anemoia (#words)

United States

WtW's resident "the cool cousin you see once a year, but the conversation you guys were having a long time ago picks up where it left off without missing a beat" (says rosi willard)

Child of God
logophile
volleyballer

Female

Message from Writer

started #words; new one otw?
inconsistent w/replies

Dating Dex Dizznee- 11.27.20
Dating (irl) CL- 1.11.21

@Faith Writes on Pinterest

PHIL. 4:4-9
PROV. 3:5-6
PROV. 31
JOHN 3:16
ROM. 8
ROM. 12:2
JAMES 3
1 JN 1:8-10

"I'd like to be my old self again, but I'm still trying to find it"
Taylor Swift

"Maybe the most beautiful things in this life are felt and never seen"
Tenille Townes

"Love's not only the best days / Or the worst days / Love is the Tuesdays"
Jake Scott

Rowling~Messenger~Riordan~M*A*S*H

Lovely War~Hope and Other Punch Lines~All the Light We Cannot See

Reading: Red Queen series, A Good Girl's Guide to Murder

Watching: Cheers

Aesthetics obsessed
extroverted introvert
10.5.20

SPORANGE

Published Work

do you?


what’s it like, 
to be you?

do you fall asleep with your eyes wide open?
so you can see what your dreams are made of?
or is it so you know what your nightmares mean?

do you wish you were funnier,
kinder,
quieter,
smarter, 
louder,
more confident?
do you toss your hair over your shoulder and forget to keep your heart in your chest or on your sleeve?

do you long for thunder and lightning to shake your world
and break the monotony of average?
do you yearn for tornadoes to sweep through your microcosm of Western civilization
and disrupt its meticulously messy patterns?
do you believe me
when i say that lachesism strikes me, too?

do you wonder
what it’s like to be me?

do you know that I try to dream with my eyes wide open
that I sing off key every waking moment
that I harbor foolish wishes 
and cling to far-flung hopes?

sometimes
even I don’t know ...

Single Greatest Challenge

there is more. there is hope. there is another way.


it's okay
to not be okay
for now
for a while
for just a moment
for longer than you'd like to admit

but hold on, hold on ever so tightly
to the hope
that one day
someday
even soon
it will get better.

if i may be so bold as to remind you
there is hope.
there is light at the end of the tunnel—
even if you must trudge through miles of snow 
and gale-force winds
and arid deserts without a speck of rain in sight
and pouring skies that never relent
and heartbreak
and misery
there is light.
and i believe that, in the end
good triumphs over evil
forever and ever.

isn't that the greatest challenge of our time?
past the scars and the surface 
where injustice and agony lurk
the desperation to not feel desperate any longer
the need for hope.
the need for something more.

and you wonder whether life has more to offer than...

Letters on Kindness

Dear Anemoia (#words),

"Kindness begins with understanding we all struggle." Charles Glassman

    If you've never heard of Charles Glassman, I'd venture to say that you're in the majority. He's an author and an MD, from my one minute of Google research./lh  I came across him as I was looking for was a quote on kindness./g
    Kindness is easy when it's for those you care about. It's a nice idea to slip a note in someone's backpack or on their nightstand, and it's not that hard. It's not hard to smile at people you enjoy being around or to tell someone to have a good day when you're in a cheery mood.
    But what about kindness when you don't feel like it? When you're angry, irritated, or just apathetic and exhausted? Sometimes, acts of kindness are not what you do or say, but what you don'tdo or say./srs  Others will probably never know how close you came to...

i keep my dreams in a box


some display their dreams behind glass,
preserved and protected.
some wear their dreams on their sleeve, 
startlingly present and unforgettable.

but i,
i keep my dreams in a box,
beneath my bed.

some toss their dreams over their shoulder,
as they flip their hair.
some put their dreams on a pedestal, 
the pinnacle of achievement.

but i,
i keep my dreams in a box,
under lock and key.

some waltz with their dreams under crescent moons,
flirting with ambition and opportunity.
some frolic with their dreams under smiling suns,
letting wide-open meadows and swaying wildflowers speak for them.

but i,
i keep my dreams in a box,
sequestered in darkness.

some throw their dreams into wastebaskets and sewers,
discarding their last scrap of hope.
some dance in muddy streets with their dreams, 
splashing in puddles and moving to a trash-can lid rhythm.

but i, 
i keep my dreams in a box,
known only to me.

some let go of their...

That Sort of Person

The Kind of Person...

Miss Alencia Clove Fulbrook is the kind of girl whose mouth and thoughts work faster than her body.

Mr. Nicholas Leonardo Hadsworth is the kind of gentleman who doesn't hesitate to crack a joke, flirt, or attempt to charm a lady, but would never overstep the bounds of polite society without his heart and soul committed to the lady.

Miss Caroline Penelope Wolhurst is the kind of girl whose body works faster than her mouth and thoughts—and occasionally, works more effectively.

Mr. Esau Caldegrove is the kind of gentleman who makes every female within twenty years of his age swoon and stutter, who makes every gentleman within twenty years jealous, and who can just as easily locate your carotid artery with a knife as ask you to dance the reel as shoot you in your sleep—all with a funeral-like solemnity, formality and observance of decorum.

Lady Dahlia Jane Bidderston is the kind of lady who would have to kill you...

What's His Name [Edited Lyrics]


[VERSE 1]
I know you’re tired
Of hearing the same advice
But it works, ‘cause I’ve tried
A time or two to get over a guy

[VERSE 2]
Dear girl, you’ve cried
Enough tears to fill the Mississippi
I’ve done it, along with you
And I’ve pulled myself together too

[PRE-CHORUS 1]
So wash your face
Dry your eyes
Put him outta your mind

[CHORUS]
Pick yourself up
For a pick-me-up
Stop waiting for his pick-up truck
Let’s lose ourselves in laughter ‘til you forget
Ol’ what’s his name
We’ll call up all our friends
You can dance in the arms of a new somebody
And ask him
What’s his name

[POST-CHORUS 1]
Say, “Hey, cowboy, I’m still heartbroke
But if you wanna dance
Well, I’m not opposed 
Yeah, I suppose 
We can get to know one another
So, tell me, what’s your name?”

