ArtCat

United States

She/her
Avid reader
Artist
Foodie
Trying to write
Love to travel
Hufflepuff

Message from Writer

Thank you for reading my writing!
I've never been very confident with writing, but I'm here to practice and learn. I'm always free to chat about anything (LITERALLY anything)! Also, if anyone wants a review, you can ask!
I'm taking a creative writing class that will hopefully improve my skills.

Published Work

Pandemic Metaphor

Change is a sticker

Change is the thing with stickers
that peels off the past,
and sticks as a blank canvas to the future,
and never runs out.

I’m in a Daze

I’m in a daze,
don’t know when I entered
don’t know when I’ll leave.
I feel sadness crying in my heart
and the hollow walls moaning.
I can’t explain my thoughts,
I feel lost.
I’m in a daze,
reality hasn’t brought tears
to my eyes yet.
I’m slowly extinguishing
my own flame.
The little spark in my heart
tells me I’ll make it through
and I want to believe it.

 

I’m in a Daze

I’m in a daze,
don’t know when I entered
don’t know when I’ll leave.
I feel sadness crying in my heart
and the hollow walls moaning.
I can’t explain my thoughts,
I feel lost.
I’m in a daze,
reality hasn’t brought tears
to my eyes yet.
The little spark in my heart
tells me I’ll make it through
and I believe it.

 

Sijo

Call me Creator

Eyes stare straight at the blank computer screen, words start tumbling.
Letters form a colorful painting, one I've never viewed before.
Writer or artist? No, I am not confined, call me creator.

Other Side

You say I'm not perfect
and I know that's the truth.
But when you say I'm not worth it,
it makes me hate you.

I'm on the other side;
it's all full of lies.
Why did you let me go
and leave me here alone?

I'm on the other side,
where no one passes by.
You can laugh, you can sneer,
but I'm waiting right here.

I'm on the other side,
in the dark streetlight.
Watching the snowflakes
shiver in the night.

I'm on the other side,
of something beautiful.
I don't need you here
cause I've dreamt it all.

Mid-March Grab Bag

Happiness is Neon

Happiness is neon,
it glows with a smile.
It radiates sparks, a friend to lean on
when you're having a bad day.

You color your own joy
with a smear of bright paint.
The pure euphoria of a new toy
carves sunshine in your eyes.

Happiness is neon,
it hugs all the right colors.
So, even if you move on,
it'll find you among others.

Mid-March Grab Bag

Happiness is Neon

Happiness is neon,
it glows with a smile.
It radiates sparks, a friend to lean on
if you're having a bad day.

You color your own joy
with a smear of bright paint.
The pure euphoria of a new toy
carves sunshine in your eyes.

Happiness is neon,
it hugs all the right colors.
So, even if you move on,
it'll find you among others.

Sijo

Call me Creator

Eyes stare straight at the blank computer screen, words start tumbling.
Letters form a colorful picture, one I've never seen before.
Writer or artist? No, I am not confined, call me creator.

Friendship Tweet

Friendship

Friendship is Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.
You never know what you'll taste next.
Maybe it tastes like smores you used to eat together at camp.
Or like lemons, your last fight that lasted a week.
Maybe it tastes like grass; May fair.
Or perhaps it tastes like tears from when I moved.
You still need to be brave and taste the next one.

I don't know

I don't know if I'd rather be
left in the cloud of mystery,
or thrown in the torture of truth
and learn to face the proof.

I don't know if I'd rather want
to be brave and act nonchalant,
or hide under the protective wing
and have someone else take the sting.

I don't know if I'd rather cry
when I'm lonely and asking why,
or lash back and pretend I'm fine
so people don't think all I do is whine.

I don't know if I'd rather go
somewhere exotic where it doesn't snow,
or visit all the landmark spots
with a map to play connect the dots.

I don't know what choice to make
when my future is up for stake.
And if I'll never know what to do
I wish to depend on you.

I don't know

I don't know if I'd rather be
left in the cloud of mystery,
or thrown in the torture of truth
and learn to face the proof.

I don't know if I'd rather want
to be brave and act nonchalant,
or hide under the protective wing
and have someone else take the sting.

I don't know if I'd rather cry
when I'm lonely and asking why,
or lash back and pretend I'm fine
so people don't think all I do is whine.

