon exchanged wishes and realized their unspoken desires, did the moon cast their glow; causing him to glance away from the moon- that’s when he saw her; yes, she was lit up by the moon. that’s how he knew he was destined to love her.

but she was crying stars with a midnight heart, and the sight utterly broke him. soon, cuts began to decorate his hands, showing all the times he failed to catch them. and far too often does she wonder...

forbidden truths we bleed are written by 3am musing


our shadows live with personality, do not overlook
peter pan so early; yes, the wise man knows
in them lurks the kindest of all beings, waiting
for their curtain callings. but few dare to speak
with words that'd stretch the space wide enough for
such beings to crawl out from the shadows; yet,
there's always our savior, slam poetry, where
forbidden truths we bleed are written by 3am musing
(the one time, we are promised a chance to speak freely).
and if we confessed our sins at church, we'd be damned there
for eternity; no, sunday wouldn't even a fraction of the word
enough - it'd be the space before it. so rearrange the world
and perhaps you'll find your celebration of humanity,
when the shadows allow themselves to fall. mine was as
my lips dripped  the liquidized jolly rancher; two day old mascara
stained my tear-streaked face; and pepsi was spilled
across the living room, leaking in my cracked...

○ soul collector ○ (y 301 seguidores- ay díos mio)

                                                                    
            ○ soul collector ○


find me hidden in your shadow, watching closely;
because your lucid dreams are a result of my
telepathy. and no, you wouldn't wish it, so fate
does so for you: break me completely.

so beware, i may steal your words and recraft them
into poetry (i am a writer after all / 'til death does
part me)
. once i leave, keep in mind, hurting
you gave you a chance at healing.

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Fleeing Shadow

As her golden sandals slapped the ground; rain fell harder, colder; and the wind rushed past her urgently, carrying harsh whispers: hurry up, no time. 

Glancing down at the bundle in her arms, Heidi felt tears sting her eyes. The baby's cheeks were paling and she could feel his heart rate slowing, his breathing heavier, slower. 

Someone shierke from behind, only to be followed by the piercing slice of flesh on a blade. Both sounds rattled Heidi's bones and snapped her back to focus. Goosebumps pricked her skin, sweat mixed with rain.

"We're almost there, Elias." She murmured, softly.

living life with concepts


had tea with inevitability,
toasted her for my future;
told her i knew i'd die anyway.

met with eternity,
kissed her a farewell on both cheeks;
told her this wasn't for me.

baked alongside promise,
gave her blueberry muffins;
told her i couldn't keep anything.

waved to closure,
whispered words that hurt our ears;
told her it was time to let go.

$5.00 (to my name)


priceless: being born is easy if you do none of the work; yet, people don’t ever realize your worth. and yes an antique is priceless, but so are your ripped, grass-stained jeans. because if there’s no money to name it, there’s not a dollar to it, either way.

$2.00: when too little for you means the world to me, that’s when you understand poverty. if there were enough dimes in the world, would i still be broke? or perhaps there is and fate’s a cruel joke.

50¢: tell me, will working ever be enough? my mother worked 3 jobs and even then, she couldn’t take care of us. irony: she never had time to spend ’cause she was focused on making money, attempting to afford us that life she never lived (when all i wanted, was her instead).

$1.10:when i reached 4th grade, i learned how by writing my troubles away, i could pretend everything’s okay. but once my...

dad, can u hold me like u did when i was little? i need that right now.


i don’t have a key chain name, you knew that when you adopted me; sometimes, i wonder if it’s the first thing you noticed about me. i don’t much care though, because you love me anyway. my strongest memory of you telling me so is when i asked you why i was brown when our whole family was so pale, ‘caucasian’ i think you told me (that little detail is blurry, sorry). you explained to me i'm beautiful and every in the family wants my tan skin and my blood dad left me but that doesn't matter because you loved me. you loved me and that's all that really, ever, truly matters. and you reminded me this a thousand times in a single minute while holding me, hugging me, your rough calloused hands surprisingly soft against my coloured skin.

dad, can you hold me like you did back then, when you told me you loved me and my looks...

Beyond Reason

I-IV. Questions of Divinity

I.
Do your eyes glow when you close them
or do you dream in colors and that's what
you're seeing?

II.
Are fireflies fallen stars that learn to adapt
to the Earth or are they ones that never got
a chance to shoot toward the night sky?

III.
Is every thought that's crossed your mind only
your purely or are they collections of words 
picked up during life's journey?

IV.
Who are the mirrors reflecting back at us
the person other people see or the being
we see ourselves and believe there's no changing?

sunflower teardrops

the agony of desire:
                              craving water-
                              but i don’t want to drink it,
                              like when i’m craving you.

since you’re
/all knowing/all loving/(but)/none caring/none giving/.


                              so let’s
go back to when i never met you,
save me some pain, heartache, and
nostalgic things too.


but that’s hard when i
                             worshipped you like a religion: where
                             you wanted blind faith and loyalty-
                             (like christians perform obediently)
                             and yes, religion is 100% believing,
                             which is what i did for the both
                             of us​.


and i suppose there’s irony (but to you it’s simply funny)
how you can survive a new world without me,
the very one i brought you in to.


perhaps it might be my fault,
i’m clumsy and graceless (bit ugly too
from falling on my face) so many times;
’cause, when i told myself i wouldn’t fall,
           i
   ...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 4

Challenge Completed - Week 4: I Belong

Aug. 3 - Monday:  Writing Streak Week 4, Day 1: Minnesota summer
I belong to the Minnesota summer: the sun's rays dancing across my shoulders; plump hummingbirds fluttering around the feeder daring us to catch them; hotdish sitting on the table tasting like overcooked hamburger helper; loud smacks on the dirt road as the boys flip tires; light crimson blood droplets on the table as my grandmother pokes herself with the needle while sewing; dogs barking at the birds chirping, attempting to catch them; and the endless question of "so, what else do know?" with a distinct, Minnesotan accent, everyone knows.

Aug. 4 - Tuesday: Writing Streak Week 4, Day 2: Late Nights
I belongto the late nights: stars dancing above my head to the rhythm of my fingers typing, taking shape as the constellations I'm always attempting to figure out; silent murmurs of the midnight breeze blowing between the endless cicadas conversing; hammering of my heart...

Writing Streak Week 4, Day 5: My Eccentric Family

I belong to my eccentric family: a sister to bicker with, but love anyhow; three brothers to give you hands experiences to the life of boys; feet stepping on my brothers' legos followed by a howl; light switch yelling when laziness overpowers the stairs; an endless supply of laundry 'cause no one outfit's ever enough for anyone; late night cuddles with the baby he initiates, but it seems I'm the one who always needs it; five-second-cleaned-living-rooms and overfull kitchen sinks, who likes chores anymore?; a constant string of "I love you"s to fall from our mouths; promised dinners together, since we like to end the day gorging our faces with the company of one another; love bulging out of the seams of our house, leaking to the street.

Writing Streak Week 4, Day 4: Ocean

I belong to the ocean: distinct smell of salt that grips your skin so lovingly, unsure how to convince you to stay longer without drying you out (ironically, of course); cool waves slapping your body, begging you to play; millions of fish, only a few brave enough to swim close, and when you do, you wiggle your fingers around them gentle (watch as they scatter away); the taste of freedom because right now, right then, the ocean never ends; beautiful dance the sea plays with the beach, most of the time, it caresses the sand sweetly; the same sand that squishes between your toes so welcomingly; and the endless laugh of everyone who's ever spent a day at the beach, toes in the ocean.

they told me 'write what you know'

Simplicity is Easy:
             write what
             you know.
Or, so they told me.
Love is easy to write about
‘Cause for me, it’s like confessing
My hopelessly romantic dreams.
Truths that yet to Be:
             i love you
            & you do me.
Yes, imagining is easy.
So when my pen ran out I handed 
The story in, but she just shook 
her head, passive aggressively. 
In all Honesty:
          breaking me is
          far too easy.
Please, let me write anything.
Quickly, I buried the piece 
In the back of my memory and
Tried out the advice she gave me.
What i Know:
         my life is
         boring to read.
Unless, you take my fantasies.
Easy for you is my difficulty,
Let me expose the words I bleed, ...

Writing Streak Week 4, Day 3: Classic Authors and Poets

I belong to the classic authors and poets: their words are bits and pieces of their souls I feed on to fuel my own; imagery so unknown and unique they become the basis for our cliches; timeless stories with characters I yearn to befriend and kiss myself; soft, overused books with yellow pages that smell of dust; 3am readings, craving to know what happens next, sleep no longer a friend; handcrafted metaphors sewn by their very hearts; brilliant symbolisms written through allusions far to foreign for many minds; they're the human language in flesh.

Star Wish

wishing wells of the heavens // don't you understand?


three wishing wells for you to choose from, pick the one that suits your mood (but here's your warning, in which you cannot say you've never read: consequences come attached, to every miracle come true. yes, choose your wishes wisely and be brave enough to take them too).


i. wishing wells for hoping // desire sits on your tongue knowing, / yet, / still shunned, tell me / how long do you / let it rest there / before letting it melt into / something worth regretting? / please beware/ this well for / hoping, it contains the fire / of fueling desire, / expectations rarely fickle / but nonetheless, dangerous things. / but to end on a / pleasant note keep / in mind, this reward / if the price is right, / wishing wells / for hoping / tend to remind / many of their youthful / journies, yes / like when i hoped my / daddy'd...

Writing Streak Week 4, Day 2: Late Nights

I belong to the late nights: stars dancing above my head to the rhythm of my fingers typing, taking shape as the constellations I'm always attempting to figure out; silent murmurs of the midnight breeze blowing between the endless cicadas conversing; hammering of my heart asking if we're making too much noise while my breath hitches at the thought of waking up the others; muses kisses my forehead as I attempt to remember them before it's too late; heavy eyelids begging to close, though stopped by my soul's desire to write just one more word; and bittersweet memories of the life I've lived resurfacing as my thoughts ask me, what would you have done differently?.

your lover, she cries rainbows: edited

Red.
those hot, acid burning and scarring tears running down her cheeks, those are red tears. they're the anger and pain she feels, and everything else in between. they're the ones she cries as she's screaming at you, 'get away from me', because you're the burden creating the pain. the words boiling inside of her are meant to be thrown at you, but instead, they leak from her eyes as her mouth blurs together phrases she doesn't understand. no, red tears blind.

Yellow.
those luke-warm tears that taste of honey when it touches her tongue, those are yellow tears. they're joy and friendly, inviting others to joy in. they're the ones she cries as her best friend walks down the aisle she's a bridesmaid at. "fourteen years in the making" she mouths to her, and you watch because their connection makes you smile and ache for something as deep and meaningful with your best friend like that. oh, yellow...

Quick School Course: The Science & Psychology of Human Memory

Many experts have studied psychology and human memory, numerous have agreed that there are 3 stages of memory: Encoding, Storage, Retrieval.

1. Encoding
Encoding is the first step in the brain's ability to process memory. When an event takes place or information is obtained, the brain instinctively memorizes this through the body's perception of its senses. The 3 main ways the memory is collected is through visual, acoustic, and semantic methods (simplypsychology). Subconsciously, as the body's senses collect the information in order to create the memory, your brain also attempts to associate them with emotion, since emotion can increase one's attention (human-memory.net). This also means it is impossible to have memories with the complete absence of emotions. Your body naturally associates its memories with emotions. In addition, stronger emotional connections with the memory, the stronger the memory will hold inside your brain.

2. Storage
Next comes memory storage, which focuses on where the memory is...

you smell of death and destiny

“Tell me,” Adela whispered, her words prickling Toland’s skin. “Do you wish to join because you believed it, or wanted it?”

The question’s blunt, slowly clawing at him impatiently, waiting for his answer. Though, unlike most, Toland does not fidget nor does he blink rapidly. Adela strains to hear his heart rate, silently taking note at its steadiness and smells the lack of sweat dripping from his forehead.

“I needed something to believe in,” Toland states, voice empty. “And here I am.”

“That does not answer my question,” Adela hisses, standing up. Quickly, she makes her way over to the other side of the table, and takes her seat across from him. Her lilac eyes hold his chestnut ones. Both refuse to show any thought, hiding all emotion behind them.

“Perhaps it’s best I don’t.” Toland flexes his fingers into a fist, but his eyes never leave her’s. “Unless, you tell me why you joined.”

“I have everything to lose,...

we're never really more than words | edited & republished


and we'll text and text of the good times that'll never happen.

when we text, you'll send me long paragraphs and i'll be sure to absorb every single letter you type, and then send you a paragraph back. but my words will be filled with vague and hard-to-read “i love you”s cause i want you to know how i feel but not unless you don't want to. though, i think you do cause i can read between the lines and see the untyped messages, meaning i can see the "me too"s or "i really really like you"s, unless of course, you don't want me to and then i can pretend to never even know of them.

but for me, it's hard to think that someone who doesn't care would text me at midnight to wish me happy birthday, steal away at moments just to call me, or write a paragraph that goes over the number of characters you're allowed to...

THE STABLE BOY KNOWS AND OFFERS HER AN ULTIMATUM, TELL ME, DO YOU BELIEVE ROYALTY CAN HAVE TRUE LOVE?

Part 1
THE QUEEN'S LOVER, DON'T TELL THE KING YOU KNOW ABOUT HER OR YOU'LL FACE SOMETHING FAR WORSE THAN AN EXECUTION.

Part 2

For two women with drastically different appearances, Luca was in awe at the fact both of their faces matched. Their eyes widened as fear danced in them, as their lips were parted with half-finished words in them, and blood rushed to their cheeks, making them look red.

All three of them stood frozen, piecing together everything. Luca attempted to make sense of Cecilia’s confession, as Queen Caroline and her lover tried to figure out how much he heard. It was the former who moved first.

Quickly, Luca grabbed the bucket from the ground, bowed clumsily at the Queen, then rushed back toward the castle.
Cursing, Cecilia turned to Queen Carolina, her heart shattering the second she saw her face.

“This is where we part my love,” Cecilia murmured, placing a hand on her cheek. “May...

Writing Streak Week 4, Day 1: Minnesota summer

I belong to the Minnesota summer: the sun's rays dancing across my shoulders; plump hummingbirds fluttering around the feeder daring us to catch them; hotdish sitting on the table tasting like overcooked hamburger helper; loud smacks on the dirt road as the boys flip tires; light crimson blood droplets on the table as my grandmother pokes herself with the needle while sewing; dogs barking at the birds chirping, attempting to catch them; and the endless question of "so, what else do know?" with a distinct, Minnesotan accent, everyone knows.

contemplations of life with revolutions forthcoming (simplistically speaking, of course)


we were famous paintings that never stopped moving
'cause we kept running from the world trying to burn us
                                       (at first the world wasn't ready for our kind of art);
but soon they realized it all starts somewhere and
and today will never be tomorrow, 
                                       (unless you acknowledge the past);
so they finally joined us and realized they're outgrowing
swings, the thing of our innocence
                                      (too high up & head starts screaming);
then admitted they just want to join us on our path
back to a place where we call home
                                      (the one we chose, not the one given);
since we've all had the life sucked out of us
and tired of being reflections of people we can't be
                                      (instead of who we needed to see);
this means once dinner's over and we ate away our
prayers and spoke our posions
                                      (while swallowing our own shadows);
it seemed we grasped the concept of legend...

ode to bubble wrap, sunny things, & girlfriends

Ode to Bubble Wrap ~
she's light and fun, the definition of young when you look it
up in your memories in the form of a dictionary; oh, gives
her just a smile and that'll be enough to earn a friendship that'll
last just a moment longer than eternity cares to give (remember,
even the sweetest know pain, they've just learn to survive it
and still keep a kind, bleeding heart)
.