[VERSE 3]
What you need, right now
Is to relax and just let go
Remember how...

how do we be?

sonder fell upon me today
as i watched the cars pass by
where are you going?
where are you from?
do you ache for something more?


anemoia strikes in all its faded glory
like the daguerreotypes of gentlemen in top hats and waistcoats
or photographs in sepia tones
that highlight the vacant stares of men in boater hats and suspenders
grainy film reels of
the boys with the slicked back hair,
behind the wheel of a red convertible Mustang
wasn't it simpler?
is there something beautiful about the past?

i endeavor to make time for ambedo 
to watch the fragile shoots of green battle for survival
in desert sand and rock—the size of a freckle, yet they claim their right to live
how do you fight so hard
for something that will be snatched from you no matter what you do?


that delicate and dangerous moment of opia
when you meet someone's gaze 
with unnerving intensity
like the person...

Space (II) [Lyrics]


[VERSE 1]
Let’s close our eyes in the daylight
Just so we can daydream
Draw pictures of bright things long-forgotten
Bring back the beauty we lost

[VERSE 2]
Let’s hum when we forget the words
Dance when the sky’s crying out
Let the breeze caress your skin
Let go of things you carried

[CHORUS 1]
Can we feel every motion?
Every heartbeat in our chests?
I wanna touch the edge of the ocean
Explore the woods in our heads
We’ll hold each other as we stand
In the space between the light
In the space between the light

[VERSE 3]
Let’s open our eyes in the nighttime
Just so we may perceive
Trace patterns in the blanket of specks
Breathe the crisp air of the dark

[CHORUS 2]
Can we feel every motion?
Every rustle in the wind?
I wanna touch the edge of the ocean
Stretch gravity ‘til it bends
We’ll hold each other as we stand
In the...

March Grab Bag

A Twist on a Prompt = Your Favorite Scone Recipe

Write... a recipe for the perfect day (by Vista of Grace)

*OOPS* I misread this prompt and thought it called for an actual food recipe. But then I thought, why not? Let’s be unconventional. Scones are the ultimate perfect day baked good for me. (But I wouldn’t say no to oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Or cheesecake. Or key lime pie. Or blackberry cobbler. Or salted caramel sauce straight off the stove, which I realize isn’t a baked good.) 

NOTE: The reason I have to halve my portions when I use the food processor is because my food processor is much too small. If yours is large enough, you DO NOT have to halve your portions and do each half separately. Just add the complete measure of the ingredients in each step.
NOTE: You can also do this manually. Yep. Whisk the dry ingredients, cut in the butter through a painful and arduous process, and then mix in the heavy...

luxury


[VERSE 1]
Cheap perfume
And expensive wine
Merlot on your lips tastes like midnight 

[VERSE 2]
Twenty dollar dress
And fancy dining
But it’s not about the check that you’re signing

[CHORUS]
We weren’t made for a life of luxury, luxury 
We spend our money where it counts (where it counts)
You don’t hold it against me, no
You just hold me right now 
‘Cause we weren’t made for a life of luxury

[VERSE 3]
Unpainted walls
And Sinatra on vinyl
Ours is a love I know will be final

[VERSE 4]
Invisible diamond on my hand
Sip the driest champagne
Counting down the days until I take your name

[CHORUS]
We weren’t made for a life of luxury, luxury 
We spend our money where it counts (where it counts)
You don’t hold it against me, no
You just hold me right now 
‘Cause we weren’t made for a life of luxury

[BRIDGE]
We’re in this for the long haul ...

Mid-February Grab Bag

Right of Way

Write... a descriptive piece about your favorite city/place without revealing the location! That's for your readers to guess! (by Saloni Soni)


    Inhale.
    That's what fresh air tastes like: hope, renewed strength, purity, cedar wood, and greenery.
    Exhale. 
    This is your second home.
    Start around 5000 feet in elevation. Look at the sandstone surrounds this town. Isn't it alive with something... something better than any metropolis could ever possess? Take the mountain pass between the two cities. it's your favorite drive of all time, you say. When you reach the summit, is there anything to do but gaze at the world?
    Stop at the little restaurant in the town on the other side of the mountain. Order something surprisingly gourmet for brunch and a huckleberry soda in what looks like a Dos Equis bottle. 
    Be glad that it's summer, and you can still get across the mountains....

The Middle [FANFICTION of bunnybeige's series]

    It was hollowed out and filled with dried rose petals and folded sticky notes. Minnie inhaled sharply, catching a whiff of the rose petals. Such a distinct scent, almost too strong. With trembling hands, she let her fingers graze the rose petals. It was all she could manage. How could she open those notes? What if she saw something that...
    Minnie pushed those thoughts away.
    Her nail brushed the edge of one of the scraps, and she saw miniscule letters, carefully written in black ink. Her heart was pounding too loudly in her head to decipher it.
    "Quinn," she breathed. She had to know. Didn't she? While a sliver of her wanted to throw the Bible to the ground and leave it in the dirt, her curiosity burned as she stared at the scraps.
    Every part of her shaking, she lifted the first sticky note that had caught her eyes and unfolded it.
    The snake shone silver in...

The Middle [FANFICTION of bunnybeige's series]

    It was hollowed out and filled with dried rose petals and folded sticky notes. Minnie inhaled sharply, catching a whiff of the rose petals. Such a distinct scent, almost too strong. With trembling hands, she let her fingers graze the rose petals. It was all she could manage. How could she open those notes? What if she saw something that...
    Minnie pushed those thoughts away.
    Her nail brushed the edge of one of the scraps, and she saw miniscule letters, carefully written in black ink. Her heart was pounding too loudly in her head to decipher it.
    "Quinn," she breathed. She had to know. Didn't she? While a sliver of her wanted to throw the Bible to the ground and leave it in the dirt, her curiosity burned as she stared at the scraps.
    Every part of her shaking, she lifted the first sticky note that had caught her eyes and unfolded it.
    The snake shone silver in...

