amandaorange

United States

hopeful romantic | 16 | she/her | still figuring life out | joined july 2020
"We keep living anyway. We rise and we fall and we break and we make our mistakes."

Published Work

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

The Golden Girl and The Skeleton Boy

She was a graveyard skeleton that halloween
(the last halloween that made any difference)
golden skin and bright eyes contrasting the costume in the dead night
in the dead forest

He was smooth smiles and warm laughter
distracting her from the fact that his face was only bone

They sat there in the forest for hours
talking about all things human
life and the validity of what they’d always been taught
(the long-forgotten ‘do not enter’ sign became a silent companion)
lying there among the leaves and dirt
as did i, i suppose
the lone observer to their moonlit meeting

Watching the two lean against a tree
one flashlight between them
like two saplings twisting together to grow
or perhaps two meteors on a collision path

I blinked at the soft joy radiating from the pair,
confronted by the realization
that this was never my story at all
as much as it was theirs
the golden girl and the skeleton...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

The Golden Girl and The Skeleton Boy

She was a graveyard skeleton that halloween
(the last halloween that made any difference)
golden skin and bright eyes contrasting the costume in the dead night
in the dead forest

He was smooth smiles and warm laughter
distracting her from the fact that his face was only bone

They sat there in the forest for hours
talking about all things human
life and the validity of what they’d always been taught
(the long-forgotten ‘do not enter’ sign became a silent companion)
lying there among the leaves and dirt
as did i, i suppose
the lone observer to their moonlit meeting

Watching the two lean against a tree
one flashlight between them
like two saplings twisting together to grow
or perhaps two meteors on a collision path

I blinked at the soft joy radiating from the pair,
confronted by the realization
that this was never my story at all
as much as it was theirs
the golden girl and the skeleton...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

The Golden Girl and The Skeleton Boy

She was a graveyard skeleton that halloween
(the last halloween that made any difference)
golden skin and bright eyes contrasting the costume in the dead night
in the dead forest

He was smooth smiles and warm laughter
distracting her from the fact that his face was only bone

They sat there in the forest for hours
talking about all things human
life and the validity of what they’d always been taught
(the long-forgotten ‘do not enter’ sign became a silent companion)
lying there among the leaves and dirt
as did i, i suppose
the lone observer to their moonlit meeting

Watching the two lean against a tree
one flashlight between them
like two saplings twisting together to grow
or perhaps two meteors on a collision path

I blinked at the soft joy radiating from the pair,
confronted by the realization
that this was never my story at all
as much as it was theirs
the golden girl and the skeleton...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

The Golden Girl and The Skeleton Boy

She was a graveyard skeleton that halloween
(the last halloween that made any difference)
golden skin and bright eyes contrasting the costume in the dead night
in the dead forest

He was smooth smiles and warm laughter
distracting her from the fact that his face was only bone

They sat there in the forest for hours
talking about all things human
life and the validity of what they’d always been taught
(the long-forgotten ‘do not enter’ sign became a silent companion)
as did i, i suppose
the lone observer to their moonlit meeting

Confronted by the realization
that this was never my story at all
as much as it was theirs
the golden girl and the skeleton boy

At long last as they moved onto the subject of love
(she said she didn’t believe in it)
i backed away, keeping my footsteps quiet
(he looked at her like he wanted to change her mind)

I looked up at the stars...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

The Golden Girl and The Skeleton Boy

She was a graveyard skeleton that halloween
(the last halloween that made any difference)
golden skin and bright eyes contrasting the costume in the dead night
in the dead forest

He was smooth smiles and warm laughter
distracting her from the fact that his face was only bone

They sat there in the forest for hours
talking about all things human
life and the validity of what they’d always been taught
(the long-forgotten ‘do not enter’ sign became a silent companion)
as did i, i suppose
the lone observer to their moonlit meeting

Confronted by the realization
that this was never my story at all
as much as it was theirs
the golden girl and the skeleton boy

At long last as they moved onto the subject of love
(she said she didn’t believe in it)
i backed away, keeping my footsteps quiet
(he looked at her like he wanted to change her mind)