Ode to Sunny Things ~
'cause there's a simplicity to wildness, and this is something
she knows well; yes, like the fact she's a youthful beauty, perhaps
even one of those kids who dresses up as something that no one knows
that she is (but that is no her fault no, generations understand their own
costumes, it's the older ones that are left confused)
.


Ode to Girlfriends ~
she's the definition of long car trips with sad music humming through the
earbuds that dangle in your ears,...

only best friends can break you like this


Lovers never broke me, no, they’ve only ever hurt me:
& yes, / it took me this long to realize it now,
& yes, / it took a true breaking for me to see it,
& yes, / it took crying on the bathroom floor,
& yes, / it took me not wanting to tell anyone my pain.,
& yes, / it took me realizing my pain came from you.


                                          You a̶r̶e̶ were my best friend.

Playing the game was four years wasn’t long enough:
                         i. text last, never first, don’t let them leave you unread
                        ii. always call back, as soon as you can
                              ...

glass tears and leftover rain: it's the little things


it all starts somewhere. me, i started with you.
writing about you hurts more than it's worth, but somehow i can't learn how to stop. i started catching your glass tears at seven years old when you begged me to be your friend, cause you didn't have any. back then i was stubborn and naive, the worst combo really. i didn't make friends that begged me to, they always seemed too desperate, too needy. even i knew back then i didn't need things like that. yet, i declared us friends anyway. perhaps it was the way your freckles danced as you sniffled or how your lips trembled mind-numbingly. 

there are fragments of you in my writing. something i can never shake away.
my hands were fragile, and as your glass tears fell from your face they broke, scratching and cutting my hands. i remember watching the blood drip as the days went on, both time and innocence blurring together until...

hope & her sweet nothings


i met her when i was four years old and my daddy told me it was time to leave, she held my hand and promised we'll see my mom again - she just needs space. back then, i was too naive and sadden to question her knowings.

she visited me time and time again, i learned to adore her, craving the next time i could see her and she would lend a hand.

no, it wasn't until sixth grade when i wrote henry's name on my hand, desiring to kiss him, did i call upon her. we prayed together and she taught me how to flirt; she even let me see how he returned the favor. yet, soon, impatience got the better of me and i stole my first kiss. she sat clapping for me.

but then i met good karma who told me things, proved herworth, and played with fate's strings. and at first, we were all such...

scoliosis


i can feel my back // shifting, the physical pain // i cannot describe properly but i // just know, this can't // be normal, or else // people would tell me // to expect it. // and i was diagnosed // six years ago i believe // but it's exsistence has been // with me since the beginning // of eternity. // sometimes my heart's // on fire while other timess // my chest's collapsing and all i // know is it's  hurting; // it was only today did i // think to make a connection // to it with my // back. // i had a // friend - we're far // too apart and grown up // to talk much now - but // she had leg surgery in // second grade // a lots of problems before // and after that even, // so we'd talk and compare // about hospitals and doctors // over simple...

Diego's Burden Was A Volcano, Emilia Lost Her Coins, and Rosa's Left Everyone Behind.

Ashes fell like rain, only softer, kinder, gentle as they floated from the silver sky, and settling on the ground so effortlessly. Perhaps it wasn't like rain at all.

The air was warm and thick, itching to be touched by the soft, mundane skin. And so it blew, searching for its desire with very little urgency, knowing how easy it would be fulfilled.

He sat beneath a weeping willow tree, that had no business being where it was. Nonetheless, it stood tall and proud, it's lowest branches and leaves sweeping the ground. Yet, it strangely has remained unaffected by the ash and smoke. In the twenty years of its existence, nothing's harmed nor touched the tree besides a person's back as they rest against it. Yes, it seemed an invisible force protected this weeping willow.

But that did not mean the person was unaffected. No, as Diego leaned against the tree with his eyes closed, the smallest gust of wind...

Tagline Art

Write Free

It's time the world gives up back our words and stops shoving theirs own down our throats, because there's no point in trying to live a life through us, just because they've already lived. Tell me, art comes in all forms, so why can't we paint our worlds in the form of words and try to figure things out through writing? Since most people vandalize just to get their voice heard while others start movements by word of mouth; why, does it have to be so hard to accept change and new things coming from the youth? So I'll use it as a coin, sit it on the top of my thumbnail while holding my breath; yes, they say, heads we win tails you lose. And know, this is the generation that'll flip the coin and watch it land on its side. 

'Cause darling, there's a revolution every decade; nolite te bastardes carborundorum. Perhaps it's time they accept ours, this...

why couldn't you be /gay/?


your freckles are /stardust/ i yearn to make a wish on and blow away
but instead, his grubby hands try to rub them [off] every day.
there's something about the way you laugh-perhaps its the /magic/ behind it,
how it heals and makes me forget the pain;
he doesn't notice it but chuckles at what he calls "you snort".
a thousand different /curiosities/ sparkle in your eyes,
i'd give the whole damn world to you if only you'd tell me about a few,
yet he likes to joke and embarrass you,
so you'll close your eyes as if he'd stop and it'd fade away.
words fall from your /perfect/ lips and i catch them in my hands,
holding on as long as forever will let me;
he drops them so easily, tripping over his own.
my /dreams/ have you in them and they're simple:
you're talking and i'm listening, if only we could do that more often,
only you're picturing...

New Kings & Old Lovers; 2/3 of Auspicious Trilogy

Destiny sits on him in the form of a crown, heavy and golden, with jewels and admiration. And the day he changed his title was very different from the day he realized when people addressing him as King did not mean his father. But at last, the latter day has yet to come.

"King Talus," a voice calls, light and youthful, something Talus has not known of for years.

"Penelope?" 

Glancing up, Talus's eyes widened at the sight of his old lover, who leaned against the door frame. 

Penelope's purple eyes shone as they met his, her cheeks flushing just the slightest. They remained like that, unmoving, but both with their hearts pounding in an identical rhythm, neither of them were aware of. It was Talus who moved first, rushing toward Penelope and wrapping his arms around her, lifting her up in the air.

"Put me down," Penelope chuckled softly, placing her hands on his face once he did. "You're...

Powers on the Unwanting & Purple Eyes All-Knowing; 1/3 of Auspicious Trilogy

Rulers rise and fall; kingdoms are overrun; revolutions take place in every place with the human race.

Galen learned of balance at age three, the study of magic soon to follow at age four; since, you cannot know one without the other, you must learn it in order. Oddly, he didn’t like it enough and found himself holding in its essence until he collapsed from the exhaustion. No one’s ever told him about how the magic’s free when he’s sleeping, nor what occurs while he’s dreaming.

And he met Azalea while attempting to persuade the village witch to take his powers away (she wanted twenty coin, but he had never know that much a day in his life). He had cursed under his breath as the witch left the room and when he turned around to leave, fate placed a jar in front of him, he knocked it over and feel into the cherries waiting to stain his body.
...

every ending has a beginning; but yours won't happen if you stay a star and refuse to fall


girls wish on you like a dandelion, yet you're blown away too easily, and they're too naive to see you won't ever make their desires a reality.

she curls into my body and i stroke her hair, still thinking about other girls and needless things. they claim we don't have feelings and everything comes easily to us, but if only they knew. when you're made of stars it's hard to pretend to live a mundane life and take part in mortal things. every time humans walks by i can feel their energy burning inside me. and i suppose it's not their fault for letting their little confessions slip, hoping i can change things. but i'm not ready to fall, i've seen my sister as a shooting star and i didn't like it at all. that was her destiny, and i made sure it wouldn't end the same way for me.

secrets don't make friends, but they keep them.

vela. she...

my body grows old before my mind wishes it so (alone, maturity hurts)


my bedroom mirror's cracked and i
know it's from the movers but sometimes
i think it was secretly from it
looking at my face.


hair falls out unnaturally and i cry every night, can someone please tell me, it's not alright? balding would be easy if i were a man since only then is it acceptable-but now, i get the pleasure of being a teenage girl experiencing high school with the chance of being the homecoming ugly queen. hair isn't everything, but i'd be lying if i were to say it wasn't something. that's why when i shower, i massage my head afterward and whisper prayers in the bathroom as if it were a cure.

mama made me, the only way
she knows how; is it considered irony
that by the second, she
had the process all figure out?


mama did things i'm not allowed to talk about, that's what my adoptive parents told me. and i know i should...

time tickles my skin


we were young
                       &     
                          chasing our dreams.


back in fourth grade,
we changed our dream jobs
far too often:
                                                      when i grow up i wanna be:
                                                                  a teacher,
                                                                   a dancer,
                                                                a vet probably,
                                                                     unless,
                                                        i can be a police officer.

but that was back when time was nicer then,
gentle and soft as it tickled my skin.


then cam high school
                                &
                                   we were still figuring life out.


back in tenth grade,
people started telling us what to be
in the form of "suggestions":
                                                    we started listening to them like directions:
                                                                 10 more years of medical
                                                                   schooling or it's off to 
                                                           ...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 2

Challenge Completed - Week 2: Colors Of Your Youth

Challenge Completed - Week 1: Paint Swatch

Writing Streak Week 2, Day 1: Banana Bread
Banana bread is the color of the sun's rays beating down on muddy spring days, while feeling like the oven's been on too long it's heating the house.

Writing Streak Week 2, Day 2: Lotus
Lotus is the color of a person's flushed face when complemented by a lover, the words wrapping around them so lovingly, their nerves tingle and whole body heat up.

Writing Streak Week 2, Day 3: Thunderstorm
Thunderstorm is the color of blinding lightning from the shadows of clouds, as rain drops in hurried motions, touching the cool concrete ground.

Writing Streak Week 2, Day 4: Blood
Blood is the color of your scraped knees from falling off bikes, feeling cool and effortless as it slides down; yet, it is also the same as what falls from your face in car accidents, tasting like metal and smelling of rust.  

Writing Streak...

Writing Streak Week 2, Day 5: Moth

Moth is the color of that creature you caught when you were little, barely to be seen as it blended into the bark of trees, outlines with curiosity and the desire of experiencing.

Writing Streak Week 2, Day 4: Blood

Blood is the color of your scraped knees from falling off bikes, feeling cool and effortless as it slides down; yet, it is also the same as what falls from your face in car accidents, tasting like metal and smelling of rust.

another break up story (cliche, i know--leave me alone)

We were standing in the middle of our universe, surrounded by our stars that painted the night sky we loved dancing in. Or I knew I was. Lately, it seemed I could never speak for the both of us. And for the past three weeks I’ve been spending time that could’ve been with you, on the couch wondering what to do. But now, here we were. In a moment where my slippers can’t comfort me and the tv won’t drown out my thoughts.

Slowly, I began reaching my hand to yours, only to think better of it and grab a cup off the table. I knew you must have seen my arm though because immediately after you stiffened.

“Jasmine,” you breathed. My name no longer sounded sweet and promised on your lips, only tired and heavy. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

I could hear everyone’s voices turn to whispers, as they stole glances in our direction as if the...

People as Nature

Aurora Borealis

My brightest time is shown at night when all my colours are lined out for the world to see. Numerous elements make us up, only it's green and pink you come to love the most.

Green is dominant, the colour of morning grass with dew and the blur you see as the leaves sway in the spring breeze. This one means growth and energy, how one thing ends only to start again and one thing starts just to end, this is the cycle of life I'm constantly living. And yes, the sky knows this, that's why it chooses green to display the most. So when you look up in the night sky and see the painted swirls of green, remember me. Know that's how I live, growing up to see the world for all it could be and living on energy that cycles and cycles but never-ending.

Pink streaks the most, in between the slits of green, the colour of...

Writing Streak Week 2, Day 3: Thunderstorm

Thunderstorm is the color of blinding lightening from the shadows of clouds, as rain drops in hurried motions, touching the cool concrete ground.

Writing Streak Week 2, Day 2: Lotus

Lotus is the color of a person's flushed face when complemented by a lover, the words wrapping around them so lovingly, their nerves tingle and whole body heat up.

Writing Streak Week 2, Day 1: Banana Bread

Banana bread is the color of the sun's rays beating down on muddy spring days, while feeling like the oven's been on too long it's heating the house.

Frost's Poem As Legend

There was one man in which the whole world loved

He was tall, with sufficient enough muscles and flawless bone structure. His hair was bright orange, constantly in his face, so he'd always run his fingers through it. With sparkling green eyes, sun-kissed skin, and flirtatious smirk, it was easy to know why everybody loved him.

What was ironic about him though, was he reigned alongside a woman in which the whole world hated

Her pixie cut hair was amber brown, pale like her skin, and her freckles were sprinkled across her face. With ash-grey eyes, long eyelashes, and pear-like build, one would think she was gorgeous. 

Only, the right side of her face was burned, leaving awful red marks and scars. As for the left side, it had a single scar that ran vertically from just above her eyebrow through her eye, stopping level with her nose. As for her body, it was covered in leftover frostbite...

Crafting Untold Constellations at Midnight

She could rearrange constellations by twirling her fingers, partly to fuel her love for the ever-changing and partly for the smirk of her lover, the Moon King himself; yes, she was a writer that only wrote stories in the night.

revenge novel poetry (throwback to when i thought this formatting was a good idea)


~title~
the stages of committing treachery:
none of which makes sense 'til
you're sitting and realize the picture
of the monsters looking back at you is simply,
your reflection in the broken mirror shards.

~prologue~
it started building up in the back of my throat
back when i was freshly broken and
you ran a finger down my flesh and laughed
at the goosebumps that ran up; after that,
when i went home i collected my bloody tears in a jar, labeled
with your name, knowing i'd one day
need them.

~story~
and damn, i've waited so long
for tomorrow to come. where i could
pour the gasoline down your throat and drop
the match of validity where your lies
would make aflame; and if we're lucky,
make you remember all those things you'd
say to me. it's all planned it out,
wrote down every detail like a
sixth-grade girl confessing her
first kiss in a ripped up page
from her diary.
...

THE QUEEN'S LOVER, DON'T TELL THE KING YOU KNOW ABOUT HER OR YOU'LL FACE SOMETHING FAR WORSE THAN AN EXECUTION | edited

Cecilia sits on the garden bench surrounded white flowers unknown to her, their petals soft beneath her curious fingers as she allows her thoughts to wander far past the kingdom where she currently resides. And behind her approaches Queen Carolina, who stops several feet away to admire her.

Yes, Queen Carolina gazed at her lover. Cecilia's petite frame-that was faced toward the flowers, unaware of Queen Carolina's presence- was hidden under a grey dress and white apron, that was too drastically dull for her complexion. Shaking her head, Queen Carolina's eyes moved toward Cecilia's auburn hair pinned tightly in a bun, yearning to run her fingers through the softness of it, as she would do, in the ancient summers of their youth.

"I know you're there," Cecilia smirked, turning slowly to face her. Her pale blue eyes that looked questionably grey, held Queen Carolina's dark, tender brown ones.