The Middle [FANFICTION of bunnybeige's series]

    It was hollowed out and filled with dried rose petals and folded sticky notes. Minnie inhaled sharply, catching a whiff of the rose petals. Such a distinct scent, almost too strong. With trembling hands, she let her fingers graze the rose petals. It was all she could manage. How could she open those notes? What if she saw something that...
    Minnie pushed those thoughts away.
    Her nail brushed the edge of one of the scraps, and she saw miniscule letters, carefully written in black ink. Her heart was pounding too loudly in her head to decipher it.
    "Quinn," she breathed. She had to know. Didn't she? While a sliver of her wanted to throw the Bible to the ground and leave it in the dirt, her curiosity burned as she stared at the scraps.
    Every part of her shaking, she lifted the first sticky note that had caught her eyes and unfolded it.
    The snake shone silver in...

Forever Intertwined (Oh, My) [Wedding Song]


[MALE]
Oh, my
Didn't know I would feel like this
Never realized how incredible this day is


[FEMALE]
Oh, my
What can I even say
To express how I feel today


Oh, my
The way you're smiling at me
Your face is all I can see


Oh, my
Look at how far we've come
On this journey of relentless love


Oh, my
I can't get it out of my mind
I'm really yours for the rest of our lives
Forever intertwined


Oh, my
This life on earth, I've committed to you
To have and to hold, oh, God always knew
Forever intertwined

Oh, my
You're lighting up the room
Just like you always do


Oh, my
I'll fight the good fight with you by my side
We'll run this race until we arrive


[TOGETHER]
At the gates of heaven
Where we'll walk beside the King
And we'll look back and thank Him
For this life He gave
Forever intertwined

Oh,...

Searching for Cliches [Partial Lyrics]



[VERSE 1]
Sometimes we search for cliches
Wrap ourselves in their familiar embrace
We say it’s repulsive, we want nothing to do with it
But we come back and back every time we crave their touch

[CHORUS]
So I’m searching for cliches
That fit like a second skin
Metaphors I can drown myself in
Watch the same scenes over and over again
‘Cause I’m afraid of what lies outside
My precious cliches

Searching for Cliches [Partial Lyrics]



[VERSE 1]
Sometimes we search for cliches
Wrap ourselves in their familiar embrace
We say it’s repulsive, we want nothing to do with it
But we come back and back every time we crave their touch

[CHORUS]
So I’m searching for cliches
That fit like a second skin
Metaphors I can drown myself in
Watch the same scenes over and over again
‘Cause I’m afraid of what lies outside
My precious cliches

What's His Name [Edited Lyrics]


[VERSE 1]
I know you’re tired
Of hearing the same advice
But it works, ‘cause I’ve tried
A time or two to get over a guy

[VERSE 2]
Dear girl, you’ve cried
Enough tears to fill the Mississippi
I’ve done it, along with you
And I’ve pulled myself together too

[PRE-CHORUS 1]
So wash your face
Dry your eyes
Put him outta your mind

[CHORUS]
Pick yourself up
For a pick-me-up
Stop waiting for his pick-up truck
Let’s lose ourselves in laughter ‘til you forget
Ol’ what’s his name
We’ll call up all our friends
You can dance in the arms of a new somebody
And ask him
What’s his name

[POST-CHORUS 1]
Say, “Hey, cowboy, I’m still heartbroke
But if you wanna dance
Well, I’m not opposed 
Yeah, I suppose 
We can get to know one another
So, tell me, what’s your name?”

[VERSE 3]
What you need, right now
Is to relax and just let go
Remember how...

Forever Intertwined (Oh, My) [Wedding Song]

[MALE]
Oh, my
Didn't know I would feel like this
Never realized how incredible this day is


[FEMALE]
Oh, my
What can I even say
To express how I feel today


Oh, my
The way you're smiling at me
Your face is all I can see


Oh, my
Look at how far we've come
On this journey of relentless love


Oh, my
I can't get it out of my mind
I'm really yours for the rest of our lives
Forever intertwined


Oh, my
This life on earth, I've committed to you
To have and to hold, oh, God always knew
Forever intertwined

Oh, my
You're lighting up the room
Just like you always do


Oh, my
I'll fight the good fight with you by my side
We'll run this race until we arrive


[TOGETHER]
At the gates of heaven
Where we'll walk beside the King
And we'll look back and thank Him
For this life He gave
Forever intertwined

Oh,...

Southern California (Edited)


[VERSE 1]
The first thing a girl notices about you
Your eyes, ocean eyes that come along
Once every hundred years
Boy, there’s somethin’ undeniable about you,
Charisma, charisma that can kill
With a few honeyed words

[PRE-CHORUS]
I think you’re just lonely
Aching for something to fill your void
But you put on a bright smile and never slow your roll
Like they do down in Hollywood Hills

[CHORUS]
You’re just like Southern California
A little too much to take in
But take another step, you’re quite intoxicating
Beckoning to join you in the revelry
But you’re everything I never wanted
Altogether glittering in the dark
Like Southern California

[VERSE 2]
I wish I didn’t know these things about you
Your smile, a smile that puts everyone 
At ease, boy, like they’ve always known you
Every girl wants or pities you
For your trail of broken hearts
That you’ve left behind for years

[PRE-CHORUS]
I know you’re just lonely ...

#words (new username challenge!)

sonder fell upon me today
as i watched the cars pass by
where are you going?
where are you from?
do you ache for something more?


anemoia strikes in all its faded glory
like the daguerreotypes of gentlemen in top hats and waistcoats
or photographs in sepia tones
that highlight the vacant stares of men in boater hats and suspenders
grainy film reels of
the boys with the slicked back hair,
behind the wheel of a red convertible Mustang
wasn't it simpler?
is there something beautiful about the past?

i endeavor to make time for ambedo 
to watch the fragile shoots of green battle for survival
in desert sand and rock—the size of a freckle, yet they claim their right to live
how do you fight so hard
for something that will be snatched from you no matter what you do?


that delicate and dangerous moment of opia
when you meet someone's gaze 
with unnerving intensity
like the person...

The Kind of Person... (For New Short Story)

Anthony Chao is the kind of boy who stifles his laughter at sitcoms lest his mother catch him, and whose eyes light up when he talks about cars and are quickly dimmed when his father is near. 

Gregory Wen is the kind of boy whose mouth and heart are bigger than his brain, who has given up trying to be good enough so that he may live a life that is solely his.

Sawyer Thompson is the kind of boy whose subtle charisma makes people want to be around him without knowing why, a boy who possesses genuine friendliness but is always a hair away from having it all.

