United States

Member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Enneagram 4w3
Theatre kid who likes choir
Marilyn Monroe- but chaotic nerd edition
Tap Dancer
I like the color blue
Ramen for Life:)
No day but Today

Message from Writer

Chipotle burrito formula:
white rice, black beans, chicken, lettuce, salsa, LOTS of cheese, corn, cabbage, cilantro

The names left behind:
a_myriad_of_stars07 (March 25-June 31)

Published Work


Her eyes like soft, chilly glass scan the brooding horizon 
Glancing at the looming, fathomless mass creeping up the shore 
Their disheveled, limp forms crawling, their phantom echoes calling 
But she cannot hear, no she will not hear 
Her dainty hands hide her porcelain figure in a rose-glass, bubblegum crevice 
effacing the ephemeral love whose blackened lungs could sing no more 
Rocking restlessly with the trembling melody plucking in her stomachs 
He would not hear, she will not hear 
Her teeth chattering at the thought of his swirling kaleidoscope of foolish kalopsia, 
Which blacked out the heavens of the once alluring, once dependable, once understanding lucre of love, 
She buries her soaked, streaked, blank eyes into her white, mangled gown 
She should not hear, she will not hear 
Her mind stabs itself, burying the untouchable, unpierceable cries of “Why me” 
Her nesh, snow-white feet flee the phantasmic scene 
Bidding farewell to the resurrected, approaching demon dressed in pink silk 
She will not hear him, no, she cannot hear her 
Her eyes, frozen in their sockets, refuse to orbit their dead sun and again face such a love 
Abandoned by his...

Why I Write

To tell my truth

I write to tell my truth, 
the tiny voice whose inconquerable murmur 
swirls within the ice-cold waves of my brain
and the firey abysses of my heart.

I write to scream in pain, 
With my one assurance, my one plea, my one word
the last leaf that falls each autumn
and the first rose of spring's cherry blossoms

I write to laugh and leap and sing and dance, 
to let the golden sunbeams of the glittering sunset sprinkle me with
warmth, light, and happiness
And fill my trembling hands 
with sparkling flecks of sunlight

I write to breathe 
To breathe in the ever-turning, ever-changing, technicolor horizon
and taste the colors of the chilly wind on my tongue
And smell the traces of magic hidden beneath the star-sprinkled universe

I write to breathe
I write to laugh and leap and sing and dance
I write to scream in pain
I write to tell my truth.



with his white and black feathers
perceiving the world through a rainbow-tinted g l a s s
with his pink skirt and technicolor eyes
unhearing the e u p h o r i c ephemera of yesterday's sorrow
multicolored bandaids decorating his unscarred canvas
he skates figure-eights in patrol of the c l o u d e d heavens
and he falls.

Semicolon Soirée


Raindrops patter on the sun-scarred pavement;
The grey squares drink the wine of the world's falling tears;
Blood, glaciers, rivers, and tears are dropped from the heavens' clouded embrace.

Kissing the ground as they fall from grace;
Little shards of liquid pain seal the world's changing fate;
The earth is green from denying its dizziness and bulimic news;
It spins faster and faster to save its phantom face.

The sky's stomach rumbles with fury;
It aches for retribution and resolution and revolution and revenge;
It gasps at the carnage mankind has made of its beautiful lands.

It cries as finally all hope caves in;
Its loyal stars demand bloodshed as a price for sin;
tears fall down the sun's smiling face;
It finally sees its young child being torn by rage's wind.

Brown tears and white tears and universal fears crawl down the sky's trembling face;
It cries adieu to its prodigal lands that never returned to peace and grace.


Dust Jacket

Threes of Me

Three communities to which you belong (these can be unusual).   
  1. A choir group called Madrigals, where we wear medieval costumes and sing Christmas songs in the dark, in a semi-circle, with candles. Oh, and also yell about how there are no bananas in the sky. Haha...definitely not a cult:)
  2. A Ben Cook, Sky Flaherty, Ryan Steele, and Ben Cook fan-club/group-chat where we all rant and fangirl over Newsies, Mean Girls, and Dear Evan Hansen actors.
  3. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

Three places you learn well (these can be unusual).  
  1. When I close my eyes and let go of everything, I hear and feel things that move me to understand the world in strange and unique ways unspoken.
  2. Empty stages after everyone has left the auditorium, theatre, or chapel. It is when I stand alone on a stage that I can see myself, raw and unparalleled. 
  3. This is boring, but I learn best when I'm alone, in my chair,...