"You look beautiful," Queen Carolina breathed, making her way to sit beside her.

Cecilia snorted, shaking her head.
...

i accidently fell in love with juliet (sorry romeo)


the world ended,
     a long time ago,
             and we weren't ready for it;
                              truth is, i didn't ever think it'd come to this.
                                           so before the plague comes and kisses you harshly
                                                          let me confess my feelings for you sincerely:
                                           it started as an 'i think it love you'.
                              we met...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 1

Challenge Completed - Week 1

Challenge Completed - Week 1: Enumeration

  1. Writing Streak Week 1, Day 1: Quotes
    • ​​Feeding myself words for breakfast at the beginning of the week, yes, the quotes that decorate my room are some of my strongest muses and beloved things.
  2. Writing Streak Week 1, Day 2: I Love Your...
    • 5 Reasons why I love you because naming one's not enough and naming them all would take an eternity.
  3. Writing Streak Week 1, Day 3: Prideful Pieces
    • 7 Pieces of mine (in no particular order) that I'm truly proud of yes, they're all poems, proses, and flash fiction pieces.
  4. Writing Streak Week 1, Day 4: Forgotten Role Models
    • 7 Underrated, unique people in history that you never learned, yet are still worthy role models (especially for applications).
  5. Writing Streak Week 1, Day 5: 4 Memories Haunting Me
    • 4 shadows walk with me every day, reminding me of the past in the most haunting way; here, perhaps I was meant to share...

Writing Streak Week 1, Day 5: 4 Memories Haunting Me

4 shadows walk with me every day, reminding me of the past in the most haunting way; here, perhaps I was meant to share them one day.

  1. Eating Chicken
    • I remember this one exceptionally well, even if it's my first memory ever. I was 4 years old sitting at the table eating chicken-or at least, I was supposed to be. The chicken was plain, tasteless, firm, and room temperature. I was not eating that. So I was the only one left at the table, still eating; although, we never ate together much anyway, it was just Mom and I that night. And I remember her walking out of the bathroom wrapping in a towel, that barely made its way over her pregnant stomach. She was looking at me as I sat at the table. And perhaps it was the fact I heard my parents fighting nearly every night, or maybe it was my brain subconsciously realizing that most things don't last...

Writing Streak Week 1, Day 4: Forgotten Role Models

7 Underrated, unique people in history that you never learned, yet are still worthy role models (especially for applications).
  1.     Jane Addams (1860-1935)
    • Cofounded the Hull House, a settlement opened to the working class (primarily newly-arrived immigrants), providing educational and social opportunities. In addition, it also fought for child labor laws, helped immigrants become U.S citizens, and provided recreational facilities.
    • Founded Women's International League for Peace and Freedom (1919) 
    • First American woman to receive the Nobel Peace Prize (1931)
    • Wrote over +30 articles and published 2 books
    • Due to her beliefs, constant protesting and activism, she was labeled a "dangerous to U.S security" and a "radical", however, did not let anything intimated her or stop her for fighting for what she believed in.
    • Still interested? Check here out here.
  2. Edith Cavell (1865-1915)
    • British spy and nurse working in Belgium, while it was invaded by Germans during WW1. During this time, she helped aid and lead escape to hundreds of German...

my name's Henry (yes, i'm gay)


call me a hopeless romantic & i’ll say,
you’re an obvious guy. but the words still sting,
’cause what if you’re right?

i held the confession of my first love along with my tongue
as i watched my daddy throw a bottle while yelling, gay’s a phase-
god’s testing you bastards, and you’re all failing! oh, the shame!

mother knew. mom’s know all.
she told me it’s okay to love whoever i wanted to.

the minute i realized his name was a drug, i knew,
i needed more of him; and toxic our nights together may
have been, but at least it buried your word ‘hopeless’ temporarily.

the day she died i tattooed her words on my arm’s underside,
daddy says he’s proud of me and she’d be too-
but i know he’d hit me if he knew.

the next man i fell in love with, i asked to marry me,
but he said he promised his...

Writing Streak Week 1, Day 3: Prideful Pieces

7 Pieces of mine (in no particular order) that I'm truly proud of yes, they're all poems, proses, and flash fiction pieces.

  1. why couldn't you be /gay/?
    • "your freckles are /stardust/ i yearn to make a wish on and blow away"
  2. THE QUEEN'S LOVER, DON'T TELL THE KING YOU KNOW ABOUT HER OR YOU'LL FACE SOMETHING FAR WORSE THAN AN EXECUTION
    • "'Flowers don't make our loving any easier,'"
  3. in quarantine
    • "it's like this: we're pretending everything okay"
  4. what if faeries were just guardian angels that didn't make the cut?
    • "and error and mistake are foreign phrases to them, so when it happens they act as though they don’t know the language."
  5. "i miss my cocoa butter kisses"
    • "i ache for the days we use to play with chalk where the things we only wish to draw were the pretty things that flew across our dreams"
  6. Why My Weeks Are Bearable
    • "Lucid dreams leave me shivering, but for all the best...

v. pale moon


“you don’t have the audacity,” foster said lightly, dragging each word out as he leaned against the tree, “to love me.”

that’s the thing about those who draw power from the moon, the stars started to mumble. any follower of the moon created an uneasy imbalance. they speak so boldly.

eve knew better than to fall in love, it was the only thing the sea and stars agreed upon. although they warned her since she started drawing from their powers, she clutched the idea and hope, quick to hide it in her soul. for every girl dreams of loving.

and it was as she was looking for camp at a nearby village did she meet foster, who unfolded the concept of her loving. they spoke easily to each other and shared secrets that broke every law of nature.

“i can’t fall in love,” eve stated, fiddling with the shades-of-green bracelet on her wrist. “especially with a moon follower.”

tell...

peeling layers of past from their skin


<they're / clients>
stale breathes of those left unbreathing; their skins pale but there's something about it. fingernails kept growing, you urge to clip the secrets off of them. as the tongue's dangling, trying to taste what's left. when things are left unmoving they seem so pretty-there's an innocence to them. 

<t i m e / d o e s / d a m a g e>
are we willing to admit, things are better left unsaid? we're dressed before we're buried--why's that? we can't face the world without pretense, so we can't face an afterlife with playing pretend. if i had a nickel for every time i faced a dramatic event i'd be a rich man; then i'd make you promise i'll be buried with my riches hidden in the folds of my skin so i have something to offer the heavens.

<cold / blooded / viruses>
disease embraces the cadaver before crawling its way onto your skin: claws...

Writing Streak Week 1, Day 2: I Love Your...

5 Reasons why I love you because naming one's not enough and naming them all would take an eternity.

  1. I love your chestnut hair.
    • It curls at the tips, brushing the back of your neck, and when I'm lost in your kisses I can feel the softness of your hair as I run my fingers through it.
  2. I love your amber eyes.
    • They confess a million unbecoming desires that if I stare too long I'll be ruined for sure; yes, I'd drown in them as they suffocate all rules and responsibilities, leaving my breathless.
  3. I love your light sprinkle of freckles across your nose.
    • They're only there if you're looking for them, and every time I run my gaze over my face, I count all twenty-two of them, all so light and hard to find.
  4. I love your one-in-a-million smile.
    • Every smile is like learning the term forever is simplistic in seeing and it's the antidote you bless me with...

Emerald Eyes & Royal Purple Dresses (Part 1)

Beautiful was the only way to describe her, and it seemed so true to her statue, that by not using the word to describe her, would be an injustice. She had fair skin, perfectly kissed by the sun; flawlessly shaped curves, yet still petite; thick, dark brown, hair that curled at the tips. 

But, none of that was what made everyone classify her as beautiful, no, it was her eyes. She had big eyes, the color of emeralds. Only, it was the emerald green you got when you held the jewel in front of the sun, making the light fracture and fly in all directions around you. And her eyes seemed to reflect the kind of person she not only saw you as, but who you truly were.

That's why, on nights like this, people were always slightly terrified and excited before they met her. Tonight the largest celebration in history, for it was the fiftieth anniversary of the creation...

midnight confessions [i-x]: updated. (Read Footnotes too)


i. i dream about my 'i want you to be mine' lovers but never dare whisper their names
ii. my hair defines me and everyone i meet, sometimes it's a deal-breaker for me
iii. and i know i've never truly been loved the way i really want to
iv. everything's a curse when it comes to thinking about you (seeing as nothing ever comes true)
v. sometimes i write pieces and add secret 'you's because even when i try to avoid it, i'm always thinking about us two
vi. red pens have marked me as their favorite and force me to bleed out every truth
vii. i hate roses 'cause i never understood their value (cliches don't typically work for me)
viii. no one i know reads what i write-since i'm desperately scared for them to
ix. what if i'm crazy and i can only write because it's all i know how to do? ...

Writing Streak Week 1, Day 1: Quotes

Feeding myself words for breakfast at the beginning of the week, yes, the quotes that decorate my room are some of my strongest muses and beloved things.

  1. "Bless the children, give them triumph now." ~Aeschylus
    • These are the words braided into my prayer before eating, no I do not eat these ones, these ones linger above me constantly.
  2. "Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself." ~George Shaw
    • These words are sweet, the first thing I need to remember why I'm still living.
  3. "Beauty in things exists in the mind which contemplates them." ~David Hume
    • These words are silky smooth, slipping down my throat as they help my eyes to see the world's true beauty.
  4. "You are made of stardust and comets." ~Unknown
    • These words are warm and rolled on my tongue, reminding me of their presence but only when I need them too.
  5. "From a spark, then can be flame." ~Ashestoangels
    • These words are hot and in-the-moment,...

toxic relationships are all we know: mutualism


(her)
i think my body’s an illusion
'cause whenever i'm with you it's like each thought evaporates
as my  body consumes you as though you're my everything;
and love, you are & that's the problem, since i only knew
this true, when i realized i loved starting fights with you.

and every word you spit at me, simply landed at my feet, 
though, i never knew why i picked them up as though
they were jewels, shoving them down my throat hoping
they'd hide until i could use them against you, yes,
my favorite pain of yours is when it's my willing with your doing.

but now, my heart's bleeding rubies and my hands are too
scarred from fighting with you to try and catch them; no,
i can't do this anymore-yet, i already tried replacing you
and he was too kind and there was not enough passion to make me avoid
thinking about you: it felt like cheating,...

Perhaps Everything Could've Ended Differently but Fate Hates Them so We'll Never Know#SomethingUnique5

Before.
The words sounded as though they prayed them, walking off their lips so hopeful, so desperate, so believing. And perhaps it was their right, for when people get married, it’s considered their “beginning of a life together”. Perhaps. Or perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps it was just presumptuous of them, and they were far too naive and unknowing to realize anything. You know the saying, “they have an old soul?” Well, Aurelia and William did not have one. 
No, their souls were vibrantly youthful, with high spirits that carried them around constantly, the spirits often grew tired of them. And all this was evident on their fresh faces they shared, which seemed all the younger whenever they looked at one another. Perhaps it was the latter, they’re young souls were to blame. 
Regardless, they exchanged their vows with an expected radiancy and their mother’s cried as one anticipates, as was the act of the fathers smirking at...

midnight confessions [i-x]: updated. (Read Footnotes too)


i. i dream about my 'i want you to be mine' lovers but never dare whisper their names
ii. my hair defines me and everyone i meet, sometimes it's a deal-breaker for me
iii. and i know i've never truly been loved the way i really want to
iv. everything's a curse when it comes to thinking about you (seeing as nothing ever comes true)
v. sometimes i write pieces and add secret 'you's because even when i try to avoid it, i'm always thinking about us two
vi. red pens have marked me as their favorite and force me to bleed out every truth
vii. i hate roses 'cause i never understood their value
viii. no one i know reads what i write-since i'm desperately scared for them to
ix. what if i'm crazy and i can only write because it's all i know how to do?
x. everything comes out-secrets don't care...

IT IS FORBIDDEN THAT EGYPTIAN DEITIES LOVE MORTAL-HATING DEMONS, THEY'RE MEANT TO DESTROY THEM


i.
Demons create imbalances. 
These were the words of Ra, in which he told Bastet before he sent her on her mission. They were the same words she repeated inside her head she raced gracefully through the forest, the quiet hush of the river growing stronger. If Bastet were of the weaker gender, she would've already heard the voice of the Caller, singing toxic notes that tasted sweet. But she knew better, and the sense of danger pricked her skin.

ii.
There is no home greater than the water, it protects it's own. Naddaha knew this well, for she's lived in the river all her life. it was the place she was born, the home of her people for generations-or was. Until the mortals came destroying their villages, betraying her kind, and killing those she knew. Naddaha was the only survivor, due to her Mother hiding her well in the Nile.
And when her Mother whispered prayers to the water,...

SHIVA'S BLESSED YOU & THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY HER? PERHAPS BARAN BROKE YOU AS WARNING TO WHAT THE GODS WILL DO TO YOU.

Cigarettes stained her lips and alcohol decorated her skin-tight black dress in moist patches, as she tripped on her ruby red stilettos and into the glimmering purple silk tent. A woman greeted her inside with golden beads braided in thick, horsehair, and an eggplant robe covering her midnight dress, both decorated with yellow stars.
 
"Care to have your life laid out before you?" The woman asked, watching carefully as the girl discarded her heels, throwing them onto one of the maroon pillows lining the edge of the tent.
 
She answered in slurred words, but the woman saw them for what they were.
 
"Money has no value to me as it does for you." The woman motioned toward the ash grey pillow in between them. "Sit and let me show you how to regain everything you had before. And more."
 
Curiosity mixed in with her tipsy feelings, and before she knew what she was doing, the...

king size cookies 'n cream hershey bar

Daralynn was my first crush. She had pale blonde hair that looked almost white, and abnormally pale skin that almost seemed to glow. Her nose was petite but pointed, and her eyes were a dark blue. 
But I was a fat third grader who lived on cookies 'n cream Hershey bars, so I never thought I had a chance. I never talked to her. Until one day, she came to me.
"Hi," She smiled, showing perfectly white teeth.
My fat hands trembled.
"I'm Daralynn, but call me Dara."
Remaining silent, I nodded.
"What are you eating?" She asked, pointing to my king size cookies 'n cream Hershey bar.
Quickly, I held it out to her.
"No thank you."
Stunned by her rejection of something I cherished, I couldn't help but speak.
"Why?" 
"Cause saying 'no' would make you talk," She shrugged, eyeing me.
Dropping my jaw, I smushed the candy between my fingers.
Suddenly, she burst out laughing.

Eighth grade...

bitter pain


bitter ends to cold mornings
with a heart that's nearly dropped,
frostbitten in all the wrong places
a song that just can't seem to stop.
snow falling on a corpse
broken windchimes trying to work,
lost souls wandering around
it's seems the ghost of our past wants to be found.
sorrow seems to spread like disease
as unspoken languages dance across our tongues,
perhaps there's religion to excuse our beliefs
and let us play make believe.
when the day is over so's the facade
truth comes out-behind the scenes of our play
even though we paint pretty lies all over your face
one can't quite hide all the pain.

Dionysus and I Had Wine, It Was Divine

“And child, what do you have to offer me?” His voice was a chilling low that rattled her bones, almost blocking out the notice of his slurred words.