Kellie McCarthy is the kind of girl who always manages to surprise those around her, who speaks her mind but rarely offends, who keeps more secrets than she ever meant to.

WIllow Rutherford is the kind of girl whose nose is always in a book in order to escape herself, who...

The Kind of Person... (For New Short Story)

Anthony Chao is the kind of boy who stifles his laughter at sitcoms lest his mother catch him, and whose eyes light up when he talks about cars and are quickly dimmed when his father is near. 

WIllow Rutherford is the kind of girl whose nose is always in a book in order to escape herself, who finds her only scrap of control in her relationship with her boyfriend.

Alysa Beckit is the kind of girl who used to be popular and pretty; now she is raw and beautiful and angry, with a cigarette in her back pocket and a blasé smile on her lips.

Mrs. Eleanor Chao is the kind of woman who is simultaneously admired and loathed for her observance of the strictest decorum with guests (and her perfect soups) yet still makes her son feel unwanted and unworthy.

Mr. Lawrence Chao is the kind of man who does not practice what he preaches.

Adelaide Chao is the...

That Sort of Person

The Kind of Person...

Miss Alencia Clove Fulbrook is the kind of girl who would deliberately bestow a baroness-level curtsy on a duchess in order to spark political tension and advance an agenda, while wearing an outrageously feathered hat to provoke further offense and doling out barbed remarks behind a lovely smile.

Mr. Nicholas Leonardo Hadsworth is the kind of gentleman who doesn't hesitate to crack a joke, flirt, or attempt to charm a lady, but would never overstep the bounds of polite society without his heart and soul committed to the lady.

Miss Caroline Penelope Wolhurst is the kind of girl who would lie about her age and her social standing to follow a plan, then abandon the plan and charge into action, probably in men's clothing and wielding an iron rod while darting about randomly and confusing everyone, including her allies.

Mr. Esau Caldegrove is the kind of gentleman who makes every female within twenty years of his age swoon and stutter,...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

The Things Which Can Happen in a Bookstore

    He was starving. Deprived. He needed books like a heroin junkie needed a hit.
    Never had he felt so desperate for black typeface on paper. For those written enchantments. For the inexplicable warmth that emanated from the pages. Reminding him who he was and giving life to dreams of who he might become.
    His legs changed from walking to jogging without consulting him first. White Converse thudded against leaf shadows on the sidewalk. Books for the Soul felt infinitely far. Would his paper-and-ink lifeline stretch—stretch—and—snap
    A quarter mile from his own house, and he seriously doubted he’d make it. It wasn’t his physical abilities that he questioned; he was a runner. His mental and emotional states, however, needed a swig of that life-giving water: books. And possibly an iced latte.
    Tag breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the bookstore's rough-cut wooden sign dangling in the distance. Rays of July morning sun glistened across the hand painted...

What's His Name [Edited Lyrics]


[VERSE 1]
I know you're tired
Of hearing the same advice
But it works, 'cause I've tried
A time or two to get over a guy

[VERSE 2]
Dear girl, you've cried
Enough tears to flood the Mississippi
I've done it right along with you
And I've pulled myself together too

[PRE-CHORUS]
So wash your face
Dry your eyes
Put him out of your mind

[CHORUS]
Pick yourself up
For a pick-me-up
Stop waiting for his pick-up truck
Let's lose ourselves in laughter 'til you forget

Ol' what's his name
We'll call up all our friends
You can dance in the arms of a new somebody
And ask him
What's his name

[VERSE 3]
What you need, right now
Is to relax and let go
Remember how it used to be
And live like he never happened 

[PRE-CHORUS]
So fix your hair
And lose the self-pity
'Cause you're worth more than that, honey

[CHORUS]
Pick yourself up
For a pick-me-up ...

Southern California (Edited)


[VERSE 1]
The first thing a girl notices about you
Your eyes, ocean eyes that come along
Once every hundred years
There’s somethin’ undeniable about you
Charisma, charisma that can kill
With a few honeyed words

[PRE-CHORUS]
I think you’re just lonely
Aching for something to fill your void
But you put on a bright smile and never slow your roll
Like they do down in Hollywood Hills

[CHORUS]
You’re just like Southern California
A little too much to take in
But take another step, you’re quite intoxicating
Beckoning to join you in the revelry
But you’re everything I never wanted
Altogether glittering in the dark
Like Southern California

[VERSE 2]
I wish I didn’t know these things about you
Your smile, a smile that puts everyone 
At ease, like they’ve always known you
Every girl wants or pities you
For your trail of broken hearts
That you’ve left behind for years

[PRE-CHORUS]
I know you’re just lonely
Begging for...

25 Words

the heart i’m breaking is my own

"There's no need to wait for me."
Please wait for me.

"You don't have to stay."
Please stay.


"SoCal needs me."

Don't you need me?

All the Ways


[VERSE 1]
Heart pounds
Breath quickens
Thoughts tangle
And you're not even in the room

[VERSE 2]
Head spins
Body tingles
Focus blurs
And you're not even in the room

​[CHORUS]
You don't know you do this to me 
You don't see the secrets I keep
You don't know all the ways I ache

[VERSE 3]
Pulse jumps
Hands shake
Passion quakes
And you're not even in the room

[CHORUS]
I don't understand how much I want you
I don't know what I want to do
I afraid of all the ways I ache for you

[BRIDGE]
Anticipation waits
Desire awakes
Soul aches
For you

[CHORUS]
You don't know you do this to me 
You don't see the secrets I keep
You don't know all the ways I ache
I don't understand how much I want you
I don't know what I want to do
I'm afraid of all the ways I ache for you

[OUTRO]
And all I can...

so i thank God for you


i figure it's about time I write a song about you
but i don't know what to say
there's so many ways i could praise you
so many compliments i could pay

but like every other love song
the listener never quite understands
the connection that exists between
two people who explore the thing called love

and even i don't understand
why i still hold on to you
and why i feel this way
why i want you this bad
or why i roll my eyes

i'm brimming with gratitude for you
i call you "babe" in my head
and i thank God that the ease 
between us has not ceased

words still flow with comfort
i'm not conforming to what i think you think
and i hope you don't either
even when i know i'm implying it
and i hate that i do it
because... 

because i love you.
i love you with philia.
i love you with ludus. ...