I looked up at the stars...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

The Golden Girl and The Skeleton Boy

she was a graveyard skeleton that halloween
(the last halloween that made any difference)
golden skin and bright eyes contrasting the costume in the dead night
in the dead forest

he was smooth smiles and warm laughter
distracting her from the fact that his face was only bone

they sat there in the forest for hours
talking about all things human
life and the validity of what they’d always been taught
(the long-forgotten ‘do not enter’ sign became a silent companion)
as did i, i suppose
the lone observer to their moonlit meeting

confronted by the realization
that this was never my story at all
as much as it was theirs
the golden girl and the skeleton boy

at long last as they moved onto the subject of love
(she said she didn’t believe in it)
i backed away, keeping my footsteps quiet
(he looked at her like he wanted to change her mind)

i looked up at the stars...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

The Golden Girl and The Skeleton Boy

She was a graveyard skeleton that Halloween
(the last Halloween that made any difference)
Her golden skin and bright eyes making no difference to the costume in the dead night
In the dead forest

He was smooth smiles and warm laughter
That distracted her from the fact that his face was only bone

They sat there in the forest for hours
Talking about all things human
School and life and the validity of what they’d always been taught
(the long-forgotten ‘do not enter’ sign became a silent companion)
Along with me, I suppose
The lone observer to their moonlit meeting

Confronted by the realization
That this was never my story at all
As much as it was theirs
The golden girl and the skeleton boy

At long last they as they moved onto the subject of love
(she said she didn’t believe in it)
I backed away, keeping my footsteps quiet
(he looked at her like he wanted to change...

how does the world decide what names will survive time? (ii)

How does the world decide what names will survive time?
How does the world pick and choose who to leave on abandoned papers in the dust
And who to mark on trophies and walls 
And in the history books
Is the world qualified,
To decide what names will be remembered?
Whose stories are more important than others’?
Whose contributions to history are more notable?
The fact of the matter
Is that most of us will not survive the test of time
We will be remembered by relatives
Until they are too gone
And we will only be crumbling photographs
Or all of the nonsense we left on the internet
There is no way to tell
If the world will take interest in us
Once we are gone
No way to tell
If the sun will shine on our names
Even after our last sunset
No way to tell what names the world chooses
Until it already has
Until it has...

how does the world decide what names will survive time? (ii)

How does the world decide what names will survive time?
How does the world pick and choose who to leave on abandoned papers in the dust
And who to mark on trophies and walls 
And in the history books
Is the world qualified,
To decide what names will be remembered?
Whose stories are more important than others’?
Whose contributions to history are more notable?
The fact of the matter
Is that most of us will not survive the test of time
We will be remembered by relatives
Until they are too gone
And we will only be crumbling photographs
Or all of the nonsense we left on the internet
There is no way to tell
If the world will take interest in us
Once we are gone
No way to tell
If the sun will shine on our names
Even after our last sunset
No way to tell what names the world chooses
Until it already has
Until it has...

how does the world decide what names will survive time?

Wish we could know who will survive time
Live long enough to live forever
Names in print and names in legends
Wish we could know which fake autographs to keep
Put those scraps of paper in a box in the attic and dig them out in twenty years
When the names scribbled in crayon become the names in the news
Wish we could know out of the people around us
Who among us will end up where they want to be
Who among us to hold a little tighter
Though, I suppose
There is beauty in the unknown
The pureness of the fact that any of us
Could be 
Anything
A slice of elementary school joy
Reappearing year after year
As I look around the room
And wonder where each of us
Will end up
And who among us
Will survive time

the golden girl and the skeleton boy

She was a graveyard skeleton
With golden skin and bright eyes
He was smooth smiles and warm laughter
His eyes full of the life that was lacking in the October around them
They sat there in the forest for hours
The darkness enveloping them
In the company of the trees and each other
(The long-forgotten ‘do not enter’ sign a silent companion)
They talked forever as i watched
Imagining the clacking of bones that should have accompanied their every move
Two skeletons who rejected the grave
And me, just passing by
A lone observer to their moonlit meeting
Confronted by the realization 
That this was never my story at all
As much as it was theirs
The golden girl and the skeleton boy
At long last they moved onto the subject of love
(She said she didn’t believe in it)
I backed away, keeping my footsteps quiet
(He looked at her like he wanted to change her mind)
I looked...