Setting her glass on the table, Katerina peered into the man’s pale, grey eyes, raising her brow in question. His eyes were glossy but there was an absence of tears, and the longer she took them in, the darker they grew. Small shadows danced in his eyes, flashing from men with regrets to women trying to get an edge.

“Words of advice,” She finally said, leaning back into the pure, white Windsor chair. “Something my father told me repeatedly.”

Irritation flashed in his eyes, the red a threatening contrast against the pale grey. Quickly, he finished his blood-red wine, and set the golden goblet on the glass table, both rattling in protest.

“I asked you to make me laugh,” The man growled, leaning forward. “Not childish advice. Perhaps I should just kill...

sixteen tragedies (one for every year of life)


i. teen pregnancies are nothing like tv shows it to be; no, your grandparents accept your blood mother's, while whispering harsh nicknames every time she complains about stomach pains. and oh no, crazy isn't a gene--unless you're part of that family tree. but don't worry honey, you aren't for we adopted you. that's what your now-family says to you but you know better, adoption means legally, it's biology that'll screw you over.

ii. you don't remember her first single motherhood years, you were too young to remember. all you know is that's when you met him, your father. blood isn't everything sweety, he's you father in the way that matters. that's what you're blood mother says every year you go and see her, asking about everything. and you know what she says is true (the only truth she's ever told), and you love him more than anything. daddy's little girl doesn't have anything to do with biology.

iii-v. your...

the guy, who cursed at church.


he's unconventional like, the prose poetry tea he's drinking
every night to calm his nerves: metaphors steam in his
face and diction splashes against the sides, but
it's the imagery that smells like home.

and although the newspaper years are dying,
he still spends a penny on the newsie off
5th selling hot dogs and pepperoni.

so when he cursed in church,
his mother just sighed and his father
rolled his eyes- as for the girl he fancies,
she laughed lightly.

the words fell from his lips after
slipping through courtesy. reacting far
too quickly, he cursed again,
then bowed his head and folded
his hands. once he whispered a few
"i'm sorry"s, he made his way
back home.

forgiveness wouldn't be blessed
without committing sin & faith
wouldn't be believed in without
once questioning it.

zealous daughter of an american dream


i am the child to the sea of recollection / where the waves raised me through / their harsh means, / but no one masters / the art of / swimming without / learning the fear / of drowning. and / the wet sand / rashing between my toes / versed me the concept of / creativity, / how anything could be / whatever i wanted it to be / as longed as i attracted / the right vibes and personalities. as for / the shells of purity, (with a / vintage feeling for those / who lived by them so long / only to leave), / they taught me the / importance of collecting things / that helped create me, so when / i need a good memory / i could run my fingers over them freely, / and a youthful simplicity would wash over me. / so / even when / i leave her / i know / she'll...

my ancestors are weeping in their graves, let's sacrifice this messed up place (rebirthing the world sounds great)

trigger warning: maybe-yes? this is referencing recent affairs so there's that. but there's no "distressing images" i feel like. idk here's kinda what i'm basing this trigger warning off of psa - this is meant to be a safe space (in reference to george floyd)


finally mapped out all 50 states & later
that day tore off half of 'em and watched them burn in
our fireplace; i don't wanna visit places that won't respect me,
sorry mommy
. tell me, sixteen years i planned my life out,
just for them to take my *brother away? slang or jargon
or words be damned, what i say doesn't allow you
to take a man's life away. & most nights my white parents spend 
staying up late watching the news and glancing at their
only nonwhite child's bedroom door; praying their daughter stays safe.
i've played for both teams & tended to lean toward
the darker when it came to...

Guide to Getting Out There, Avoiding Entitlement, & Your "Unalienable" Rights: Republished

New Intro:
My computer glitched and deleted my previous post & save, so I'm left with a previous save I had. Upon editing/adding, I realized I do not like the word "popularity" because it makes me come off snobbish. And even you didn't think that, I thought that about myself. So I changed it to "getting out there". My goal here on WTW is to be so kind it kills, because that means I supported you to the grave ;). Therefore, via my phone I reworded this and moved things around. I also got a comment about the "entitlement" aspect-I made changes & also, I am in no way entitled to talk about entitlement. I just did because I wanted to go over it. Also, it's okay if you disagree with me anywhere in this piece. I completely understand! Also, going camping so + my computer's broke, so no more computer.

Previous Intro:
Upon request from anonymous (actually,...

My Journey with These Writing Lovelies #appreciationpost

So I want to try something a little different with this trend. I'm going to tell you a story about my WTW journey with these amazing people, because I wouldn't be where I am as a writer, without them:

I came to WTW around September of 2018, so about 2 years ago. When I started, I pretty much sucked at writing. That's when I came across weirdo who became my immediate WTW bestie. I absolutely adored their work & soon they started interacting with my pieces, then bam-next thing we know, we're assigned to each other as reviewing buddies (which is probably what strengthed us the most). And a while ago, they took some of their pieces down (which I adored), but I believe it was because they were reinventing themself. Anyway, I'm forever complimenting them, so I'm going to stop now ;D. Here's some of their work: float in a siren's poisoned melodyshe smells of wilting, white...

sapphic visionaries #passiton


she braids daisies & sweet things in her hair every friday,
and when i see her at church i blush & look away, yet
i know why it's called a 'good friday' by looking at her.

her fingers are soft as flower petals; but, 
still manage to leave marks on my arm as she pulls
me toward her sacred blessings.

i know her bones were hollowed by her priest
father, so the gods could full them with faith and
the powder from angel wings.

yet, that also means they snap easily.

at twelve years old she whispered to me her
dream, then quickly jumped from the tree,
praying she'd end up flying.

her bones snapped and a few godly things
leaked out-i checked her body & saw blood,
it seems she isn't a goddess i believes her to be.

as we grew older, i watched her grow tired. perhaps, it was
the way she danced with destiny or her desire...

writing ironies 'cause that's all we know how to do


yes, there far too many corners of a world-
created by the same men who call it a
s p h e r e; and it depresses our mother writer who
adores the dying trade of newspapers:
crackling bones to instill fear now
take up our proses & our lovers turning
themselves into monsters creates our tales.
(funny, we praise each other for writing our pains)

< speak greek > i'll always be a local


< αʹ >
your eyes are crystal balls & i yearn
to read them, but all they do are taunt me of
futures i wish could be.

< βʹ >
leaving your childhood sweetheart hurts, even more so
when you're daddy tells you: it's time to go, while
you two were still holding on to each other, wishing you
didn't have to ever let go; but life moves on
and you should too.

< γʹ >
my mama told me, loving is harder
then it use to be; 
and all i could say is, 
loving is harder then it should be.

< δʹ>
these bones weren't made for small towns:
where somethings mean everything, but anywhere
else it means n o t h i n g. and back in the cities,
you got tattoos of words you could never
dare say; here, they plagiarize country songs
every other damned day.

< εʹ >
the few days my daddy lets me come back
home, i...

Playwriting Competition 2020

The Heartsick Letters to Beloved Paisley

[Scene 1]

(MADELYN, wearing a pale blue Victorian dress, sits at her bay window attempting to count the stars, a pen and notepad in hand. After several moments Madelyn returns to writing her letter.)

MADELYN (writing): I am not particularly fond of the idea of marrying a man upon our brother’s choosing. He chooses characterless men with little aspirations and wealth they abuse. Oh, Paisley, I miss you so!  Please, do come home and save me from this ordeal.

( As MADELYN finishes the letter, there’s a knock on her bedroom door.)

MADELYN: Come in.

(In walks JULIAN, wearing a black tailored suit.)

JULIAN: You must start opening the door yourself, sister. If you allow just anyone inside your room, you will one day end up dead.

MADELYN: I love our conversations, Julian, they are simply the sweetest. Don’t you agree?

(JULIAN ignores her comment and eyes the letter.)

JULIAN: Are you writing to Paisley again?

MADELYN: I write...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 7

Week 7: Challenge Completed

Heart Tweet Challenge:


Day 1:
My Grandparents
"I wouldn't trade them even for the world."

Day 2: Good Mornings
"Cheers to the sunny days"

Day 3: Writing
"Is it too cliche to say I fell in love with writing?"

Day 4: Best Friend
"We're 6 years in the making"

Day 5: Reading
"smelling the fresh scent of an unread book."

Writing Streak Week 7 Day 5

It started when I was six years old and my Mother bought us this book that she'd read to us regularly. Mesmerized by the drawings and pictures of the book, I'd hold out my fingers to brush the letters. Carefully, my Mother would place her hand over mine and read every word we underlined. Soon I found myself memorizing the entire book, finding joy in 'reading' to my brothers and sisters. Yet, it wasn't much longer until I wanted more. For me, it took three weeks to form the habit of reading on my own and loving it. By fifth grade I found myself growing tired of our little school library, perhaps that added to my excited giggling as I walked into the middle school library on orientation day. My favorite part is, when you request a book and the librarian (who's very much your best friend by now), hands it to you the day it's come. There's something about...

(Twelfth Night: Fanfiction) Antonio & Sebastian

Waves crash harshly onto the beach, the sound echoing in Sabastian's ears, a sound that would haunt. Quickly, Antonio drags him by the shoulders, grunting harder the further onto the beach they got. He didn't stop until they were both at the end of the beach and the beginning of the forest.

Antonio dropped Sabastian onto the ground, his head smacking against the ground and bouncing back up. As Sabastian lied there, lifeless and pale, Antonio watched him cautiously. His complexion was clear and pale, strikingly blinding when the sun peeked out from behind the clouds every few seconds. And his hair was a chestnut brown that curled toward the ends and for some unknown reason, Antonio felt an urge to touch them. They were soft, very soft.

And as Antonio attempted to depict the reason behind saving this unknown man and his undeniable attraction for him, the Sabastian stirred. Drawing back, Antonio reached for his dagger, eyes locked on Sabastian.
...

Confessions to Mother Nature

Oh Mother,
Forgive me for i have sinned. i'm the reason behind the chaos and the fleeting moments of a peaceful and loving world in which i live in. i seek forgiveness for all the hatred I've spread and cruelty i've been feeding to those who don't even know the reason behind my loathing. i set fire to the churches you call forests, burning your priests and animals out or leaving them dead. i've backstabbed so many people who once considered me their friend, all because i was foolish to believe that money meant more than anything, especially feelings. i was raised on the words, "trust no one but yourself", something my billionaire parents shoved down my throat. Please accept my apologies and bring me back to the world i yearn to call home.

But Mother Nature did not take to businessmen so kindly, oh no, their cruel and evil, only giving apologies when they've nearly lost everything. Their naive to...

Writing Streak Week 7 Day 4

We're 6 years in the making and every year I learn it's possible to love you more. Together we're invincible, gossiping up storms between each other, and confessing secrets that slip out of our mouths easily. And though we live thousands of miles away, visiting feels like I haven't moved away. You're a sour patch kid: sweet to me and sour to everyone who wrongs us, all with an attitude. Just the kind of person I need, you're strong when I'm weak and every time you cry I'm there. Best friends don't need text and call every day to prove something, no, we do it right: speak often but not obsessively, and when we do talk as if I'm there next to you and nothing's changed. Because the latter's most important, me being with you and our friendship hasn't changed. Your the perfect best friend to me, and thats why I love you.

revelation confessions


i wrote confessions
on the wall, so people could see the colors i bleed;
only they took it all so literally, it
seems people only look for a true
meaning when they're being told that
there's more than their eyes are seeing. ask
them again: what's the secret of life? then you'll see there are two types of people:
those who hold their breath and those who sigh. but
nonetheless, neither answer will leave you satisfied;
because when you start wondering
you never truly quit
looking.

volume of a sphere


i never memorized the volume
of those damned spheres during my geometry
years when we solved word problems regarding those
loser kids buying twenty watermelons to
share with their six people family but could only
hold them in a hundred and eighty (point 2-but round up) pound
water tower that if a tightrope was pulled down the middle
it'd measure twenty nine meters across.
(why didn't people ever make fun of them?)
there's a reason something so useless never stuck
around in my mind; yet, somehow i get yelled
out for never studying this equation the teacher
claims is 
(she'll draw it out and you'll notice her
accent from the country "i've been teaching for 
forty years and nothing can stop me")
i m p o r t a n t.
and by her fourth unneeded syllable 
i'd turn around and whisper to my best friend-
who's not there but back some thousands miles
away in my home town; she...

Writing Streak Week 7 Day 3

Is it too cliche to say I fell in love with writing? There's something about the way you could feed me a story and all I want to do is analyze and assume. And it's electrifying when my hearts pumping unexpectedly as I lay in my bed, telling a story through the words and symbols possessing my fingers. A piece of my soul falls into the spaces that take place between my words and perhaps why when I read some of my favorite works, I feel alive again. But I'll be honest, there are a few pieces that have been dropped on the floor, left broken and bruised. Sometimes they fall behind the couch, never to be seen again, while some fall victim to writer's block cruel grip. Yet, the ones worth saving, fate picks up in her hands and drops them over my head. Those are the ones I need to put back together again, with glue revisions that'll...

Destiny is thrust into your hands, how do you wield it?


(disclaimer: when searching for the next part, it might be easy to control f, since there's a lot happening.)

I. Beginning
You never would've looked under the porch if you're bookmark hadn't been picked up by the wind.
Grunting, you set the yellow stained book beside you as you eye the direction the bookmark went. It was as you reached under the porch did you feel the cold metal, giving you goosebumps. Carefully, you pulled it out from under, hearing a slight rattle inside.
That's when you noticed the lock.

Do you:
a) smash the lock against the concrete sidewalk until it opens? if so, go to II a. Middle
or 
b) ask your mom if she knows what's inside and has the key? if so, go to II b. Middle


II a. Middle
It wasn't until the sixth time you slammed it down and grinded it against the concrete did the lock bust. Throwing the remain broken pieces on...

joy is spelled in the form of his name


he gave me his name when he told me he loved me-it's weird holding a something that use to be solely his; you won't ever know until you understand him.

physically:
honey that's been kissed by the sun-that's the color of his skin. but his hair is a hershey's bar chocolate that you melted in your hands-because you loved it to much and just wanted to hold it. but my favorite is his smile: an whenever we're having a together-forever-kind-of-day-smile, his smile reminds your of when you gave your little brother the last cookie, the way it shows all his teeth, and making you think of the word, innocent. and then his eye light up as though the sun merely dim; burning with an intensity that'll never end. afterward, he carefully reaches out to your with hands that have been outside-working-on-the-farm-with-his-father-hands, he let's the words "i love you" slip out like coins in your butterfingers, his voice sounding like the...

Writing Streak Week 7 Day 2

Cheers to the sunny days during quarantine that give me a reason to get up and start the day. As soon as I step outside, the morning dew cools my feet and the crisp, breeze brushes the hair out of my face. Leaning against the tree, I always feel the goosebumps race down my arms and hear the sound of my neighbor's dog starting her routine barking. I'm not one for conventional, but I love racing down the stairs to embrace the sunny mornings.

Flashlight

Coffee Filter Candor

If someone asked you,
how's your coffee tasting?
You would smile and say,
pretty good, and you?

But the caffeine you're drinking,
Comes at a price:
By giving you life to do things,
It takes away homes from forest brings.

If someone asked you,
do you like deforestation?
You would shake your head and cringe,
of course not, do you?

But the caffeine you're drinking,
Comes at a price:
The companies who partake in deforestation,
Are the ones that make this filtration.