Song Writing Competition 2021

A Beautiful Ache


Performance: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1MkZT55eDcVNIW7XI0AEqf_cMg7XL1xJe/view?usp=sharing

[VERSE 1]
I hear whispers of inspiration from letters on the page
Faded ink and dusty shelves and spines cracked with age
They tell me their secrets and I try to understand
Long-forgotten melodies and books that were banned

[PRE-CHORUS 1]
And I try,
To make sense of it all, and I try
I don’t know what anything means

[CHORUS]
Darling, these written words, they shine like the sun
Reminding us of who we are and who we might become
They speak and they whisper, they shout and they plead
I wanna feel every precious sentence they weave, ooh
It’s a longing in my heart
A fire in my mind
It’s like an ache in my soul
A beautiful ache

[VERSE 2]
I see flashes of revelations from the core of humanity
Thoughtful eyes and open arms and the way you look at me
We tell each other secrets that we always understand
Conversations become our poetry when...

Song Writing Competition 2021

A Beautiful Ache


[VERSE 1]
I hear whispers of inspiration from letters on the page
Faded ink and dusty shelves and spines cracked with age
They tell me their secrets and I try to understand
Long-forgotten melodies and books that were banned

[PRE-CHORUS 1]
And I try,
To make sense of it all, and I try
I don’t know what anything means

[CHORUS]
Darling, these written words, they shine like the sun
Reminding us of who we are and who we might become
They speak and they whisper, they shout and they plead
I wanna feel every precious sentence they weave, ooh
It’s a longing in my heart
A fire in my mind
It’s like an ache in my soul
A beautiful ache

[VERSE 2]
I see flashes of revelations from the core of humanity
Thoughtful eyes and open arms and the way you look at me
We tell each other secrets that we always understand
Conversations become our poetry when you take...

so i thank God for you


i figure it's about time I write a song about you
but i don't know what to say
there's so many ways i could praise you
so many compliments i could pay

but like every other love song
the listener never quite understands
the connection that exists between
two people who explore the thing called love

and even i don't understand
why i still hold on to you
and why i feel this way
why i want you this bad
or why i roll my eyes

i'm brimming with gratitude for you
i call you "babe" in my head
and i thank God that the ease 
between us has not ceased

words still flow with comfort
i'm not conforming to what i think you think
and i hope you don't either
even when i know i'm implying it
and i hate that i do it
because... 

because i love you.
i love you with philia.
i love you with ludus. ...

Song Writing Competition 2021

A Beautiful Ache


[VERSE 1]
I hear whispers of inspiration from letters on the page
Faded ink and dusty shelves and spines cracked with age
They tell me their secrets and I try to understand
Long-forgotten melodies and books that were banned

[PRE-CHORUS 1]
And I try,
To make sense of it all, and I try
I don’t know what anything means

[CHORUS]
Darling, these written words, they shine like the sun
Reminding us of who we are and who we might become
They speak and they whisper, they shout and they plead
I wanna feel every precious sentence they weave, ooh
It’s a longing in my heart
A fire in my mind
It’s like an ache in my soul
A beautiful ache

[VERSE 2]
I see flashes of revelations from the core of humanity
Thoughtful eyes and open arms and the way you look at me
We tell each other secrets that we always understand
Conversations become our poetry when you take...

A Very Serious Speech on a Very Useless Argument Involving a Dreaded 2010 Song...

    Fellow writers, thinkers, and teens, I come before you today to address the crisis that is gripping a certain rural high school in the United States. This high school has been functioning in a hybrid system since the beginning of the year, meaning that Group A students attend school on Monday and Thursday, and Group B students attend school on Tuesday and Friday.
    In a typical day, the bell rings at the end of every period, and a seven minute passing period follows. When there is one minute left to get to class, a song plays for that minute. Usually, it's the Mission Impossible theme song.
    Except on Fridays.
    On Fridays, students are subjected to a deeply distressing and miserable existence six times in one day—a day that is now shorter in the hybrid schedule. 
    On Fridays, Miley Cyrus' Party in the U.S.A. traumatizes every student as it projects from the tinny loudspeakers.
 ...

Falling Into You (Lyrics)


[VERSE 1: FEMALE]
I caught your eye again last Friday
As I was hanging up my coat
By the door
That unexplainable second when
Our gazes briefly met
And it was gone

[PRE-CHORUS 1: FEMALE]
But there was something, about you,
That drew me, ever closer
To you
But I fought it 

[CHORUS: FEMALE w/MALE BACKING VOCALS]
‘Cause I’ve never met anyone like you
And I hope I never do
This world couldn’t handle anything more
You’re an infinite mystery
Who keeps driving me crazy
I can’t be sure what you’re gonna do
And I can’t risk it, the chaos that would come
From falling into you

[VERSE 2: MALE]
I told you I couldn’t stand you
But you know that I can lie
Sometimes
I swear I don’t just want your body
You’re not like the other girls I liked, and
I like that

[PRE-CHORUS 2: MALE]
‘Cause there is something about you
Can I draw you, ever closer? ...

Song Writing Competition 2021

A Beautiful Ache


[VERSE 1]
I hear whispers of inspiration from letters on the page
Faded ink and dusty shelves and spines cracked with age
They tell me their secrets and I try to understand
Long-forgotten melodies and books that were banned

[PRE-CHORUS 1]
And I try,
To make sense of it all, and I try
I don’t know what anything means

[CHORUS]
Darling, these written words, they shine like the sun
Reminding us of who we are and who we might become
They speak and they whisper, they shout and they plead
I wanna feel every precious sentence they weave, ooh
It’s a longing in my heart
A fire in my mind
It’s like an ache in my soul
A beautiful ache

[VERSE 2]
I see flashes of revelations from the core of humanity
Thoughtful eyes and open arms and the way you look at me
We tell each other secrets that we always understand
Conversations become our poetry when you take...