the golden girl and the skeleton boy

She was a graveyard skeleton
With golden skin and bright eyes
He was smooth smiles and warm laughter
His eyes full of the life that was lacking in the October around them
They sat there in the forest for hours
The darkness enveloping them
In the company of the trees and each other
(The long-forgotten ‘do not enter’ sign a silent companion)
They talked forever as i watched
Imagining the clacking of bones that should have accompanied their every move
Two skeletons who rejected the grave
And me, just passing by
A lone observer to their moonlit meeting
Confronted by the realization 
That this was never my story at all
As much as it was theirs
The golden girl and the skeleton boy
At long last as they moved onto the subject of love
(She said she didn’t believe in it)
I backed away, keeping my footsteps quiet
(He looked at her like he wanted to change her mind)
I...

The Golden Girl and the Skeleton Boy

I walked once through the woods in the pitch dark. But this story isn’t mine. It belongs to the girl with the golden eyes and smile. And the boy who stole her heart. No one would ever describe him as golden. In fact he was as pale as humans come, his face a deathly sort of white that makes one think of bones. Ah, and bones he was. Halloween is fascinating, isn’t it? You may never be quite sure that whoever you’re laughing with in the dark is in fact who you think they are. (Or what you think they are.) And so on that one Halloween one skeleton met another. The golden girl with face-paint rimming her eyes met a boy who had crawled up from the very dirt of his grave to find her there. 
They sat in those woods in the pitch dark and spoke about all things human. School and life and the validity of what...

the golden girl and the skeleton boy

She was a facepaint skeleton
Covering a golden, bright face
He was smooth smiles and warm laughter
That distracted her from the fact that his face
Was only bone
They sat there in the forest for hours
The darkness eveloping them
With only the company of the trees and the long forgotten ‘do not enter’ sign
They talked forever as i watched
Just passing by
Confronted by the realization 
That this was never my story at all
As much as it was theirs
The golden girl and the skeleton boy
At long last as they moved onto the subject of love
(she said she didn’t believe in it)
I backed away, keeping my footsteps quiet
(he looked at her like he wanted to change her mind)
I looked up at the stars as their voices faded behind me
And wondered where their story would end
And hoped it would withstand the coming daylight

Book Review Competition 2021

Notes on "Field Notes on Love"

If you had asked me a few years ago if I read romance books, I would have answered with a hard no. Because what could be more boring than reading about two people falling in love? It's obvious that my opinion has changed vastly since then. While I'm not sure why or when my thoughts on the genre changed, I became the type of person who just had to read that new book with pastel pink hearts on the cover. That's where Field Notes on Love by Jennifer E. Smith enters the scene. I may not know how to spell the word "field" without turning to Google, but I do know that this is one of my all-time favorite books. 
The story is told in alternating perspectives of teenagers Hugo Wilkinson, a boy with five siblings, one ex, and two train tickets; and Margaret (a.k.a. Mae) Campbell, an aspiring filmmaker with the name on Hugo's train tickets. When Hugo's girlfriend breaks...

Book Review Competition 2021

Notes on "Field Notes on Love"

If you had asked me a few years ago if I read romance books, I would have answered with a hard no. Because what could be more boring than reading about two people falling in love? It's obvious that my opinion has changed vastly since then. While I'm not sure why or when my thoughts on the genre changed, I became the type of person who just had to read that new book with pastel pink hearts on the cover. That's where Field Notes on Love by Jennifer E. Smith enters the scene. I may not know how to spell the word "field" without turning to Google, but I do know that this is one of my all-time favorite books. 
The story is told in alternating perspectives of teenagers Hugo Wilkinson, a boy with five siblings, one ex, and two train tickets; and Margaret (a.k.a. Mae) Campbell, an aspiring filmmaker with the name on Hugo's train tickets. When Hugo's girlfriend breaks...