I don't know if I'd rather go
somewhere exotic where it doesn't snow,
or visit all the landmark spots
with the map to play connect the dots.

I don't know what choice to make
when my future is up for stake.
And if I'll never know what to do
I wish to depend on you.

Dramatic Monologue

What a sinful hand has taken?
Young lives of bulbous rouge.
Think he must be rejoicing
hidden, oblivious to God's eyes—douche!

Such an erratic fellow
that talk of weather won't do.
Has he no bone that knows of politeness?
Eyes spinning when I say myrtle-bush, iris blue!

What's in his head I'll never know
Alas as a brother I must show
that kindness grows and I have planted the seed.
Patience will let me pull out his troublesome weed.

See! Torn pages stuffed in my precious parsley!
Such audacity could only be from him,
but I mustn't let my soul be pulled into that fiery
pit of his. Have grace and forgive.

Single Greatest Challenge

Questions

frustration, anger, fear
the three emotions replay,
thrusting arrows to my heart, tear
my wounds apart, sets my dignity on a tray.
Why is it so difficult
to find somewhere meant for me,
where fireballs don't launch from a catapult,
where being loved is easy.

Must my future be clouded
because I don't know what I seek.
Must my life be bounded
in lines meant for the weak.
My mind is set out to fly, to achieve,
but my body is honest
there's a difference between believe and deceive
so, I can't make this promise.

Is it right that one word 
can change your life in a second,
make you reconsider everything you heard,
those praise, those compliments, a waiting weapon?
Everything happens for a reason,
I'm getting tired of that phrase,
not believing that a new season
can wake me from my daze.

 

March Grab Bag

Morning Halo

Anyone can see your glow
Resonating
Top of the mountain
Calling me
Away
To your arms

Single Greatest Challenge

Questions

frustration, anger, fear
the three emotions replay,
thrusting arrows to my heart, tear
my wounds apart, sets my dignity on a tray.
Why is it so difficult
to find somewhere meant for me,
where fireballs don't launch from a catapult,
where being loved is easy.

Must my future be clouded
because I don't know what I seek.
Must my life be bounded
in lines meant for the weak.
My mind is set out to fly, to achieve,
but my body is honest
there's a difference between believe and deceive
so, I can't make this promise.

Is it right that one word 
can change your life in a second,
make you reconsider everything you heard,
those praise, those compliments, a waiting weapon?
Everything happens for a reason,
I'm getting tired of that phrase,
not believing that a new season
can wake me from my daze.

 

Boredom

An old friend of mine
comes and goes, stays as he pleases
we sit in silence
the sound of vast nothingness
my fingers drum my pencil on paper
leaving spots of graphite 
I switch screens
click, click, click
the blank screen bores my eyes
I hear a knock on the door
"Coming mom!"
I turn around and my friend is gone
 

Complaint of the Day

There's two red cardinals at my window. They keep smashing into the window, creating a "thunk" sound every time. It's getting kind of annoying since it's already the second day. How do I get them to leave?

Spacebear

He’s a video.
Stuck in the past, yet lingers in the present
because I let him. Or need him at times.
To taste his embrace, the warm chocolate cookies that
tickles my throat and that smile that grazes my cheek.
He leaves me giggling, as the buttery popcorn wafts by his nose,
creating jealousy of Paddington eating his marmalade at Cinema 9.
I taste the wind as I run, him bouncing
like an empty bottle behind me. His fur dances
like a lazy dandelion, pieces drifting off like a balloon
headed to the moon. Such a stubborn pause.
Faced with the mouth of the washer, I reassure him
he’s not a wimp for clutching my hand.
If you jump with your eyes closed, you’ll feel less pain,
but just because you jump, doesn’t mean I will.
The roaring rapids of hunger lunge at his feet,
and he’s submerged. When I’m sad, I place a spell on him
to bring him...

Spacebear

His fur dances like a lazy dandelion,
pieces floating off like a balloon headed to the moon.
His embrace tastes like warm chocolate cookies, tickling my throat.
And his thin smile grazes my cheek. The scent of 
clam chowder wafts by his nose and his belly grumbles.
I taste the wind as I run,
him bouncing like an empty bottle behind me.
Paddington sits down next to us at Cinema 9 in 2014.
Paddington's on the screen.