If someone asked you,
where do you put used coffee filters?
You would shrug and take a quick sip,
the trash I think, don't you?

But the caffeine you're drinking,
Comes at a price:
The coffee filters are easily littered,
Discarded after one use.

If someone asked you,
why do you drink coffee?
You would yawn and stretch your arms,
I need the energy.

But the caffeine you're drinking,
Comes at a price:
You're hurting the world when...

3024: The Year Before Mother Went to War

She was one of the few blessed with the ability to have twins and granted permission by the council to convince these children and raise them as future leaders. Her daughter is Aeryn M-650 and her brother is Cullen M-650, they are the last of their generation. Or so the council believes.

After giving birth to the children, Mother was allowed fifteen days with them, a gift given from the council as a thank you for creating such remarkable twins. But these days were closely monitored, and the Mother was careful to show only artificial love. But soon, she grew attached and that posed a threat. Mothers know never to love their children.

Mother is warm, but she is still young. She has time to grow cold and lonesome. These words were whispered from ear to ear, the council eyeing her closely. Artificial love is everything you need, without the pain real loving brings. They told Mother this, she pretended...

Writing Streak Week 7 Day 1

Grandparents visiting: Grampa hollering at the dogs, Grandma doing our chores, Mom rolling her eyes, Dad winking at them, as I try to ask about what my Dad was like as a kid. Our house always seems fuller with them, they definitely add to the character. My favorite part is when we're eating and my siblings fight who gets to sit in the extra chair. By then we're all laughing and talking about days like this. I love my Grandparents, I wouldn't trade them even for the world.

Five Line Fiction

December Heartbreak

Frozen fingers I wave in the air, hoping I'll remember the sound of your laugh whenever there's a joke so godly awful you'd like it if you were here. Tears leaking from my eyes, spilling secrets I try to hide; I'd promise I'd be strong, but you're leaving home. I could give you a million reasons to stay but I hold my tongue, I shouldn't hold you back from the world that's pulling you away-I never would've won the tug a war anyway. So I'll fake a smile to avoid your regret for leaving, while bracing myself against the sliding glass door. One day you're leaving will be okay, it's just not today.

iv. filled by the sea


why try so hard if we know how it’s going to end? eve asked the sea quietly, knowing the stars would soon hear of her treachery. but it was day, the sun kissed her skin with sincerity and the wind blew the hair out of her face gently. for the moment, she was safe and protected, while still being out in the open. right now, she was youth and innocence and everything in between, which was what she needed.

we’ve missed you, eve. never leave us again, don’t lose faith. and the sea knew better than to answer her question. instead, it washed seaweed onto the sand next to her feet.

and what have you brought me? eve was growing irritated, as the memories and thoughts of why she left the sea were quickly resurfacing. it was too abstract for her, even when she needed it the most.

just look closer, please. the sea begged, and the cool wave at...

your hug was everything i needed, it was better than the words: 'i love you'


i'm experiencing that unnamed feeling; where all i want is a hug. to be held in the arms of someone who cares, with the words "it'll be alright", whispered in my ears.
but here, i didn't know anyone like that.

here's not my hometown, though my family wants me to call it so-no my home town is where i came from, where i wish to be now. it's the roaring waves that would call to me, screaming me to come out and play. it's the ghetto where i was housed, with gang bangers that we're dangerous but loved me so. it's the smell of wet sand that floated all the way to the school playgrounds, tugging you closer. it's the yelling of an overpopulated city no bigger than a penny, where even a shuffle toward the left hits someone right in the butt.
that's my home town, not this place.
i reside here, in the middle of nowhere. where lie...

Write the Rainbow

Chemistry

LEO goes GER: Lose Electrons Oxidation, Gain Electrons Reduction

11:13 pm drowsy delusions


i'm tired of writing, exhausted
from trying, it seems i've bled out of words worth
writing:

it seems i'm more hollow, than a
rich man's past;
it seems i'm more empty, than an
alcoholics vacant glass;
it seems i'm more lonely, than a
homeless man living on trash;
it seems i'm more done, than a
110 year old who drew their last breath.

the tiny bit of soul that's left,
bounces in my cadaver, hoping
for the best; but it knows i'm
better when sleeping because there
i have no past or worrisome
future while my
dreams rid me of my
messes, turning my essence into
a present.

so if you see me around, don't
acknowledge my presence
'cause their's nothing left.

(you can't save what's not missing,
but you can mourn a person who's found
theirself in the word lost.)

CLOSED: review/comment swap or donate review

So I was going to host a contest (and let me tell you, I had great prompts in mind-something you haven't thought of or seen before (at least, i hope not/assume so)), but there are so many contests happening right now that, well, i don't want to add to the chaos, ya know? Personally, i'm already trying to enter so many freakin' user-hosted contest i can't even keep up so. yeah. not adding to that mess.

Anyway, I'm in desperate need of reviews of this mini-series I'm working on. I think I want to make it a book or at least an actual mini-series, but I can't do it alone. I need feedback. Anyway, I feel to selfish asking for reviews, so I'm gonna make a deal out of it. 

Here's the Dealio:
1) You review OR comment one of the following pieces:
i. twilight keeper (347 words)
ii. heart of glass (464 words)
iii. murmuring stars (572...

we fell in the making


we're all made of flesh,
                        it's what's done.
so let's pretend our hearts aren't broken,
but dented and bruised, surviving the hell we put them through;

'cause i'm tired of the-
broken boys
and
lost girls

and i know death,
                i know him well;
we met when i was
younger and he offered
me his hand, said he wore
                eternity as a wrist band.

but that was back then:   
                before we met and my eyes
                believed you to be the
                only wonder of the world.

and now my hands clutch a silver necklace i can't function without,
my thoughts consist of memories we could've been,
and the hopeful idea that if we keep walking on opposite ends of the world we'd
eventually have to meet again.

i'm just trying to be who we
needed as kids-
only it won't help us now;

so i'll
            reach out to our reflections-strangle them curses,
            murder the ghosts of our pasts, ...

iii. murmuring stars


"so tell me, queen serena, how do you live like this?" eve asked quietly, sitting her dagger on the ground. "persecuting those who commit treachery, even though they couldn't help it?"

there are always going to be questions people don't feel like answering, and those same questions it feels like they are asked the most. serena was queen, meaning for her, there were as many questions as there were stars and even more people asking them. but eve was different, it's like she knew queen serena didn't want to answer but asked her anyway, more for herself to think it over than anything. 

"i am queen," she said softly, glancing at eve as she said it. it was the only thing she truly knew how to say.

"but are you enough?"

these words were foreign to queen serena's ears, but known well as an old friend to her heart. audacity was an enemy to the people of her country, and...

"sandman" were women


time was hidden in the backs of our eyelids, when sleep was
promised to those who gave in; but when our dreams were the
ones who woke us up from reality, we stole the sand from the
very man himself; and sprinkled sweet things onto unknowing
beings while screaming silent prayers to those in hiding:
bless be the gods who look down to you, kind be the hands
reaching out to help you, knowing be the fates attempting
to persuade you.

then when you find yourself on top again, we'll release nightmares
to bring you back to the bottom; (let's create humble men again)

ii. heart of glass


life is simply a collection of moments stolen by the beholder. and eve knew this better than anyone, for when you're heart's made of glass you pick your moments wisely and hold them close. however, there was one moment that was handed to eve, one she kept tucked away from the world. it was more of a memory than a moment, given to her from her mother. it was the only thing she knew or had that related to her. or at least, that's what she believed.

the memory starts with a woman staring at herself in the water. this was the perspective eve had, the one of the woman's. and in the reflection a pair of deep, dark, mystic blue that looked like eve's. and once the woman grew wary of looking into the water, she peered down at the child in her arms.
you'll be stronger than the others.those were words she thought but didn't dare speak...

we just did the dinner thing


brother leans accross the table reaching for the mashed potatoes and mum pushes his hand away as if saying, manners boy-just ask for them. and my papa must've noticed me stifle a smile because he shoots me a stay-out-of-it look, so i quickly nod and drop my gaze. quickly our meal turns into small talk because we see each other every damn day, what really do we have to talk about? so while my papa talks about his lawn mowing business i try not to mention the fact he's a landscaper and our yard looks like crap. my family doesn't appreciate irony as i do. once i've finished my meal we fall into our routine: i get up first and start clearing the table, while my sister groans already knowing she's about to do the dishes. same old thing every time, quarantine seems to only multiply it into three meals.

i. twilight keeper


there are places hidden from the mundane eye that only opens for the believers. many cliches have formed the idea that places like these are libraries or cemeteries where the undead have unfinished business. but the irony behind that isn’t so much as how simple of places these would be, but the fact that there’s only one. one as in, one place. when in reality, they’re everywhere. you just have to go through the gate to get to them.

her name is freya, and she’s the gatekeeper. but that’s what mortals would call her, all those who know of the unknown and speak the unspeakable call her for what she is, the twilight keeper.

for the few that have seen her, they claim she’s older than time but can appear to look younger than a child. and even after over centuries of her existence, only three facts about her are known to be true: her eyes are an ocean...

Alice's Soulmate

Fourth Grade.
i like u. like me to?
☐  yes         ☐  no

Scrunching her nose, Alice rubbed the paper between her fingers, unsure how to react. She only ever talked to Riley on their bus rides home, every Tuesday. Glancing at his desk, Alice noticed the blood rushing to Riley's cheeks.
Leaning over, Melody giggled as she read.
"Shhh," Alice hushed, flattening the paper on her desk. 
"He's cute" Melody whispered, shoving a pencil in Alice's hands.
Letting childish innocence and Melody's thoughts get the best of her, a smirk crept on Alice's lips.
Emotions are fickle-Don't get mixed up with other people's.
The words weaved their way into the front of her mind, sounding as scornful but wise as her mother always says it. Darkening, Alice scribbled an 'x', then dropped the pen. Bolting up from her seat, Alice raced over and slid the note into Riley's backpack.

Seventh Grade.
After adjusting her socks, Alice looked back up at Coach Moore,...

Tips, Hints, & Other Miscellaneous Things to Know When on WTW

So lately I've had a lot of questions asking on how to do numerous things varying from how to link a word to preventing your first word you have automatically be capitalized once you publish a piece. Therefore, instead of leaving thousands of comments all over the place, I'll just make one big piece about everything, that you can refer or recommend for a fellow WTWer.

Linking URLs/websites to a word
1. ​Copy the URL you want linked
2. Go to the piece where you want the link to be (make sure you're editing the piece, you can't add a link without editing)
3. Type the word you want to be linked to the URL (For Example: If you want the world 'here' type out the word 'here')
4. Highlight the word with your cursor
5. Click the paper clip option/bottom right next to bullet point option, underneath where you type the title
6. Paste your URL
7. Click 'OK
Tip:...

/the science of crying on the bathroom floor/


/ tripped into the room 'cause you were stumbling around the broken p i e c e s of a heart that litters the ground; it's even harder to see when the tears are blinding you and you're too weak to wipe them from your face
// nails chipped and broken, you take them in as you lie on the cold, hard floor [and it's funny how the thoughts "this tile doesn't go with my skin" pop into your mind when it feels like you've lost your sense and all]
/// at least there's a reason we store extra shampoo under the sink, we'll need more once i've finished washing the sin away | hands are raw but that doesn't matter, seems i can at least do something after all |
//// staring in the mirror only lasts three seconds before you've confessed to the world how ugly you are: perhaps cutting your hair? or just dying the damn thing?
////...

every night i write new lines and take notes on my phone; here’s what happens when i combine them


what if i’m just made up of the hearts i loved / or am i only the pieces of the hearts that broke me? / sometimes i don’t understand where we’re at anymore / when i left you i didn’t expect you to find someone new / especially not so soon / it’s like when you leave chocolate in the car / it melts / and you didn’t think anything could happen without you there / but it can and it did / you moved on and i’m left / feeling numb and slightly dead / that’s the thing about endings / they aren’t always happy / they just end.

soulmate nostalgia

It takes me a while to sort through memories in order to pick out the one that fits the moment exactly as I want it to. Fortunately for me, we were together long enough to make memories for everything.

"Give me a reason," I sighed, eyeing him.
"I could give you a few," he laughed lightly, reaching for my hand.
Finally, I looked at him. I took in his light, brown hair to his arched eyebrows. I tried to keep my breath steady as his brown eyes burned and lips quirked up in a smirk.


And it was as I sat there in the last row, still wearing my robe, did our life together flash before my eyes. I could hear Blair and Everly in the other room, trying to manage everything: yelling at workers and signing their signatures.

Groaning, I bent down and attempted to catch my breath. I felt my legs shaking, barely managing to hold me up. ...

hollow stars (are what we are)


hollow stars they are: all broken,
bare, and idle.
they can't hold anything (anymore,
and perhaps they never could);
but how were we mortals to know
when they're too far away
and we raise (too many) hopes without
ever speaking directly
to them?
with hands now bloody and charred
and lives lost and sore,
how are we suppose to go on
when we've learned we've been wishin' on
hollow things that are too empty
we can't do anything with them?
our youth whispered promises of forever
by keeping our hearts dreaming, but
we've learned these speeches were lies-
from the fact we had the truths
burned into our bones.
after confessions leaked from the sky
we began to walk away, then we tripped
on strings (and what should be needless things);
on the floor lied crumpled shooting stars
with cut strings and dull points,
meaning one thing:
even the stars can't sit on the heavens alone
but are hanging on...

The Fates


thread snaps back
once the scissors close
causing a sinister laugh
from those whose
blood runs cold

First is Nona

Who spins the spool
Next comes Decuma
who presents the thread
Last lies Morta
with her scissors to snip
and there you have
a life at its end


They love to play:
at the end of the day,
when you close your eyes and pray.

They love to play:
as you fall on your knees with
blood on your feet and tears on your cheeks.

They love to play:
a moment before you grasp
every dream and belief, happiness closer than five feet.

Fate! Fate! leave it to Fate!’
you hear many plea 
but fate is plural
and it's a who not a what, clearly

three frail old women
can fool you easily
with thin yellow hair
and one eye to share

but know
The Fates don’t take to anyone

ever so kindly

what if faeries were just guardian angels that didn't make the cut? #TwistyTale


i.
it takes twenty-five years of training or a good deed worth a mortal’s lifetime to become a guardian angel. regardless, both take time and patience only a few could handle. that’s why the angels are handpicked, the Goddess herself and her lover, the one and only, the Holy one of them all.

and error and mistake are foreign phrases to them, so when it happens they act as though they don’t know the language. which, in a sense, they don’t. they only speak the words of glory and legend, which happens as often as the other, but when it does they rejoice and sing songs for them.

when she was born, there had been so much hope. her mother the best of them all, maiden to the Goddess herself and favorite of the Holy one. but fear grew too, ‘cause her father’s the one that created hell and walks in its halls. he captured and imprisoned the maiden-but this...

Everyday Magic

My heart broke, the same day I found it.

My heart broke, the same day I found it.
It was as the sun dipped into the ocean, causing the sky to fill with shades of pink and orange. The sand was cool against my skin, but I could feel it stick to my legs, the water acting as glue. I could feel the warmth coming from the tops of my legs, and as I looked down, I saw the slight shade of red on my thigh. We've been outside so long, and I forgot to put sunscreen on.
Sighing, I scanned everyone around me, trying to figure out what everyone was doing.
Mother laid on her baby blue towel, as Father sat in his beach chair by her head. I could hear the soft hum of their whispers, but not a word they exchanged. One of my brothers, and my sister, were splashing each other with water, as the tide slowly rose. Two of my friends were talking to...