Book Review Competition 2021

Notes on "Field Notes on Love"

If you had asked me a few years ago if I read romance books, I would have answered with a hard no. Because what could be more boring than reading about two people falling in love? It's obvious that my opinion has changed vastly since then. While I'm not sure why or when my thoughts on the genre changed, I became the type of person who just had to read that new book with pastel pink hearts on the cover. That's where Field Notes on Love by Jennifer E. Smith enters the scene. I may not know how to spell the word "field" without turning to Google, but I do know that this is one of my all-time favorite books. 
The story is told in alternating perspectives of teenagers Hugo Wilkinson, a boy with five siblings, one ex, and two train tickets; and Margaret (a.k.a. Mae) Campbell, an aspiring filmmaker with the name on Hugo's train tickets. When Hugo's girlfriend breaks...

you remind me of (three)

You remind me
Of the feeling between jumping and hitting the ground
The moment after you release the swing
And just for a moment
You’re flying
Only for a second
You can fight gravity
That one second
Is somehow never enough
I wish i could live in that feeling
Make a home in that split second in time
It never lasts.
I always come back down
Always fall
Always splash into the water or land on the cold ground
And walk away
You remind me
Of being at the top of a rollercoaster
The feeling between the rising anxiety and the freefall
The pause
Where you don’t know what will happen next
What if it all comes crashing down?
What if this is the end of this?
But it never is
And the fall comes.
Leaving you questioning if that moment ever happened
At all

you remind me of (two)

You remind me
Of the feeling of taking off my headphones
After a long time of listening to music
The abrupt silence
The feeling of being sharply yanked out of a different world
Out of a dream
The off-balance sensation of trying to right myself
Where am i?
The momentary confusion before my conscious slips back where it’s supposed to be
In the real world
You remind me
Of the feeling of breaking the surface of the pool
After holding my breath for as long as i could
The sharp feeling in my lungs 
And the sudden collapse of the silence
Suddenly i'm roped into conversations and can hear kids yelling
A contrast from the quiet, underwater world
My disoriented coughing loud
After mistaking down for up
Before reaching the surface
You remind me
Of the feeling of jumping off a trampoline
After half an hour of freefalling and springing back up again
The sensation of surprise when the ground...

you remind me of (two)

You remind me
Of the feeling of taking off my headphones
After a long time of listening to music
The abrupt silence
The feeling of being sharply yanked out of a different world
Out of a dream
The off-balance sensation of trying to right myself
Where am i?
The momentary confusion before my conscious slips back where it’s supposed to be
In the real world
You remind me
Of the feeling of breaking the surface of the pool
After holding my breath for as long as i could
The sharp feeling in my lungs 
And the sudden collapse of the silence
Suddenly i'm roped into conversations and can hear kids yelling
A contrast from the quiet, underwater world
The disoriented coughing
After mistaking down for up
Before reaching the surface

you remind me of

You remind me
Of the feeling of hearing laughter from another room
The quiet joy that comes from hearing someone else’s
And the other feeling that i don’t quite have a name for
Regret? Loneliness? 
Disconnect from the source of the joy
That leaves you wondering
What am i missing out on?
Is it my own fault that i’m sitting here alone?
Will i have to revisit this feeling later?
Around a dinner table as the previous events are recounted
And i have to pretend to find humor in the situation
Even if it seems to be a “you had to be there” time
You remind me
Of the feeling of standing on one side of a slightly open door
Wishing that i was on the other side
But of course at least the door is slightly open
At least i can absorb the emotions wafting from the room like the smell of pumpkin pie
Or i could walk in? ...

Heart Places

that one library in london

You feel your heels sink slightly into the padded floor and you sigh as if exhaling all of your worries. You hear the soft whoosh of the revolving door behind you, and the quiet clicking of high heels on the staircase. You're in my favorite place in the world. A library in London. Not my favorite place because it's extravagant or because it has the best views. Almost the opposite actually. My favorite place is a small library over a smaller theater, next to a small playground and just to the left of a busy street. You can hear the people walking by, their voices muffled through glass windows, as they dart from shop to shop through the rain, their bags brushing against each other in their hurry. You can hear children running to meet their friends on the swings in the distance, begging their parents for a chocolate bar from the store on the way. You walk from section...