The dark mouth of the

Rollercoaster of Life

I'm on the rollercoaster of life,
up is slow, rising to new heights.
I never see the fall coming
and there's no use running
away from my troubles.
Buried in the rubble
is my fleeted joy. Somehow though,
I'm still on the rollercoaster show.

Sometimes I rise short
and fall faster than one can snort.
Sometimes I rise to the top
and wait dauntingly for the drop
that makes me go splitter-splat.
My heart struggles in combat
with courage and fear
thrusting each other with a sneer.

I'm on the rollercoaster of life,
seatbelt buckled in too tight
waiting for the day I rise.
Perhaps there'll be a surprise
and I won't get stuck,
but knowing my luck
I'll just hang on tight
and wait patiently for the green light.

 

25 Words

Sunken

The ropes, sails, anchor fall. Waves thrusts the boat. Salty water spills on my face. Submerged, I feel a strange calmness, and then I fall.

Sonata in Spring

A picnic is best in spring.
The buds still young and the couple in love, lying on the plaid sheet gently waving with the breeze. The red liquor in her glass dances and a glance from her husband elicits a secret smile, acknowledgement of her golden braids flowing off her shoulders and dancing in the light. 
Dolce. The mother unpacks the spoons and forks, silver metal all warmed up. She gazes upon her daughter, still a young face in the open world. The motorcycle hum is accented, but no match for the angry chirps of the landowners.
Crescendo. The wind is in panic and snatches the sunhat off the young lady's braids. Accidental, she spills the wine, her pale lemon dress stained crimson with what she never intended to drink.
Sharp. The mother catches the glance between the young couple, seemingly knowing of the spring coming. And if she may not know now, summer will spill secrets.
Adagio. The spoon...

Sonata in Spring

A picnic is best in spring.
The buds still young and the couple in love, lying on the plaid sheet gently waving with the breeze. The red liquor in her glass dances and a glance at her husband elicits a secret smile, acknowledgement of her golden braids flowing off her shoulders and dancing in the light. 
Dolce. The mother unpacks the spoons and forks, silver metal all warmed up. She gazes upon her daughter, still a young face in the open world. The motorcycle hum is accented, but no match for the angry chirps of the landowners.
Crescendo. The wind is in panic and snatches the sunhat off the young lady's braids. Accidental, she spills the wine, her pale lemon dress stained crimson with what she never intended to drink.
Sharp. The mother catches the glance between the young couple, seemingly knowing of the spring coming. And if she may not know now, summer will spill secrets.
Adagio. The spoon...

A Booked Crime Pt.1

The bell on the door jingled as the door swung open and heels clacked into the near empty little store. A wisp of cool air creeped in the room, disappearing as the door gently returned to its place. The young woman, dressed in tall black boots, a long gray coat, and a silk green scarf, smiled. She headed straight to the mystery section, fingering the spines of the books like keys on a piano. Her fingers stopped on a big book, bound with black leather with white lettering.

“I’ll take this one,” she exclaimed, holding the book up with two fingers for the cashier to see.

“Clarissa,” the man at the counter chuckled. He noted down the book title. “You read too fast! My store can’t keep up.”

Clarissa sauntered over with a grin on her face. Her eyebrows raised at the young man. “If it weren’t for me, how could your store stay open?”

“Dom, if I were you,...

A Booked Crime Pt.1

The bell on the door jingled as the door swung open and heels clacked into the near empty little store. A wisp of cool air creeped in the room, disappearing as the door gently returned to its place. The young woman, dressed in tall black boots, a long gray coat, and a silk green scarf, smiled. She headed straight to the mystery section, fingering the spines of the books like keys on a piano. Her fingers stopped on a big book, bound with black leather with white lettering.

“I’ll take this one,” she exclaimed, holding the book up with two fingers for the cashier to see.

“Clarissa,” the man at the counter chuckled. He noted down the book title. “You read too fast! My store can’t keep up.”

Clarissa sauntered over with a grin on her face. Her eyebrows raised at the young man. “If it weren’t for me, how could your store stay open?”

“Dom, if I were you,...