Song Writing Competition 2021

A Beautiful Ache


[VERSE 1]
I hear whispers of inspiration from letters on the page
Faded ink and dusty shelves and spines cracked with age
They tell me their secrets and I try to understand
Long-forgotten melodies and books that were banned

[PRE-CHORUS 1]
And I try,
To make sense of it all, and I try
I don’t know what anything means

[CHORUS]
Darling, these written words, they shine like the sun
Reminding us of who we are and who we might become
They speak and they whisper, they shout and they plead
I wanna feel every precious sentence they weave, ooh
It’s a longing in my heart
A fire in my mind
It’s like an ache in my soul
A beautiful ache

[VERSE 2]
I see flashes of revelations from the core of humanity
Thoughtful eyes and open arms and the way you look at me
We tell each other secrets that we always understand
Conversations become our poetry when you take...

Song Writing Competition 2021

A Beautiful Ache


[VERSE 1]
I hear whispers of inspiration from letters on the page
Faded ink and dusty shelves and spines cracked with age
They tell me their secrets and I try to understand
Long-forgotten melodies and books that were banned

[PRE-CHORUS]
And I try,
To make sense of it all, and I try
I don’t know what anything means

[CHORUS]
Darling, these written words, they shine like the sun
Reminding us of who we are and who we might become
They speak and they whisper, they shout and they plead
I wanna feel every precious sentence they weave, ooh

[POST-CHORUS]
It’s a longing in my heart
A fire in my mind
It’s like an ache in my soul
A beautiful ache

[VERSE 2]
I see flashes of revelations from the core of humanity
Thoughtful eyes and open arms and the way you look at me
We tell each other secrets that we always understand
Conversations become our poetry when you take...

25 Words

the heart i’m breaking is my own

"There's no need to wait for me."
Please wait for me.

"You don't have to stay."
Please stay.


"SoCal needs me."

Don't you need me?

Song Writing Competition 2021

A Beautiful Ache


[VERSE 1]
I hear whispers of inspiration from letters on the page
Faded ink and dusty shelves and spines cracked with age
They tell me their secrets and I try to understand
Long-forgotten melodies and books that were banned

[PRE-CHORUS]
And I try,
To make sense of it all, and I try
I don’t always know what they mean

[CHORUS]
Darling, these written words, they shine like the sun
Reminding us of who we are and who we might become
They speak and they whisper, they shout and they plead
I wanna feel every precious sentence they weave, ooh

[POST-CHORUS]
It’s a longing in my heart
A thirst in my mind
It’s like an ache in my soul
A beautiful ache

[VERSE 2]
I see flashes of revelations from the beauty of humanity
Thoughtful eyes and open arms and how you look at me
We tell each other secrets and we always understand
Conversations become our poetry when you take...

The First Poems: challenge (footnotes)

Warm and Comforting

Warm and comforting means something different to everyone. 
For the little infant, it means their mother’s soothing arms that rock them to sleep,
their father’s rich baritone that comforts and displays true love.
For the adolescent child, it means the compliment that penetrates the surface, 
the note of encouragement that seems small, but is so big.
For the teenager, it means having that enchanted feeling of being loved and loving,
the subtle support of parents who will be there if they need it- but they say they never will.
For the young adult, it means having their partner and their inner circle of friends close by,
hearing their child laugh and seeing them smile.
For the middle-aged person, it means having their spouse to fall back on after a strenuous day, the busy daily life of caring for their family. 
For the senior, it means living out peaceful retirement years in a...

All the Ways


[VERSE 1]
Heart pounds
Breath quickens
Thoughts tangle
And you're not even in the room

[VERSE 2]
Head spins
Body tingles
Focus blurs
And you're not even in the room

​[CHORUS]
You don't know you do this to me 
You don't see the secrets I keep
You don't know all the ways I ache

[VERSE 3]
Pulse jumps
Hands shake
Passion quakes
And you're not even in the room

[CHORUS]
I don't understand how much I want you
I don't know what I want to do
I afraid of all the ways I ache for you

[BRIDGE]
Anticipation waits
Desire awakes
Soul aches
For you

[CHORUS]
You don't know you do this to me 
You don't see the secrets I keep
You don't know all the ways I ache
I don't understand how much I want you
I don't know what I want to do
I'm afraid of all the ways I ache for you

[OUTRO]
And all I can...

dreams that bear the mark of love (FOOTNOTES!)

 
"Because dreams that bear the mark of love / are dreams that never die"

do you have any dreams that bear the mark of love, darling?
dreams are elusive
like a mischievous faerie, or a pixie that beckons for you
just around the bend
but you reach the clearing where it promised to wait
you are left with only the babbling brook for company
not that you mind, usually—she's quite friendly, saves you the need to reply as she chatters on
but that dream promised.
 
where did it go?
 
you call for it to return
so that you may seek to turn it into more than a dream
so that you may go from dreaming to doing
but as you peer around the bend and leave the brook behind
endless hills greet you
and no pixie or faerie in sight.
the dream has escaped once more,
into the recesses of your cavernous and gorgeous mind.
  ...

All the Ways


Heart pounds
Breath quickens
Thoughts tangle
And you're not even in the room

Head spins
Body tingles
Focus blurs
And you're not even in the room

Pulse jumps
Hands shake
Passion quakes
And you're not even in the room

Anticipation waits
Desire awakes
Soul aches
For you

You don't know you do this to me 
You don't see the secrets I keep
You don't know all the ways I ache

I don't understand how much I want you
I don't know what I want to do
I don't like all the ways I ache for you

Southern California (Edited)


[VERSE 1]
The first thing a girl notices about you
Your eyes, ocean eyes that come along
Once every hundred years
There’s somethin’ undeniable about you
Charisma, charisma that can kill
With a few honeyed words

[PRE-CHORUS]
I think you’re just lonely
Aching for something to fill your void
But you put on a bright smile and never slow your roll
Like they do down in Hollywood Hills

[CHORUS]
You’re just like Southern California
A little too much to take in
But take another step, you’re quite intoxicating
Beckoning to join you in the revelry
But you’re everything I never wanted
Altogether glittering in the dark
Like Southern California

[VERSE 2]
I wish I didn’t know these things about you
Your smile, a smile that puts everyone 
At ease, like they’ve always known you
Every girl wants or pities you
For your trail of broken hearts
That you’ve left behind for years

[PRE-CHORUS]
I know you’re just lonely
Aching for...