Strangers

It’s crazy to think about what I might be to strangers
People I have never met and maybe never will
A light on in a passed bedroom window at 1 in the morning
A glimpse of brown hair around a corner
Just another person in the mall
Just another person in another car on another busy road
Just another person in the library failing chemistry
Just another person sneaking food into a movie theater
Just another person pausing before the final step onto the waterslide
Just another person with hopes and dreams and fears and troubles and things they laugh and cry over
Not that you can tell
In that one moment
Just a stranger and
A second of eye contact
Brief understanding
Or a shared laugh
Over our situation in the moment
An inside joke with a person you’ll never see again
Shared exasperation over yelling children or exuberant tourists
Brief connection before turning to the people beside you ...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 8

Challenge Completed

Day 1- Mirror
Everything feels wrong- as it so often does in dreams. A normal landscape, with the sun hanging low over the horizon, and the unrelenting feeling of wrongness. Like someone just behind you is breathing down your neck, or like watching eyes from afar. This feeling pursues you as you walk through seemingly harmless fields of daisies and reach a stone wall. Set into it is a mirror. Ordinarily, this sort of thing would have you terribly confused, but tonight it feels natural. You approach the mirror warily, as if anything bad could happen in the field of daisies. But then you stop. Looking into the mirror, there are no daisies. Even you appear to have vanished. You are looking at a barren landscape, miles and miles of broken rock. A pool lies where you would have thought to see yourself, the water looking deeper and darker than the midnight sky. You turn to face behind you, expecting...

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 5

The river was glowing like nothing you had ever seen before. It seemed like every drop of water was a diamond glowing in the sun as you stood there with your bare feet in the sandy ground. Flowers grew around you, tall as trees, and the wind brushed your cheeks. Clouds drifted above you and you could hear faint music coming from somewhere around you. You stood there for forever before continuing on the rocky path through the flower forest. Suddenly, rain started to fall, more beautiful diamonds drifting softly to the ground. You continued on, walking on stepping stones and darting under flower petals. Without any certain destination in mind, or even a reason for the journey, you simply walked that path until you came to the ocean. The rain slowed as you walked to the cliff overlooking the crashing waves. You sat there and watched as birds and butterflies passed overhead, and the rocks below were slowly painted...

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 4

The whole world looked and felt a bit like that moment when you first wake up, blinking dreams from your eyelids before you return to the real world. That being said, it wasn't like you had expected to feel normal. You were, after all, floating high in the sky on the softest cloud you could find. You had decided to ignore all of the science telling you that what was happening could not possibly happen, as if ignoring it would keep you drifting with the wind. It seemed to be working, as you flew over rivers and cities and everywhere you've ever wanted to go. You looked happy, waving to birds and looking out over the endless world. Though there could have been a sorrow to it as well. For dreams can never last, and you at that moment did not know that. You believed that you would stay there forever, high in the sky with only the stars for...

Stars- Writing Streak Week 8 Day 3

Stars fell from the sky like diamond tears
They fell around you one by one, glittering on the ground
Real diamonds, shining brightly by the light of the moon
And when you looked up at the night sky
You saw only the endless darkness surrounding her
For every star had fallen at your feet
This might have sparked panic but you only felt calm
With the entire night sky spread out before you
So instead of continuing the journey
You were somehow sure you were on
You stopped and sat there
For seconds or years, among every nighttime star
In this warped reality
Of a beautiful dreamscape.

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 2

Tap.
       Tap.
             Tap.
                   Taptaptaptaptap.
You are pulled from your bed by the noise and stand there, looking out of your window. The darkness of night stares back, but something about it feels off. Turning to your clock, the time is there like a punch to the face. 11 a.m. My clock must be wrong, you decide. But deep down, you know it isn't. Somehow, you just know that it is 11 in the morning and you are standing there looking out at the pitch-black world. Maybe another voice whispers to you that none of this is real, that it's just your imagination, but of course you won't hear this voice. No one ever does. 
Tap.
You turn to the window in time to see it shatter. Shards of glass fly towards you like the Night's throwing knives. Yet, even with the...

Mirror- Writing Streak Week 8 Day 1

Everything feels wrong- as it so often does in dreams. A normal landscape, with the sun hanging low over the horizon, and the unrelenting feeling of wrongness. Like someone just behind you is breathing down your neck, or like watching eyes from afar. This feeling pursues you as you walk through seemingly harmless fields of daisies and reach a stone wall. Set into it is a mirror. Ordinarily, this sort of thing would have you terribly confused, but tonight it feels natural. You approach the mirror warily, as if anything bad could happen in the field of daisies. But then you stop. Looking into the mirror, there are no daisies. Even you appear to have vanished. You are looking at a barren landscape, miles and miles of broken rock. A pool lies where you would have thought to see yourself, the water looking deeper and darker than the midnight sky. You turn to face behind you, expecting to see the...