"i miss my cocoa butter kisses"


i ache for the days we use to play with chalk where the things we only wish to draw were the pretty things that flew across our dreams
then mama would call for us saying "hurry, while supper stills hot" and hitting us as we run inside while hushing "grow up"
but ten years go by and our fingertips are stained for reds and blues, leftover truths from what we've painted on the bricks on our streets
then mama hollers for us to come up screamin' "where you been?" waving her rag like it's got a bug in it and sighing "what are you doin?"

i miss the times when we made mistakes that were still considered okay because everyone our age is still learning with innocence in hand
where mama cries out with a hand on the heart "it'll be alright baby" and making unnecessary huffs and puffs then always adding "just don't do it next time"
but ten...

Names, Names, Names

Pronouns: Proper Nouns

A breakfast joint
Penny's Pancakes: Open 'Till Sunset

A new smartphone
ScreenMax5: Stylus

An eyeglasses store
Cat Vision: Cat Caught Your Glasses?

A dog pound 
Dino's Dog House

A highway
Tuck Highway

An island resort
Beaches & Breezes: A Salty Getaway

A new constellation
Lilita's Lovers (There's 3 of them, and together they form her)

A pet polar bear
Sushi (He loves seafood)

A nail polish color
Mystic Fusion

A new butterfly species
Winged Fairy

detachment // failing expectations #126


swallowed fire; honestly, i thought it'd burn more, looks like folklore lied to me (guess that's what i get for promising my sins to the devil). and when i went to ask for their confessions, they were no longer there but in replaced were mirrors. and when i went in search of them, it seemed the world forgot of their existence and it was inconveniently convenient for both them and i. so in order to get their presence, i had to promise not to spit in their faces and let me taste the metallic, hollow feeling that fire leaves on your tongue. at least i crossed my fingers and held my breath when i signed that damned contract.

walked on ice; unfortunately, not a single ounce of frostbite, seems them fictional characters excel in the field of fabrications (suppose karma thought it was her turn to strike). and when i went to accept their condolences, they were no...

Solidarity

Tell Me Something Good

Tell me something good:
promises of cures or news of positivity.
Something that'll make
my bones shiver and lips smile.

Because I haven't had that in a while.

Tell me something good:
whispers of hope or sayings of joy.
Anything with life
to rid me of loneliness and sorrow.

Because I haven't felt that in a while.

Tell me something good:
phrases of meaning or proverbs of truth.
Whatever changes
the feelings of the atmosphere.

Because it hasn't done that in a while.

Tell me something good:
words of wisdom or expressions of triumph.
Knowings where we
feel together even in separate homes.

Because we haven't done that in a while.

young dumb broke high school kids // had it all #126


/you're still thinking of me/

you use to paint me rainbows, all over my arm, and they'd cover up the marks. we'd pretend the bruises weren't there and watch as you'd decorate me into something prettier than i was. or at least, that's what i'd say and you just shake your head claiming, "you're better than pretty." but we were younger then, our only problems were insecurity and trying to know what each other were thinking.

/like i know you should/

we were like everyone else, believing we'd outlast the world. naive in the ways of the world and stupid enough to think that we were fate. sometimes when i close my eyes, i'm far away from where i am physically and laying next to you instead. most days i like to think you do that too because damn we were so cute.

\i know i let you down\

but lately, i've been avoiding daydreaming, 'cause something bitter been taking...

we all bleed stories, it's only the ones that soak through do we hear about. #LGBTQtrain


there are several life-changing pains a person faces in their lifetime, but out of one of those, only one attempts to define us. i'll save you the misery and heartache of what nearly defined me and only tell you the story of how what saved me.

you board a train when you don't know where to go.

lightly, i tapped my fingers along my suitcase, trying not to stare at the boy across from me. he was typing on his laptop to a rhythm that matched the rain outside. every so often a sentence or word would fall from his mouth, as though he couldn't contain the story he was writing.

people don't talk much on trains, they're all in their heads.

although, it wasn't until my eyes landed on him for the tenth time in the past two minutes, did he look up at me.

"it seems-" he sighed, closing the laptop, "your gaze gives me shivers and i...

star crossed lovers fantasy; #LGBTQFantasy


we aren't promised the water, that's an element forbidden to creatures like me. my mother use to warn me and father advised me. but if i listened to them, would i have ever met you?  you say no, claim destiny would've screwed us over.

my kinds terrified of yours, like how with a single drop you could destroy us all. i learned to fear you before even knowing you. i held their beliefs as if they were my own and allowed them to spoon their words into my mouth. but when i met you, you changed it all.

it was one of those beautiful days that everyone knew was going to end ugly. there was going to be a storm none of the faeries could control, involving dangers to everyone. yet, while the sun was still out, we went on as though we didn't know. because why live afraid of the night when the day still begs you to play?...

fountain of youth [pt 1]

Hands locked around the neck of the glass, Gwenyth peered down into the liquid. The wine glass made it look like there was more than there actually was, but she knew better. All she ever needed was merely half a cups worth. More than that would be unnecessary, wasteful.

The liquid itself was an illusion. Clear like water and the rumor was it even tasted like it. Yet, one that held virgin to the drink would have high expectations about the taste and the feel, such as she did. How could she not? It seems so unrealistic, nearly impossible that something of such power can be presented in a simplistic way. Or that was the thought of the obscure, perishable lives called humans.

Carefully, Gwenyth sent the glass down on top of the fountain's concrete edge.

"Second thoughts?" A voice hummed, it music like.

Even with a voice as soft and smooth as this one, Gwenyth couldn't help but jump...

mistress of evil


cloaked in dark colors, for there's nothing pretty and bright
in my life 
(not anymore, you took that part of my life away)
my horns are shaped like the devil, he inspired me while
we were secretly lovers
(he treated me better than you did)
my wings were big and shaped like an angels
but i serve the goddess that is myself, no other
(once, i would've obeyed your orders)
since you plucked the feathers
and ripped them off my back
(when i was most vulnerable)
there's nothing left of my heart but the shards
yet they still froze over
(you broke what i thought was made of stone)
perhaps this world is only bitter
when you try picturing an 'us' together
(our things were burned along with my wings)
so now my skin is sickly green
because you infected me with treachery
(traitors make promises never)
and now i'll destroy your daughter
to prove there's no such thing as...

Seven Delights

Why My Weeks Are Bearable

Sleep.
I experience forever every once in a while when I'm sleeping through the night and dreaming about everything I want to do. Lucid dreams leave me shivering, but for all the best reasons.
(sunday)

Shower.
I was taught there's only one way to start a week: shower. Wash away your past as though nothing bad can happen again and try to remain as clean as you can in the dirtiest of ways.
(monday)

Writing.
Weakness: I don't know how to rant in a way that doesn't mean writing about it. My soul is poured onto paper through words and that's better medicine than any drug.
(tuesday)

Her.
She's sugar, spice, and everything nice. No one out there that would even compare to the friend she is or would match her contagious optimism.
(wednesday)

Books.
Sometimes my life isn't "story" enough and I need to escape from reality. Fictional places are more calming than a quiet room where I'm all...

Pretty Birds, War Soldiers

June 11th, 1942.
We sent letters as though the words written on them would heal our broken hearts. Our feelings for each other became nothing more than what we sealed in envelopes, where our thoughts became our own and the evitable truth resting on our shoulders.
Mama always told me don't fall for a military man, and I should've listened. I remember the first time she told me, I was eight years old, convinced the boy two houses down was going to be my husband. We planned out our future in an afternoon, me a school teacher, him a soldier fighting like his Daddy did. After we spent the afternoon under the large oak tree in his front yard, I ran back home, my yellow sundress flying.
"Penelope!" Mama scolded, hitting her hands against her apron. "You were meant home twenty minutes ago! Your Daddy would've busted your chops!"
Frowning, I kicked off my flats and went into the kitchen. ...

Your View

My Opinions & Views

 

  1. Adults were once kids yes, so they understand what it's like to be our age, but we're all different and live in newer generations-so they don't know what it's like to be us.
  2. Music is a type of medicine for the soul. Not for everyone, but for those it is for-it surely does heal.
  3. If we can't look after ourselves, what chance do we have in looking after other things?
  4. People as a whole are constantly and truly forgetting that the world may revolve, but not around them.
  5. Spirits and auras of people are real, and sensing them can help you understand how a person feels.
  6. Writing is a lot harder than it sounds.
  7. Love is love.
  8. Most teachers deserve the salaries that celebrities get.
  9. Life sucks and that's what sucks about it.
  10. There's a point (or multiple) in everyone's life where they stop, turn around, and realize they were never quite sure what they did but like how it ...

my hands are empty, please stop asking for more


cracked and blistered, look-there's even a callus;
my skin wasn't made for this, but here i am
broken anyways and if i wanted to-i'm sure this some metaphor out there to use
that would describe this 'reactional feeling':
hearing the words uttered and it pierces in your chest-ya look for blood,
but your body don't got none left, and you feel the physical pain in your heart
as though the organs been impaled-there's still no blood
suppose i found my metaphor after all.
funny how i can't feel the tears anymore,
not even taste the salt on my lips, which are dried anyway
ironic how i'm thirsty but don't want water-unless i start drinking it, then
i'm finally craving it:
the desire for something so empty and tasteless, with no color but the idea of 'transparency' 
itself is meaningless but the need for it is meaningful, like the term 'lunacy'
seems i formed a simile.
for a while i wondered...

"Why Angels Cry" #apoemaday31


can you hear their mournful cries?
where their cheeks burn from the acid tears,
they've never meant to bear.

they know the world is ending:

the air grows stale-
people can't breathe
nevertheless they lace their lungs
in drugs and heat;
ground grows hot-
my toes burn like
the little piggies they are
so wear socks outside
but daddy yells at thee;
words turn bitter-
they're spat out of mouths
numb the lips
when they come out;
love grows cold-
couples break apart
because they don't know how
to handle their hearts;
mortals age sporadically-
we're all different anyway
but its hard to deal
when life seems to short.

notice the chains around their wrists:

cause if the world goes down,
their heaven falls with it,
and what's worse,
it's happening at such a slow pace,
no one knows whats happening.

[Archangel] #apoemaday30

Michael
let your colors fly,
you won the war for heaven,
and let satan fall.

Gabriel
whisper all your truths,
tell us your secrets within,
and keep us all pure.

Raphael
heal all of our sins,
take care to our illnesses,
travel as out friend.

Uriel
save us from darkness,
water us in your wisdom,
you are too devine.

Selaphiel
together we'll pray,
you'll keep us sane with our dreams,
always we hold hands.

Raguel
don't let them suffer,
give us all a chance to fight,
let us learn and grow.

Barachiel
send all their blessed gifts,
carry out all miracles,
walk with the people.

bLaCkOuT #apoemaday26


there's a dead silence
with only the faucet dripping
single, eerie, droplets
that'll splash on the drain ever so slightly
and scare the hell out of me;
every
damn
drop.

the lights went out hours ago
at first it was barely noticeable
my mum called me a vampire
the way i'd live my life in the dark
so when the first bulb should've twinkled
i didn't notice;
until
it
shattered.

i can feel the waves of tension
it comes in short, cold, gusts of wind
and it leaves me shivering
for goosebumps then skin;
i
can't
handle.

monophobia caresses my face
being fake polite
and i can smell the sweaty stench of me
since there's nothing i can do;
now
or
ever.

i may have the only beating heart
in the house
but i can hear a deafening sound
of thousands of hearts racing;
thud
thud
thud.

this has never happened to me before
if only i could pinch my...

cause: love | effect: senses

When our eyes meet:
feels as though
there's a hundred dreams
of a future between
you and me.

When your voice speaks:
feels as though
there's a sweet melody
of every possible truth
tickling my ears.

When our hands touch:
feels as though
there's a fire burning
through my nerves.

When your mouth smirk:
feels as though
there's a heavenly flavor
exciting my tastebuds.

When our kisses happen:
feels as though
there's a sweetly rich taste
dancing on my lips.

he muttered 'checkmate' #apoemaday23


he muttered
'checkmate'
already over the game he's been playing,
knowing that she has no moves left
or nowhere else to go.
secretly though
he'd been looking ahead,
already knowing she'd run out of options
and now she did.
there's nothing fun in a game
when you've been winning,
before you've flipped the timer
and the sand started going.
there's a monotone voice barely speaking
toward the end of the round when they stop
caring,
because life isn't fun if you're constantly
doing the same thing over and over again.
so he'll move on to someone else
perhaps to a girl with more of a
challenge,
and feel at least something resembling feelings,
when he says 'checkmate',
all ready to hurt her feelings.

the love(s) of my life


I. true love
her name was amelia and she was the whole universe sewn up in mundane skin and decorated in a dress made of the stars. but i wasn't going to tell her that, because even before we officially meant i knew saying something like that would make her lecture about the science behind such a bizarre concept. she wouldn't understand what i meant, but that didn't matter. i knew what it meant.
carefully, i mustered up the small bit of courage i had, and walked over to her, trying to think of what to say. she must have sensed my presence, because immediately after i took a step toward her, her eyes met mine. they were the definition of curiosity. my breathe caught and i knew this moment was everything. i tried to speak-but someone beat me to it.
"excuse me, but you looked lonely," a man (that looked like a human version of plankton from spongebob) said,...

prick your finger #apoemaday22


prick your finger on my thorns and
you'll bleed the blood
of champions,
each drop a glittery gold
but it'll still hurt and your skin will scar
because you did cut yourself open-
on my pretty thorns.
but it'll be quick, over before you know what happened
just hum a song from your childhood,
something sweet that filled your memories
when you were young and naive.
i'll warn you now before you risk
everything you have or hold;
my thorns are sharper than any other
and poisoned at the tip-
it's for protection formed by fear.
so careful what you desire,
know who'd you risk it all for
don't utter words to strangers
and know never to touch your lover's thorns
unless you know what your in for.

Collection of Haikus about the Afterlife #apoemaday19

But, what happens after we die?

reincarnation
we're blessed a new life,
with no past life memories,
we'll have a rebirth.


heaven & hell
those with virtue fly,
and who carries sin falls down,
there's no in-between.


darkness
sometimes its nothing,
just night and oblivion,
not even a dream.


ghosts & spirits
so much left undone,
or cursed with a lively soul,
we're here-but not quite.


resurrection
the world still wants you,
there's still so much left for you,
come back as before.


So, do you really want to know?