A small white canvas sits alone 
Still to be painted, still to be sold 
Ethereal tones, unshaped by man 
Pure until the next day began 
When small fingerprints traced her corners 
Painting with purples her once white face 
Thumbprints pressed themselves into the canvas 
Creating impressions of beauty and grace 
A thick black brush dipped in blues 
Stroked her remaining space 
covering up her original feathers 
and leaving stars in their place 
The painting is happily put up for sale 
But she stands out in the crowd 
They all sell pink plastic paper 
And fingerprints are not allowed 
Hundreds of hands rip and tear her figure 
And pull the colors from her frame 
Disfiguring the hues that became her soul 
and then throw the disaster into flames 
The small white canvas sits alone 
Burned to the core and broken down 
the colors were gone, so was her frame 
Her identity was gone, so...

Arnekum (unmake)

After the sun fell on my sufferings with no solace 
after God’s hand wavered, and disappeared from my sight 
after refusing to climb into gentle morning’s hopeful embrace 
after drowning in hurricanes of paralyzing shame and relentless guilt 
after closing my eyes to the possibility of tomorrow 
after permanently silencing myself 
after golden hands clasped mine own of soaked memory, blood, ink, and tears 
after the obsidian horizon split into innumerable, heavenly paintstrokes of gold, red, purple, and blue,  
after stepping onto the hardwood floor 
after taking one step 
then another,  
and another,  
after clasping the cold, weathered knob of the deck door 
after stepping into the myriad of stars 
after gently opening my grayish-bluish eyes 
after raising my mouth to the universe and letting go 
after screaming all of me into the abyss of the heavens.... 
I awoke

A Myriad of Stars

I was a myriad of stars-
thousands of thoughts sprinkled in the dark.
Each floated alone in the dark abyss
but was still inseparably connected to another by the irreplaceable forces of fate.

I sat in my darkness, 
letting constellations form in strange patterns around me.
I watched as the wild creation took shape
into a form of me that I could no longer recognize.
The scripted stars of plastic became my identity as I molded under others' gravity.
Scared, the facades of my atmosphere grew thicker
To protect my small iron core that was growing weaker.

But now I'm awake
And I dance under the blanket of stars, 
instead of letting its darkness extinguish my sunbeams in its heavy, navy, velvet fists.
I am now a galaxy of my own, with innumerable stars and planets of my God's design
filling my past, present, and future.

Others' gravity was once the author of my destiny;
writing my future in a...

Time Runs like the Wind

One day
You’re just seven
Dancing in the rain
Wake up and grow up and the years have washed away

Always goes so fast
Moments never seem to last
They always go too soon

And then you’re grown and life has changed
Nothing you knew is the same
And you’re in a place you’ve never been
Time runs like the wind
One day you’re young
The next you’re old
And everything is said, done, and told 
Lights start growing dim
Time runs like the wind

Wish that things could slow
Because before we know
Our time has washed away 

We grow 
And memories fade away
Before we know it, we are gray
Trying to hold on while we can

Then we have grown and life has changed
Nothing we knew is the same
And we’re wandering in a place we’ve never been
Time runs like the wind
One day you’re young
The next you’re old
And everything is...

Dots on a White Canvas

Back in the days of the "Writing for the News" Group, I read someone's "I Believe" piece. (I really wish that I remember who's it was) I vividly remember reading one point that stuck out to me that whole night. It was:

                                  "You can make a mistake without being one."

At the time, I saw my issues and problems as the entirety of my identity. My mind was like a $5000 3D camera zoomed in on every flaw, and it would play my defeats on repeat in the movie theater of my mind. This quote stopped the tape from rolling. 

Mistakes are not the end unless we make them. Flaws aren't the predictors of our futures unless we give them the reigns.

Shame had a tight leash wrapped around my passion, happiness, communication, hope, and dreams. It stifled my voice, but it will...