Mirror- Writing Streak Week 8 Day 1

Everything feels wrong- as it so often does in dreams. A normal landscape, with the sun hanging low over the horizon, and the unrelenting feeling of wrongness. Like someone just behind you is breathing down your neck, or like watching eyes from afar. This feeling pursues you as you walk through seemingly harmless fields of daisies and reach a stone wall. Set into it is a mirror. Ordinarily, this sort of thing would have you terribly confused, but tonight it feels natural. You approach the mirror warily, as if anything bad could happen in the field of daisies. But then you stop. Looking into the mirror, there are no daisies. Even you appear to have vanished. You are looking at a barren landscape, miles and miles of broken rock. A pool lies where you would have thought to see yourself, the water looking deeper and darker than the midnight sky. You turn to face behind you, expecting to see the...

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

That Moment

    I opened my eyes, midair. There was something so beautiful about that moment that made me want to stay there forever; put it in a locket, hide it away. The world went still around me as time stopped, leaving me suspended between the rocky surface I had jumped from and the glistening water below. It was Claire who dared me to do it, saying you couldn’t begin senior year without jumping the cliff. That moment, all my earlier protesting seemed silly. That moment felt like soaring in the clouds and falling out of the sky. It felt magical.
 

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Challenge Completed

Day 1
They stand, a group of dancers on a stage
Swaying with the wind and the music of the earth
Turning tears of the clouds into blinding life
The world watches this performance
These dancers
Trees in a forest


Day 2- the tree in my backyard
She watched me
as i grew older
and came to sit there beside her
braiding flower crowns and
whispering secrets
into the folds of her skirts
telling her my troubles and
wishes and
wonders
about the world.

She was as real to me as any other guardian
raising me and praising me
always there
through years and tears
when that great tree
finally fell
i think the very earth
cried.

[The capitals /not capital letters are intentional.]


Day 3

They are guardians
watchers
listeners and protectors
standing there on hills and in fields
looking over
us all.


Day 4
A living scrapbook
holding memories of life
broken branches where kites fell
names of...

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

That Moment

    I opened my eyes, midair. There was something so beautiful about that moment that made me want to stay there forever; put it in a locket, hide it away. The world went still around me as time stopped, leaving me suspended between the rocky surface I had jumped from and the glistening water below. It was Claire who dared me to do it, saying you couldn’t begin senior year without jumping the cliff. That moment, all my earlier protesting seemed silly. That moment felt like soaring in the clouds and falling out of the sky. It felt magical.
 

Writing Streak Week 5 Day 4

A living scrapbook
holding memories of life
broken branches where kites fell
names of lovers scratched into bark
stories of children trying to touch the sky
broken bones and great adventures
stories of kept friendship
secrets and trust
found love
fallen flowers tucked behind ears
family photos
secret meetings
dancing in leaves
wind and summer air and beautiful days mark this tree forever
 

Writing Streak Week 5 Day 3

They are guardians
watchers
listeners and protectors
standing there on hills and in fields
looking over
us all

the tree in my backyard- Writing Streak Week 5 Day 2

She watched me
as i grew older
and came to sit there beside her
braiding flower crowns and
whispering secrets
into the folds of her skirts
telling her my troubles and
wishes and
wonders
about the world.

She was as real to me as any other guardian
raising me and praising me
always there
through years and tears
when that great tree
finally fell
i think the very earth
cried.

Writing Streak Week 5 Day 1

They stand, a group of dancers on a stage
Swaying with the wind and the music of the earth
Turning tears of the clouds into blinding life
The world watches this performance
These dancers
Trees in a forest

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

That Moment

    I opened my eyes, midair. There was something so still about that moment that made me want to stay there forever; put it in a locket, hide it away. The stillness of the world around me as time stopped, leaving me suspended between the rocky surface I had jumped from and the glistening water below. It was Claire who dared me to do it, saying you couldn’t begin senior year without jumping the cliff. That moment, all my earlier protesting seemed silly. That moment felt like soaring in the clouds and falling out of the sky. It felt magical.
 