אלמוות העולם הנשכח

Please Note: This formerly classified document was sent to our Nation’s Commander-in-Chief mailed by former mission leader, recently deceased (1/18/2026) General George Pluman who worked the Further than Pluto case file. For remaining files of case, please see attachments.
File: Declassified (2/5/2026)
Received: March 8, 2003
To: President George W. Bush
Forward: Found by General George Pluman during their conquest of Pluto
1782.002.
We call ourselves the ווקר {[A Walker I am lead to believe is your closest translation]} a name we placed upon ourselves by our creators. We live on אלמוות העולם הנשכח {[​Immortality The Forgotten World is the closest translation]} and have for cintorys {[estimated about two and a half centuries equal one of our cintorys). But after recent study upon the planet in which you life forms take over we are lead to believe you pose a threat.
Your research of spacecraft seems to have improved, and though you are merely three cintorys behind us in spark...

standstills in blizzards #apoemaday15


there's a reason we're stuck in a stand still-
in the middle of a blizzard.

you uttered the words i wasn't quite ready
to hear,
so i couldn't return the favor;
which i know frostbites your heart more than
any snow-
and i'm sorry for that but just know:
i didn't want this in the first place.
my eyes were blinded,
nothing seemed clear;
but you whispered the words
'dont worry' and 'have no fear'
so i tried and went for the very thing
you wanted.
perhaps if i covered my ears,
they never would've been numb;
there's a chance that just by keeping my-
distance i could've avoided
this storm.
instead i trusted you:
even though i shouldn't have,
so that's why my hearts been whipped
and yours is bleeding-
at least we're covered in snowflakes,
right?

truth hurts #apoemaday14


it'll blister your back if you let it out too quick,
but also build up a callus if you lie about it too long-
damn, the truth hurts;
there's no other way to phrase it.

he'll utter the words then lick his lips,
noticing how familiar the taste of those words are-
damn, the truth hurts;
but at least he's used to sayin' it.

she tells them in the exhale,
noticing how foreign a phrase it all seems-
damn, the truth hurts;
perhaps that's why she never uses it.

then you simply write the idea down in a book,
noticing how easy it is on paper but absurd to say out loud-
damn, the truth hurts;
and you're still discovering how to use it.

knowing when to speak is the question,
or so i'm told but in all honesty-
damn, the truth hurts;
that's why it's hard to spit out.

Wedding Dress of Lace #apoemaday11

But it was their wedding day,
that has to mean something.

The dress plain and simple,
elegant and with lace.
A theme of southern belle fit her perfectly,
with a ceremony in the barn.
Her hair and makeup was done,
all was left was putting on her shoes.
Slowly her sister helped her,
for there was nothing else she could do.
As she rehearsed those vows,
a piece of the lace fell.
Cursing under her breath,
she bent and picked it up.
As she grabbed the strand that blew under her bed,
she found a hot pink bra instead.
Everyone knew she hated that color,
for it didn't go with her skin.
Then she knew,
he was losing feeling too.
That their meaning was slipping,
into nothing worth saving.

But it was their wedding day,
that has to mean something.

brush me with your kisses #apoemaday9


brush me with your
kisses,
because i'm not strong enough for anything else.
i've been broken many times,
from pushed off the edge and shattered to
accidentally dropped on the tile with pieces flying all over the floor.
some tried to befriend me as though it would
make it all better, but it was as good as
elmers glue-for a tan vase
(with all the cracks were still visible).
others attempted to play with the sharp pieces
that were left of me,
but soon they began to bleed
because the ragged pieces pierced too far into
their skin.
so when it comes to you,
i beg that the only thing you do
is kiss me softly
one the dull edges.
and even if your lips bleed (in which please accept my
condolences in advance)
just know that it's not that bad and i can 
help with a band-aid, made from scratch.
so keep your lips smooth,
with the faint taste...

Nostalgic Times, Lightening FireFlies #apoemaday7


we're loosing each other
in the woods of our lives
i miss my mother and all of those-
gorgeous times, where nothing really mattered:

that was
e v e r y t h i n g.

my world's no longer round-it's what they call
'flat' and i'm a literal 'cliffhanger' hold on
to the sky, ever so tight;
unsure what to do since i know:

i can't
f l y.

then there's something twinkling
first, i saw it in my sister's eyes
then it appeared in the shadow
of my ex-lover who left:

we were too
u n l i k e.

slowly i cupped it with needle-thin fingers
all scrapped and bruised-
with dirt smudges and nail-biting know habits;
reminding me of how i've crashed
trying to love again:

then i saw it, a
f i r e f l y.

it was dim but i sensed it's fear
'cuz it matched my own-
not that i'd tell anyone...

Mariam's Tombstone #apoemaday5




                                                                                       Mariam Celeste Green
                                                                            beloved daughter
                                                                    
                                                                    "Her lies a blessing now dead,
                                                                    able to lie in Heaven with no sin.
                                                                       Not planned or predicted,
                                                                      nor meant to live past ten.
                               ...

Enchantress #apoemaday4


bound at the hands and hair in their face,
with red fiery eyes and cracked, bloody lips,
and dry blistered skin,
they all whisper the same name-
across one another's' lips:

                                                'enchantress' they cry; with trembling bones
                                                'enchantress' they cry; with petrified groans
                                                'enchantress' they cry; with bowed heads
                                                'enchantress' they cry; with tear-stained beds
they know the name will bring,
an unspeakable being,
with broken power and greedy force,
a name when said promises doom,
with only one left to spread the news:

                                                'darlings' she hisses; with a grin
                                                'darlings' she hisses; with prideful sin
                                                'darlings' she hisses; with unspeakable size
                                                'darlings' she hisses; with far-off eyes
so beware the girl,
who's soul only yearns to scare
and never speak her name
out loud,
alone in your room.

clairvoyance


"seeing is believing"

what a facade of a lie,
created because one can't-
know and do like i,
in which life is more than the five senses
we put it in.

t o u c h

can one feel the essence,
surrounding the body
how it gives off that-
captivating feelings and
absorbs life in
colors?

s i g h t

can one see the soul,
hidden beneath the person
where sparks are created that'll-
be so breathtaking you'd close your eyes
and still see
them?

h e a r

can one hear the waves,
rolling off someone with emotions
bursting at their seems and-
watch a lover try
to make a
splash?

s m e l l

can one smell the mundane,
differentiate the type of character
each one of them can-
attempt to be
or will
be?

t a s t e

can one taste a bitter heart,
broken and jagged with 
salty tears to paint said-
'organ'...

mundane phoenices #apoemaday1


god, look at us now-
bathing in flames
as we burn in the dark:
who would've thought,
we were birthed from sparks?

frozen cold ashes,
so they thought-
all died out, worth nothing more now
but underneath the pile, where all the heat goes
is the warmth of a spark,
with a desire to burn.

from the charred embers-
our bodies emerged,
the word spítha painted on our skin,
and flickering flames danced on our lips.

hard to believe, so they held their breath
using our name as a curse, they repeat in their head
but unwilling they did learn,
the power of a spark
and how we can easily
bath in flames-
while it's dark.

Coincidence? Fate?

Coincidence?
That's what you think, you free-willed strong-headed nonbeliever of fate.
"I haven't seen you since we were kids," you laugh, taking me in.
My face no longer round and pudgy in the cheeks, my jawbone more defined and my nose more petite. I can tell by the surprise in your eyes that you notice the weight I lost, even though I was never really fat, I use to be thick. My legs are longer and there's less of my thighs, making it so I fit in these skinny jeans just right. My hips are curvy and my breasts bigger, it seems I've grown into the woman you never really thought I'd become. My stomach is flatter and there's a piercing in my belly button, meaning I like the way I look in crop tops, and you make note that I no longer tug my shirt down.
"You look so different," I smile, and it's true. 
Just as I have,...

Society in Monarchy #apoemaday24

Kings would fight 'till the end of the battle, and that'd be honorable
but if a soldier with no much medals no a commander were to be impaled at war,
he'd simply be another numerical tragedy; he ain't no king
'cause if he was, his funeral would hear the trumpets sing

Queens would rule 'till the end of the era, and that'd be remarkable
but if a mother with a house of three daughters and two sons were to ruling at home,
she'd simply be another irrelevant commoner; she ain't no queen
'cause is she was, her words would make treaties and carry throughout the land

Princesses would smile 'till the end of their singularity, and that'd be significant
but if a girl with pale blue, maid dresses and black slip-on shoes were to grin,
she'd simply be another immemorable face; she ain't no princess
'
cause if she was, her hand would be promised to other rules and worth...

Kingdom #KNContest

Within the kingdom, there's a saying that is whispered in ears whenever the royal family walk by; a phrase that's been tucked and folded in the history of their time; a string of words that are claimed to be written by the stars: 'all who are lost, chose to wander alone'.
However, that all changed upon the queening of her. Queen Reyna, a name that fits so unexpectedly perfectly, it rolls off the tongue of every commoner who's still allowed to speak.
Her brought up was one of the typical Kings and Queens of her ancestry, however, it was her mind and essence that wasn't quite like the others. It seemed the gods had blessed her and the stars had kissed her, because not only was she pretty, but her soul was g o r g e o u s.
She grew up by the water, the sea lived beside the castle, with waves she' use to...

we're never really more than words | edited & republished


and we'll text and text of the good times that'll never happen.
when we text you'll send me long paragraphs and i'll be sure to absorb every single letter you type, and then send you a paragraph back. but my words will be filled with vague and hard to read 'i love you's cause i want you to know how i feel but not unless you don't want to. though, i think you do cause i can read between the lines and see the untyped messages, meaning i can see the 'me too's or 'i really really like you's, unless of course, you don't want me to and then i can pretend to never even know of them.
but for me its hard to think that someone who doesn't care would text me at midnight to wish me happy birthday, or steal away at moments just to call me, or write a paragraph that goes over the amount of characters...

artemis mother # Fortuna Major


she looked like every other star at first. sitting up there along with the rest, each one looking down on us, shining their lights onto people they knew would shine, and led their fallen heroes toward the moonlight path that took you somewhere that promised forever.
my mother was a fallen hero, all grace and generosity, with the blood of a warrior and believer, all in which was enclosed together by her skin, that seemed to stretch 'cause there was so much of her. my mother was a mortal goddess, and the stars knew that. so when she finally breathed her last breathe, the stars came together to shine all their light on her, so her soul would find the moonlight path.
mother knew what the stars were doing too because even though she whispered her last words into my ears, the words seemed like a scream and a slap in the face of fate.
"pánta pethaínoun máches,...

the ghost of my mother's past


the past is a very determined ghost, haunting every chance it gets.


each morning was toxic as if i'd wake up breathing in carbon monoxide and exhaling oxygen. my tongue would be shriveled up dry in my mouth, absorbing the smallest bits of spit inside my mouth and my eyes would attempt to water cause they'd be so dry, but even the few tears that'd fall would evaporate a centimeter down, cause my body would be so hot. then, for some reason, i felt compelled to scratch my nails against my stick-thin arms, and every day it'd turn out the same. i'd have white streaks across my chestnut-colored skin, making me ashy.

and it was upon all these observations (in which i made sure to check daily) I would start to hyperventilate-making everything worse. then, in the short span of two minutes, my mother would burst in (on cue), muttering phrases she'd had memorized since my first appointment with dr....

Kol & Amity


"We stop looking for monsters under the bed when we realize they're inside of us."

i. Kol
My soul was shattered like glass the day I was born, leaving me broken and with a haunted past. He's Father, cause he fathered me and my doomed destiny and not Dad 'cause he never helped me.
And to make it worse and my life much cursed, he named me 'Kol'. Kol was a name you gave a child you hated and wanted to be bullied. Kids'll never understand your name, why it's a 'k' not a 'c' or why there's no 'e'. They'll laugh and call your parents (they use to be bold enough to assume I had 2) too lazy to even care about a proper name for you. Not mention it literally means 'Dark'.
So I grew up rough and rugged around the edges of the few eggshells (cause glass would be way too expensive) parts of my soul...

We Weren't Cliche Enough to Work

"In Chinese philosophy, yin and yang is a concept of dualism, describing how seemingly opposite or contrary forces may actually be complementary, interconnected, and interdependent in the natural world, and how they may give rise to each other as they interrelate to one another."


Part 1: Yin
My home consists of an abandoned, half-finished, one-story, utility less house, on the outskirts of the city. Yet, when it came to my school papers and adults that ask too many questions, it was 123 A Orange Groove Apartments off of Main Street. And they were too naive to believe otherwise.
However, there were occasions like these, when some suspiciously nice person wanted to take me home, insistent that I shouldn't walk home in the dark-especially alone. Therefore, I had to maneuver away from their offer without blowing my cover, while avoiding to be rude. Normally, the second one wouldn't prevail.
"I really don't need a ride, Ms. Hopper, it's okay!" Forcing a...

Wishing Day #Tellastory

In my world, I wasn't meant to be seen. In your world, you were more than free. In our world, we had been meant to be.

9/9/99
Mama told me that if the same number was the date, that meant it was a wishing day. The first wishing day I remember was when I was five years old, and Mama wished me a happy birthday. Said that wishing day was extra special. That night we visited Papa's resting bed and made wishes upon the stars. None of them came much true except in our hearts.
This was John and I's first wishing day without Mama, but also Michael's first wishing day-ever.
I didn't know much to do but wish for a miracle, and a bottle of shampoo.
When it was John's turn, he wished Mama came back and Papa never left for war. As for Michael, he just cried 'cause he was hungry.
Whenever he cried, I'd pick him up...

Six-Word Story

Fishing

Went fishing, caught a few stars.

אלמוות העולם הנשכח

Please Note: This formerly classified document was sent to the our Nation’s Commander-in-Chief mailed by former mission leader, recently deceased General George Pluman who worked the Further than Pluto case file.
File: Declassified
Received: March 8, 2003
To: President George W. Bush
Forward: Found by General George Pluman during their conquest of Pluto
1782.002.
We call ourselves the ווקר {[A Walker I am lead to believe is your closest translation]} a name we placed upon ourselves by our creators. We live on אלמוות העולם הנשכח {[​Immortality The Forgotten World is the closest translation]} and have for cintorys {[estimated about two and a half centuries equal one of our cintorys). But after recent study upon the planet in which you life forms take over we are lead to believe you pose a threat.
Your research of spacecraft seems to have improved, and though you are merely three cintorys behind us in spark {[the term you use is ‘technical’]} development, one of...

Open Prompt

Soulmate Marks (A Short Story)

    Sitting at the dining room table, my arms resting against the cool wood. I was wearing a thin tank top and pajama shorts, hoping my mark appeared at a place I could show off.
My phone buzzed against my thigh, causing the chair to make noise from the vibrations. I held back the urge to grab it, knowing that who ever it was, I'd be on the phone for hours. That could wait. My mark, couldn't.
I dreamed of this day since I was a child, when my parents first told me about it. I remember Oscar's sixteenth birthday, when he got his mark. At first Oscar didn't care about the mark, thinking it would be something lame and girly. But once he got it, he spent weeks showing it off. He'd flip his arm over, just do you could see the wolf head mark on his wrist.
Sighing, I prayed my mark would be as good as Oscar's,
“I...

we were a group of misfits and outlaws #HomoSapiensStory

    Smack dab in the center of chaos, in the city that never sleeps, is a bakery. For over thirty years we've been squished in between the Macy's and JC Penny, and their economic and popularity war. Yet, in a way, we were blind to it. Too focused on outrunning the law.
   As the oldest, at twenty-four years, and with only six arrests, I led. Next came my brother Ranger, who was twenty-two years, and was able to fight his way out of any arrest. After were the twins, Will and Willis, both twenty years old and brilliant spies. Then came along Friar, nineteen and too smart for his own good: always the brains of the operation. Few years after Little John was born, making him sixteen, yet still bigger than all of us combined. No one dared to defy him.