"napoleon's problems" (rewrite of champagne problems)


[Verse 1]
You signed the treaties for a reason
So you had Europe under control
Losing your pride or losing Russia
You’re not sure which was worse

[Chorus]
Because you, lost Trafalgar by Spain
The Brits kept causing you pain
Five years, you lose your fame
Napoleon’s problems
Six years, Spain’s guerrilla fighters
Start weakening the Empire
Peninsular War became dire
Napoleon’s problems

[Verse 2]
You invaded Russia for a reason
They weren’t obedient
Took soldiers, five hundred thousand
Barely a fifth of them remained

[Chorus]
Moscow, you thought you’d take it
Went up in flames, you didn’t
Cold, hunger, and exhaustion
Napoleon’s problems
You had to leave, retreating
Victory beyond your reaches
And you couldn’t give a reason
Napoleon’s problems

[Bridge]
The five great powers met in secret
Congress of Vienna, swore they’d keep it
Established peace and balance of power
Metternich said, “Well, it’s back to monarchy
How democracy, it failed in France
Don’t think we’ll use that...

#NEWYEAR (footnotes!)

"Don't read the last page / But I stay when it's hard or it's wrong or we're making mistakes / I want your midnights / But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day / Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you / ... / Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere"

Gray skies out the window
I'm really starting to feel
That seasonal depression
Now that the holidays have passed

Hail was slanting across my lawn
The Christmas tree is long, long gone
Silver droplets keep dripping, dripping
Hanging like a crystal tear from every branch

But then I remember
It's no longer 2020
And even though nothing magically changed
It's the way you think about it
We're on a new horizon
Although the virus is not frightened by a change of date
Our hope is renewed again
Enough to carry us through this time

The old...

of course i love you, but in what ways?

the greeks did language right
all those meanings for the "same" word

so of course there's agape 
which i try to display and be to everyone
both easy to dismiss as something universal 
but boundless, limitless, non-conveyable by flawed humans 
so it's hard to define if i love you in that way

obviously, pragma has not had time to develop 
we've been friends for almost two years, i'd guess
the past several months have drawn us ever closer
even so, pragma is deeper, longer, richer than what we've had

philia came first
this deep appreciation for you
admiration, even
being able to talk freely
to muse and understand
to discuss and debate
to say things i don't say to anyone else
(except maybe my mom, so look at the level of trust you're on)
to feel vulnerable with you
for once, i don't have to be the strong one—not that i mind sometimes, but
philiastill reigns in our...

"napoleon's problems" (rewrite of champagne problems)


[Verse 1]
You signed the treaties for a reason
So you had Europe under control
Losing your pride or losing Russia
You’re not sure which was worse

[Chorus]
Because you, lost Trafalgar in Spain
The Brits kept causing you pain
Five years, you lose your fame
Napoleon’s problems
Six years, Spain’s guerrilla fighters
Start weakening the Empire
Peninsular War became dire
Napoleon’s problems

[Verse 2]
You invaded Russia for a reason
They weren’t cooperating
Took soldiers, five hundred thousand
Barely a fifth of them remained

[Chorus]
Moscow, you thought you’d take it
Went up in flames, you didn’t
Cold, hunger, and exhaustion
Napoleon’s problems
You had to leave, retreating
Victory beyond your reaches
And you couldn’t give a reason
Napoleon’s problems

[Bridge]
The five great powers met in secret
Congress of Vienna, swore they’d keep it
Established peace and balance of power
Metternich said, “Well, it’s back to monarchy
How democracy, it failed in France
Don’t think we’ll use that...

Soviets and Mixed Drinks: A Short Story

    “You worms!” Daniel screams at the sky. Close to cloudless. The kind of early sky that puts Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes to shame. A pity that “You dirty, [expletive] Soviets!” is piercing it. 
    Smoke drifts lazily from the ruins of our house. I stand on the remnants of the front porch steps. I wonder if he wishes he had never remarried. He could have crawled back to her. Then he might have a house still. 
    “Daniel?” I draw my sweater tighter around me as I walk hesitantly toward him. He stands on the edge of our front lawn, screaming at whoever hears him because the Soviets never will. He turns to me. There is still a fire in his eyes. I never thought fire could be so cold; his brown eyes are closer to black in the light of dawn.  
    “What did we do, Grace? What was it this time, huh? Tell me, because I sure as hell don’t understand,” he...

#NEWYEAR (footnotes!)

"Don't read the last page / But I stay when it's hard or it's wrong or we're making mistakes / I want your midnights / But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day / Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you / ... / Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere"

Gray skies out the window
I'm really starting to feel
That seasonal depression
Now that the holidays have passed

Hail was slanting across my lawn
The Christmas tree is long, long gone
Silver droplets keep dripping, dripping
Hanging like a crystal tear from every branch

But then I remember
It's no longer 2020
And even though nothing magically changed
It's the way you think about it
We're on a new horizon
Although the virus is not frightened by a change of date
Our hope is renewed again
Enough to carry us through this time

The old...

#holidayvibes & gratitude (FOOTNOTES!)

"never be so kind / you forget to be clever / never be so clever / you forget to be kind /... / never be so polite / you forget your power / never wield such power / you forget to be polite"

i want to build
not tear down
i want to form bonds
not dissolve them with discord and pettiness
i want to join hands
not push them away
i want to hear you
not dismiss your voice
i want to empathize
not pity and look away
i want to do something
but i don't know what.
both of these statements can be true
that always seems to happen
i want to express my gratitude
and this is the best way i know how. 

i want to thank you for being people
i can count on
others might count us out time and time again
but we won't
remember this
it is never too late to come back...

my best friend, erin

my best friend, erin... how do i describe her?        she would say to start with looks: short, asian, and short, she'd laugh.
my best friend, erin, is easily distracted        by shiny notifications and the allure of black typeface and technology
my best friend, erin, claims she's going out for a run... and she will, eventually...
but not before she writes one more hasty poem        my best friend, erin, has an explosive laugh—infectious and bright
my best friend, erin, likes to sing but knows she can't... but secretly, she craves praise
hopes that her friends are honest when she musters the courage to send them voice memos       
kind of hoping they lie to be nice anyway        my best friend, erin, assesses every person she sees and meets
not meaning to be judgmental        but she is, although rarely out loud       
my best friend, erin, can analyze the male specimen with a degree of impartiality       ...