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

That Moment

    I opened my eyes, midair. There was something so still about that moment that made me want to stay there forever, put it in a locket and hide it away. The blur of the world around me as time stopped, not flying, not falling. The rocky surface I had jumped from and the glistening water below. It was Claire who dared me to do it. You couldn’t begin senior year without jumping, apparently. At that moment, all my earlier protesting seemed silly. That moment felt like soaring in the clouds and falling out of the sky. It felt magical.
 

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 3

Challenge Completed

Day 1| breakup
remember that night
we were so close to the moon
                                                                               remember when you left me
                                                                                    you can't fix that so soon
remember us talking
until three in the morning
                                                                remember when you said it should end
               ...

past | Writing Streak Week 3, Day 5

certain things come at you
like a flash of lightning
fast
invisible one moment
then everywhere the next
maybe you suspected it
maybe you never thought
but now, it seems it's everywhere 
and the past is dying
fast

and of course i know
that all of that is in the
past
and candle wishes and
shooting stars
can't change that
can't change how other people feel
can't change what's really real
i know that the past is
past

used to (invisible) | Writing Streak Week 3, Day 4

i guess i'm used to
being the last one left
in quiet
dark rooms
when the groups move on
and flip the light switch

i guess i'm used to
being the only one
left out of 
a selfie
or a conversation
or party

i guess i'm used to
the confusion of why anyone would
pick invisibility
out of every superpower
why would i want something
that i already want to get rid of

i guess i'm used to
saying "it's okay"
and "i'm sorry"
and moving out of the way

i wish i wasn't used to
people saying they forgot me
or my name
or people i've always known
saying they don't know me

i wish i wasn't used to
having to rush to find a partner
or choosing to work by myself
or feeling like a shadow in my own group of friends

i wish i wasn't used to
pretending that my worst fear
isn't
being forgotten
completely

tree | Writing Streak Week 3, Day 3

your tears
leaves falling down to the earth's floor
where you sat for years and years
steadily reaching
up to the sky
birds would come visit
did you think you could fly
join them in the crystal blue
you were place for others to call home
a place of comfort and peace
though you always wished to roam
wish you could experience everything in this world
but there you stand so still
the tallest tree standing there
on your great hill

the end | Writing Streak Week 3, Day 2

the last text
the last call
the last time you say hi
in the school hall
the first time you realize
that it's really over
the days you spent together
just one four-leaf clover
in the field by your house
and you add a name to the list of people you've lost
some you find again, some maybe not
i've learned there are so many lines that can't be uncrossed

breakup | Writing Streak Week 3, Day 1

remember that night
we were so close to the moon
                                                                               remember when you left me
                                                                                    you can't fix that so soon
remember us talking
until three in the morning
                                                                remember when you said it should end
                     ...

i am

who are you?
they say
who am i?
who am i, really?

maybe i don't know
at least, not yet
or maybe i've always known
i am
light blue sweaters
lip gloss and unwritten letters
song lyrics stuck in my head
all the words i've never said
rhyming lines in un-rhyming poems
oceans and 
mountains
and everywhere i've ever been

am
everything i have been and
everything i want to be

am
truths and
lies 
and everything i shouldn't have said
i
am
unstructured and
messy 
and sometimes i pretend i'm not
i
am
tears cried and
smiles given
and every emotion i've felt
i
am
crazy and
full of love
and memories and hopes and dreams
i am so many things put together into a 
perfect
unperfect
being

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 2

Challenge Completed

Day 1
Caroline is the color of the rain. It’s the sound and feel and look of it. It’s the feeling when you’re reading inside on a rainy day and it’s the peace of standing under an umbrella. It's the sound of raindrops hitting the roof and the blue of the sea accepting the rain. It's the wind picking up and the gathering storm clouds and the endless dark sky. It is blue, but the kind of blue that contains so much more than just blue, the kind that you could fall into forever and that never seems to end.


Day 2
Laura is the color of the wind coming off the ocean, the sound of people laughing in the distance as the sea splashes the shore. It is the color of blinding sunlight and tired but happy smiles. It is sand and salt and the feeling of finding something you'd lost for a while.