    They called us the 'Merry Men' but we weren't the ones for titles. We didn't...

She's the Wanderer, He's the Navigator (Revised)

I'm a Wanderer.
My whole I've touched upon, the unthinkable, wondering why no one else has stopped to feel the beauty that was deep within.
I've always stopped and just followed the wind, letting the world tell me where to go, trusting all I see.
Smelling the roses, touching their petals; listening to to the news buzz, watching them fly by; tasting the freshness of newly picked fruit, thinking about how it was grown.
I was the wanderer, he was the navigator. I don't need a plan, 'cause I know everything happens for a reason, it's all written in the stars. Just like him. Just like us. He was my destiny.

I'm a navigator.
My whole life I've made the decisions; the hardest ones were the ones I've made for others, for I feared I made the wrong choice.
Every problem just needs to be heard, understood, and worked through and then my solution will come, instinctively.
Smelling out the truth,...

Atlas

Something is coming,” Atlas whispered, eyes scanning the room.
Snapping my head in his direction, I watched Atlas survey the room as if it had changed. We had been here for one full moon cycle, yet he’s acting as we had just gotten here. They warned me, said he’d lose his mind, that they all did, but I didn’t believe it. I refused to believe it. Licking my lips, I tried to scoot closer to him, but I could only move an inch before the chains around my wrists stopped me.
“Atlas!” I called, trying to get his attention. Maybe if I distracted him, reminded him of before. Reminded him at least why we were here, maybe then he’d come back.
Something is coming,” He said again, this time louder. It was as if I didn’t exist. His eyes continued to bounce around the room, as he repeated that stupid saying.
I tried to hold back...

Blooded Secrets


secrets are bleeding out of me
the cut is too deep

every truth pours out of me
most of them not even my own
so i bleed the blood of others
causing pain to the truth seekers

crying out loud
no one hears a single sound
instead, they watch my blood spill
and are hellbound

rage, hatred, sorrow, heartache
every emotion boils inside of them
and they're quick to leave once the secrets are said
leaving me to lie on the ground

i'm losing a lot of blood
but then again
i never realized how much i've had
it seems like just when i think it will stop
a whole new wave comes
a whole new lie revealed

secrets are bleeding out of me
this cut is too deep
if this is how i go out
i wish people remember me
and not the secrets i'd keep

Tiny Love Story

An Enemies Love, in 100 Words

Pulling my hand free from his grasp, I looked my life long enemy in the eye, finally ready to stand up for myself.
"Leave me alone," I hiss, meeting his dark green eyes. "Go get a life, so I can live mine."
Freezing, Austin's eyes flashed down to his feet, as his hands dropped by his sides. The laughing stopped, and the spark in his energetic body went out. His tan skin seemed to flush a slight red.
"You are my life," He whispered, taking a small step closer.
That's when I realized, why we spent our lives tormenting eachother.

One-Liner

Failure

Failure in itself is worthless, but failure one reflects and learns from is a victory.

Universal Knowledge

Love

The ways we portray love may be different, but everyone understands the translation of the action.

When you connect all the constellations, do you see the love(s) he had?

Twinkle, twinkle, little star
Perhaps the world wasn't meant for such an incredible love story, that would soon be legendary. It's this thought that makes me better understand how we're so connected to the stars and fascinated about the galaxy-it's the only thing close to big enough to embrace our love. To embrace us.
How I wonder what you are.
Locking our hands together, I placed my head on his shoulder as we laid across the grass. His other arm was wrapped around me as he whispered little love confessions I've heard before but still gave me goosebumps.
Up above the world so high
The words seemed to take shape in the sky, each star connecting to the other. Smiling, I turned over so I was facing him.
"Adam," I said, interrupting his description of my eye color: tree leaf green in the middle of summer. His favorite color.
"Yes?" he murmured, shifting so he was staring at the sky...

A Collection Of Letters to the Absolutely Insane #MentalHealthMonth

Olivia,
In the package neatly attached to this letter is the rest of the letters. Don't worry, I organized them alphabetically so they're easy to read and find. I also made sure to wipe them done and spray them so as little amount of germs as possible would get on them as they are mailed. In addition, they're all rubberbanded together so don't get lost. Hopefully, you liked all the letters you receive and write back soon. Honestly, I didn't read any of them except mine because I promised the others, but I did organize the chart of who should write what and what to say. Obviously, mine was instruction and background information letter. Anyway, I'll just say one last thing since you have lots of letters to read. As of last week, all of your things were neatly packed and stored in the attic. I made sure everything was labeled and placed correctly, as well as clean. 
~OCD


Liv, ...

A Pair of Poems

She's the Wanderer, He's the Navigator

I'm a Wanderer.
My whole I've touched upon, the unthinkable, wondering why no one else has stopped to feel beauty that was deep within.
I've always stopped, and just followed the wind, letting the world tell me where to go, trusting all I see.
Smelling the roses, touching its petals; listening to to the news buzz, Watching them fly by; tasting the freshness of newly picked fruit, thinking about how it was grown.
I was the wanderer, he was the navigator. I don't need a plan but to know everything happens for a reason, it's all written in the stars. Just like him. Just like us. He was my destiny.

I'm a navigator.
My whole life I've made the decisions, the hardest ones were the ones I've made for others, for I feared I made the wrong choice.
Every problem just needs to be heard, understood, and worked through and then my solution will come, instinctively.
Smelling out the truth,...

Bookshelf

Tuck Everlasting

Tuck Everlasting
By Natalie Babbitt
Fantasy

Is living forever a blessing or a curse?

Bread and Light

Words and Stories of Nourishment

Words and stories nourish
a child's imagination
as our world's authors
did mine

It's All My Fault

Created for an angel, hurt like a devil.
I know you probably can’t hear me as the memory replays itself before you. I know you don’t understand. But most of all, I know this is all my fault.
My tears are as real as yours. Yet, that’s when the similarity between us ends. My wax tears are composed of guilt, glistening with blame, and salted with sorrow.
The worst part is, I wish I was crying because of what I did to you. Even as the guilt consumes me, not a single tear of mine comes from the guilt. No, it’s all because this little piece of ash hasn’t cooled. The little light it has left has touched my crimping stick, setting me ablaze once again.
I can’t help it! Everyone blames me, yet this is what I was created for.
What happen, what I did to you, wasn’t fair-I know that. It’s my fault, but can’t...

Op-Ed Competition 2019

Thinking Outside the Box We Put Race In

Race is more than the color on your skin. It’s apart of who you are. It’s a piece of culture that shapes you, or a detail that creates you. How race plays into people’s life is different for everyone, however, no one can escape it.
Truthfully, I don't know what 'race' I am. I don't know what ethnic group I 'belong' to. I don't know what color to describe myself. To be frank, I don't even know what parent I look most like. All I know is two things: One, people use the term ‘mixed’ to describe my skin, and two, everyone is some percentage of every race.
Now, this doesn’t mean everyone is fifty percent English, or twenty percent German. What I’m saying is that people have every race a part of them, just different amounts. For example, someone can be fifty percent Irish, and everyone around them can be one percent Irish.
I drew this conclusion from...

my life is like | #powerfulpoems

watch all you have ever loved burn
so all you once had, is lost

smell gas from a doctor's room
so everything you thought, is an illusion

breathe in the darkest of lakes
so each lung drowns, now you can't scream

listen to a pitch so loud you can feel
so not even covering your ears, can stop the headache

drink the nectar of a poisonous tree
so you die, from the inside out

walk on needles sticking up between hot coals
so every step you make hurts, worse than before

pour acid onto your soft skin
so it seeps, into each of your pore

and maybe then
you'll feel a fraction of what
my life is like
without you

you may be gone, but..

you may be gone but...

when i close my eyes
i'll let the tears fall
as all the memories from our past
flash before my eyes

when i listen to music
i'll let the sobs come
as i turn up the sound
our storying playing loud

when i go to sleep
i'll let the dreams play
as i picture us
hangin out

when i paint a picture
i'll let our favorite things show
as i create a masterpiece
featuring our laughs

when i dance alone
i'll let my arms go up
as i pretend to dance with you
even with no one in the room

when i close my eyes
i'll let the tears fall
as all the memories from our past
flash before my eyes

you may be gone, but
the feeling always stays

Acid Tears #ForgivenessFGE

the tears that stain my cheeks
are made of acid
burning me as they fall
reminding my soul
who you made me
through it all

how can i forgive
the man who saw my mind
and read my heart
using both against me?

how can i forgive
the thief who stole my soul
dropped it in hell
and watched it fall
to the bottomless sea?

how can i forgive
the monster who starred in my dreams
and twisted them into
my reality?

how can I forgive
the devil who broke my wings
so i could fall
and make me lose it all?

how can I forgive
myself?
is the real question isn't it,
after all?

i was the one who opened up
because i couldn’t stop your pry
i was the one who shared the secretes
because i loved when your charming smile
i was the one who gave you my love
because i thought you were the only...

Living People

Queen Reyna in my story Love's A Lie

    1. What is something about your character that no one knows?
It was an accident, she never meant to fall in love the with the devil's son. And the moment she realized she loved him, was the same moment she knew they were both doomed.
    2. What is her favorite time of day?
Sliding out of bed, Reyna made her way toward her window, that looked over the kingdom. She watched the sun peek from behind the mountains, as it prepared itself for another morning. Dawn, the only piece of proof that another day can start, even after a bad one.
    3. Who is her closest confidant?
Smiling, Reyna gave Head Adviser Nicholas a hug, trying to hold back the tears. He was the closest thing to a Father she ever had.
    4. What is something she collects?
Running her fingers along the bookcase, Reyna beamed at her small collection of books she had stolen from the Palace Library.
    ...

Once the World Was...

Once the World Was...

Once the world was
put quite simply
gorgeous,
filled with animals,
filled with trees,
filled with clean air
for all to breathe.
Then we came along
put quite simply
'monsters',
because we kill,
because we destroy,
because we pollute
so easily.

Once the world was
put quite simply
empty,
of us beings,
who just be,
mindlessly.
Carelessness and greed
should be our 
enemies,
but are our
family.

what have we done?
to the world
that once was

Everyday Magic

My heart broke, the same day I found it.

My heart broke, the same day I found it.
It was as the sun dipped into the ocean, causing the sky to fill with shades of pink and orange. The sand was cool against my skin, but I could feel it stick to my legs, the water acting as glue. I could feel warmth coming from the tops of my legs, and as I looked down, I saw the slight shade of red on my thigh. We've been outside so long, and I forgot to put sunscreen on. Sighing, I scanned the everyone around me, trying to figure out what everyone was doing.
Mother laid on her baby blue towel, as Father sat in his beach chair by her head. I could hear the soft hum of their whispers, by not a word they exchanged. One of my brothers, and my sister, were splashing each other with water, as the tide slowly rose. Two of my friends were talking to...

Love in Words

To: My Baby Brother (Who I Told was my Twin)

Dear, Baby Brother (Twin)
    Since the moment I first saw you in the hospital, the day after you were born, I knew I was going to love you forever, with all my heart. When I first held you, it was like a spark had been sent through my body, as if I had never been truly awake until that moment. And no matter how much I try to ignore her, Mom always loves to remind me on how I always wanted to hold you; and never let you go.
    I remember going to school, and telling the world about you, and coming home to you running toward me. I'd scoop you up in my arms, and kiss you all over your face, and you'd just giggle, telling me to stop. But that wasn't the best part, no, the best part was your cuddles. You were so young, so snugly, that I could hold you forever.
    I longed for...

Living People

Queen Reyna in my story Love's A Lie

    1. What is something about your character that no one knows?
It was an accident, she never meant to fall in love the with the devil's son. And the moment she realized she loved it, was the same moment she knew they were both doomed.
    2. What is his/her favorite time of day?
Sliding out of bed, Reyna made her way toward her window, that looked over the kingdom. She watched the sun peek from behind the mountains, as it prepared itself for another. Dawn, the only piece of proof that another day can start, even after a bad one.
    3. Who is his/her closest confidant?
Smiling, Reyna gave Head Adviser Nicholas a hug, trying to hold back the tears. He was the closest thing to a Father she ever had.
    4. What is something she collects?
Running her fingers along the bookcase, Reyna beamed at her small collection of books she had stolen from the Palace Library.
    5....

I Believe in Tears

I believe in tears no matter how crazy it sounds. Ever since you were born, even on that very day, you cried at every little thing that caused problems or prevented you from getting your way.
I was very much like that, when I was a child too, so don’t get me wrong, I’m not hating on you. All i’m saying is that once I reached the age of seven, my parents sat me down and talked to me.
They told me crying was pointless and it never did anyone any good. How others thought you were a baby and would make fun of me when I cried, made my parents look bad, and made myself look vain and ungrateful.
So for the longest time, I refused to let myself cry, holding it in, only breaking down at night.
That’s when, toward the end of five years, a close friends death, a wedding, injuries, and friendships, I sat in my...

Unconventional

People are like Words

people Are like WORDs
WE choose who leads
and MAKE them better
like capital letters

and the others who
we claim ARE insignificant
don't get A LETTER
in the abbreviation

WE also CHOOSE when a sentence
of a persons' LIFE gets to end
that is punctuation
my friend

lastly WE leave little
obstacles like a comma
with WORSE oNes like dashes
in our world for others

2019

New Year

Lots of brilliant pieces of
fate,
A wee bit of my
free will,
And loads of wonderful
memories.

The Vistas Beyond

From my Window

I saw the the purest baby walk upon it's first steps, then watched as he brought his child into the house, and I even got to see the day his daughter walked up the same steps, with her own children.
My eyes have witnessed the changing of seasons, watched Mother Nature's tree loose everything from the cold, and become a home in the warmest season, to the,most beautiful birds and feisty of squirrels.
However, even my eyes have noticed the way we destroy our world, as more trees are taken down and replaced with ugly houses I hate, that my dirt roads no longer exsist, but cemented with lies, and mainly the air growing darker from the smoke in their very chimnneys.

State of Awe

Red Leather Bound Book

    My pudgy fingers slowly flipped on the red leather bound book open, ready to finally see what Mom had mentioned earlier. I could feel her leaning in closer to me, as we sat on my small twin sized bed, made for no more than one person.
    I heard her sigh, when the first page was visible. Before looking at it, I glanced up at Mom, wondering why she was upset. Except, her sigh wasn’t anger or annoyed like when I did something wrong, it was something different. I was too young at the time to know what exactly it was, but I could tell her smile was real, and her sparkly blue eyes true.
    Shrugging, I looked back down at the red leather bound book. The first two pages, were covered in photographs of a little girl. She had short brown hair, and bright blue eyes, with a beautiful smile. But the thing that got my attention,...

Why I Write

I Write for the Unspoken

    Asking a writer why they write is like asking a philosopher about the meaning of life. You can't get one answer that is the same from every person, it's one of those questions that will haunt you for the rest of your life. One of those questions that you can spend your whole life searching for the answer, and end up finding yourself, by never really answering the question you had originally. No, you can't ask someone why they write because then they'll give you what comes to mind. Thus leaving all the other reasons for writing no credit, no chance to show themselves, no proof they are there. That's why I'm writing this: To give credit and life to all the unmentioned reasons. I write for the unspoken reasons.
    My pen could fly across a piece of paper almost as fast a my fingers could gild across a keyboard. It's not how I put the ideas or...