Historical Fiction Competition 2020

The Storm is Coming

“My dear friend, what brings you here on a lovely morning?” Luther asked. He grabbed a soiled cloth from the large rock beside him and wiped off his hands.

Robert walked closer and sighed, “I must tell you of something I witnessed yesterday. It is a great matter that involves our brothers, and I need your counsel.”

Luther’s smile faded as he gestured for Robert to sit down on a log. “I was visiting the monastery…” Robert started.

“Oh!” Luther’s eyes widened. “How are Benedict and John? I remember the laughs we had at the monastery back then. I do want to visit, but I’m too busy at Wittenberg. These students never seem to pay attention.” Luther saw Robert’s anxious face. “I’m so sorry for interrupting. Do continue,” Luther gestured.

Robert clasped Luther’s hand. “I’m afraid things aren’t going well,” Robert’s brow furrowed. “A church official named Francis Tolbert has imposed a tax on the monastery. I’m going to report...

Historical Fiction Competition 2020

The Storm is Coming

“My dear friend, what brings you here on a lovely morning?” Luther asked. He grabbed a soiled cloth from the large rock beside him and wiped off his hands.

Robert walked closer and sighed, “I must tell you of something I witnessed yesterday. It is a great matter that involves our brothers, and I need your counsel.”

Luther’s smile faded and he gestured for Robert to sit down on a log. “I was visiting the monastery…” Robert started.

“Oh!” Luther’s eyes widened. “How are Benedict and John? I remember the laughs we had at the monastery back then. I do want to visit, but I’m too busy at Wittenberg. These students never seem to pay attention.” Luther looked at Robert’s anxious face. “I’m so sorry for interrupting. Do continue,” Luther gestured.

Robert clasped Luther’s hand. “I’m afraid things aren’t going well,” Robert’s brow furrowed. “A church official named Francis Tolbert has imposed a tax on the monastery. I’m going to...

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Going Home

“Casey?” Grandma asked.

I bit my lip and shook my head, “it’s Sarah.” This was the fifth time today she thought I was my mom, but I was used to it. She shuffled to the kitchen and reached for her favorite teacup on the top cupboard.

“Jack!” she called, “come help me!” I rushed over to help.

“Where’s Jack?” Her large brown eyes locked with mine. 

“He’s not here,” I said softly, “he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Grandma wrinkled her brow and looked at me with confusion. She clutched her pearl bracelet, the last gift grandpa had given her.

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Going Home

“Casey?” Grandma asked me. I bit my lip and shook my head, “it’s Sarah.” This was the fifth time today she called me Casey. She shuffled to the kitchen and reached for her favorite teacup on the top cupboard. “Jack!” she called, “come help me!” I rushed over to help.

“Where’s Jack?” Her large brown eyes locked with mine. I saw the worn creases around her eyes.

“He’s not here,” I said softly, “he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Grandma wrinkled her brow and looked at me with confusion. She clutched her pearl bracelet, the last gift grandpa had given her.

Unfixable

Imagine the early birds are calling- the little one is here.
If only leaves could flit and shimmer
as light and wind spins them around, filling up the musty room
with color and laughter. Cracked and cold,
the three stone steps wait to be trodden, beckoning him to hurry.
Away with the closed curtains and empty room,
away with the pictures that too many have shed tears on.
Welcome a new palette of colors, to repaint
the unfinished story.
But the stone steps are still bare,
the brown house still waiting, the room still lonely.
All lies, lies, terrible lies.
 
Rooms and rooms stacked high as towers with novels,
some crinkled, some yellow, some hanging by the last thread.
A place full of history, future, and present;
holds where it all begins.
Joy cannot outlast the effects of years of regret.
Old newspapers, the fables, the plays like ghosts;
haunt the memories that can’t be buried.
Pitch black is...

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Going Home

“Casey?” Grandma asked me. I bit my lip and shook my head, “it’s Sarah.” It was the fifth time today she called me Casey. She shuffled to the kitchen and reached for her favorite teacup on the top cupboard. “Jack!” she called, “come help me!” I rushed over to help.

“Where’s Jack?” Her large brown eyes locked with my mine. I saw the worn creases around her eyes.

“He’s not here,” I said softly, “he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Grandma wrinkled her brow and looked at me with confusion. She clutched her pearl bracelet; the last gift grandpa had given her.