Day 3
Nadia is the...

Writing Streak Week 2 Day 5

    Amanda is the color of midnight and stars and blue jars of light. It is the color of peace and comfort and the sound of crickets and wind. It is the glow of a phone screen in the darkness and music streaming from headphones. It is the quiet and the soft light of fireflies in spring. It is the feeling of being alone but not lonely.

Writing Streak Week 2 Day 4

    Lauren is the color of a blood moon, of fireflies and stars and campfires shining like a beacon in the night. It is warm weathered bike rides and the pages of an old book. It is the slow dance from the height of summer to the falling leaves of November.

Writing Streak Week 2 Day 3

    Nadia is the color of the sky. Of clouds and rainbows and every sunset that ever was. It is a changing color, one that reflects and fractures and projects into the atmosphere. It is a color that won’t ever leave, a color that you can expect anywhere you go. You'll see hundreds of different versions of this color, but in the end, it is the same one you've always known.

Writing Streak Week 2 Day 2

    Laura is the color of the wind coming off the ocean, the sound of people laughing in the distance as the sea splashes the shore. It is the color of blinding sunlight and tired but happy smiles. It is sand and salt and the feeling of finding something you'd lost for a while.

a study in the future | study #2

    It is because of the audacity of humanity that we plan for the future. We all know that we aren't promised tomorrow, people say it all the time. Yet we continue to say, "meet you on Tuesday" and "what do you want to do when you're older". When I first started thinking about this, I thought that it meant humans were dumb. We wake up every day knowing that it might be our last, but pretend that we have forever. Now, I think it's beautiful. It's hope. We have so much hope, that we can say "life is short" and also, "I'm going to have a job where I can help people". We know that we don't have forever, but we hope that we can get to somewhere in this life that we have, so we keep going. 
    I think that when you come completely to terms with the fact that we only have so much...

Writing Streak Week 2 Day 1

    Caroline is the color of the rain. It’s the sound and feel and look of it. It’s the feeling when you’re reading inside on a rainy day and it’s the peace of standing under an umbrella. It's the sound of raindrops hitting the roof and the blue of the sea accepting the rain. It's the wind picking up and the gathering storm clouds and the endless dark sky. It is blue, but the kind of blue that contains so much more than just blue, the kind that you could fall into forever and that never seems to end.

Letter Writing Competition 2020

To My Dear Dead Cat (love you)

Dear Trixie,
    It has been over 152 days since I last saw you. It’s the “over” in that statement that worries me the most. It has been 152 days since I took the last picture of you on my phone. I could have sworn that I took a picture of you on your last day on this earth, but I guess I was wrong. I don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw you, and I don’t know why that bothers me so much. It’s been a long time. Such a long time, since I held you or kissed the top of your head or petted your soft fur. Such a long time since I saw the only friend who had been there from day one to the present. Such a long time since my cat, friend and support system, was alive. Such a long time since you weren’t buried in the backyard where my favorite tree...

a study in memory

    Memory is a strange thing, isn’t it? How some things are erased completely, stories told around the kitchen table of times that you don’t remember. How some things are cemented so completely in your brain that you can never leave them, whether you want to or not. How you can forget a day but remember exactly how their face looked in that moment, exactly what song was playing, exactly what time it was. Your memories can play with your mind if you let them. They can force you to think about things you don’t want to. But I’m stuck thinking about the beauty of memory. We forget things to make new memories. So many things will be with us forever. The scratch on the wall, how the sky looked that day, the smiles of the people we love, the feeling of knowing someone loves you. Of course, people say there are things that your heart will remember even if your...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

To My Dear Dead Cat (love you)

Dear Trixie,
    It has been over 152 days since I last saw you. It’s the “over” in that statement that worries me the most. It has been 152 days since I took the last picture of you on my phone. I could have sworn that I took a picture of you on your last day on this earth, but I guess I was wrong. I don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw you, and I don’t know why that bothers me so much. It’s been a long time. Such a long time, since I held you or kissed the top of your head or petted your soft fur. Such a long time since I saw the only friend who had been there from day one to the present. Such a long time since my cat, friend and support system, was alive. Such a long time since you weren’t buried in the backyard where my favorite tree...