YOU in threes

Overwriting Again: Me in Threes

Three quirks or idiosyncrasies:
  • I tug on my earlobes when I want something to do with my hands, which may be related to "Tugging my ear. Whenever" from The Selection by Kiera Cass. I'm not sure.
  • If you hear me singing in the shower, there's a 90% chance it's a Taylor Swift song.
  • I run an analysis on at least half the people I see and all the people I meet. From clothes, to looks, to expressions, to posture, to speech and how they interact with others (if possible). It's *mostly* objective. I notice cute clothes and cute guys frequently, but I forget a good percentage of them in days.
Three communities to which you belong (these can be unusual):
  • The community of athletic nerds, whoever you are! (Volleyball and long-distance running in track are my two sports, but I've played softball, soccer, cross-country, and basketball. VB is my all-time favorite sport, and it's been a rough journey to get...

YOU in threes

Overwriting Again: Me in Threes

Three quirks or idiosyncrasies:
  • I tug on my earlobes when I want something to do with my hands, which may be related to "Tugging my ear. Whenever" from The Selection by Kiera Cass. I'm not sure.
  • If you hear me singing in the shower, there's a 90% chance it's a Taylor Swift song.
  • I run an analysis on at least half the people I see and all the people I meet. From clothes, to looks, to expressions, to posture, to speech and how they interact with others (if possible). It's *mostly* objective. I notice cute clothes and cute guys frequently, but I forget a good percentage of them in days.
Three communities to which you belong (these can be unusual):
  • The community of athletic nerds, whoever you are! (Volleyball and long-distance running in track are my two sports, but I've played softball, soccer, cross-country, and basketball. VB is my all-time favorite sport, and it's been a rough journey to get...

same old new beginnings, same old tired endings

He said, “Let’s run away, let’s see this country 
Before it’s torn apart
We’ll see the free, we’ll see the brave
Everything from L.A. to Maine.”
And she thought it sounded nice.
And he thought it could fix them.

Reality is a cruel tyrant
Reality makes fools of them
Room with a view, then they forget
All the destruction below.

This is a new horizon
But this is the same sunrise
Same old new beginnings
Same old tired endings
From one vista point to the next
Does not change a thing

Their dreams and nightmares, they chase them
While they flee to the East Coast
Pretend they chase adventure
Trying to escape all the while
Through busy streets and quaint small towns
Through the land they sang they loved
Nothing can stop what’s already begun.

Reality is a cruel tyrant 
Reality is making fools of us
Room with a view, so we forget
All the dark ugly below.

This is...

#holidayvibes (NEW USERNAME CHALLENGE; FOOTNOTES!)


 holidays
are they marked by...

the decor that arrives on shelves too early?
obnoxious and classic songs and tacky lawn ornaments?
the overwhelming mass of corporate spending that floods the minds of the next generation?
family gatherings fraught with tension?
glittering boxes and bags that scream materialism?
family feuds that won't stay buried?
worn-out adults with baggage unseen who can't bear to face another holiday season?
threadbare sweaters and icy floors without a hint of cheer?
lonely apartments with layers of dust on the table as carols ring out below?
frustration because it seems that everyone but you celebrates Christmas?

no.
yes.
no.
yes.
but are those the only things?

holidays
are they marked by... 

a sigh of relief for the New Year?
aromas filled with memories—cinnamon and fir, musty mothballs and vanilla, pine scotch and peppermint?
scents with no name, no definition other than warmth and coziness?
home-cooked food?
store-bought delicacies and dishes that taste as good as...

To Whom It May Concern (Feedback Needed!)

5 December 2020    
To whom it may concern:
    It is probably not of any consequence to you that a fifteen year old girl in a rural pocket of northern California is sorely disappointed in her state’s handling of the COVID-19 crisis. Perhaps it would interest you further if you listened to how many others feel the same way. Likely not, but if I have captured a sliver of interest, I feel as though you should continue reading.
    But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it? Feelings. It has become apparent to me that the United States is a society in which those who are ruled primarily by feelings are the ones whose voices are the loudest. The silent—or at least the quiet—majority is called that for a reason. The louder one shouts, the bigger and more powerful one seems. I ask you to hear the so-called “silent” majority, because they are not silent. They are simply drowned out...

To Whom It May Concern (Footnotes!)

5 December 2020    
To whom it may concern:
    It is probably not of any consequence to you that a fifteen year old girl in a rural pocket of northern California is sorely disappointed in her state’s handling of the COVID-19 crisis. Perhaps it would interest you further if you listened to how many others feel the same way. Likely not, but if I have captured a sliver of interest, I feel as though you should continue reading.
    But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it? Feelings.It has become apparent to me that the United States is a society in which those who are ruled primarily by feelings are the ones whose voices are the loudest. The silent—or at least the quiet—majority is called that for a reason. The louder one shouts, the bigger and more powerful one seems. I ask you to hear the so-called “silent” majority, because they are not silent. They are simply drowned out...

ACTUALLY the Best Scone Recipe (So Far)

Hey people! Emi inspired me to put out "my" scone recipe. I don't know how I discovered the joy of scones. I've never had one in a restaurant or anywhere, but I guess my recipe searching online lead to serendipity.
And so my scone journey began.
Blueberry were my first. I've also done cranberry orange, lemon, apple cinnamon (with salted caramel sauce, which is THE BOMB), strawberry, and cranberry lemon. Apple cinnamon weren't the best, because the apple chunks were too large. The scones didn't hold together. But the salted caramel sauce...
Strawberry were so moist that they molded after sitting too long (freeze those scones!), and I almost cried.
Lemon anything is delicious, so I'd say those are the safest and one of the easiest.
It's actually a hybrid of a recipe from Sugar Spun Run and Live Well Bake Often, but I improvise all the time. Don't be afraid to improvise and experiment. I mean, the worst...

#holidayvibes (NEW USERNAME CHALLENGE; FOOTNOTES!)


 holidays
are they marked by...

the decor that arrives on shelves too early?
obnoxious and classic songs and tacky lawn ornaments?
the overwhelming mass of corporate spending that floods the minds of the next generation?
family gatherings fraught with tension?
glittering boxes and bags that scream materialism?
family feuds that won't stay buried?
worn-out adults with baggage unseen who can't bear to face another holiday season?
threadbare sweaters and icy floors without a hint of cheer?
lonely apartments with layers of dust on the table as carols ring out below?
frustration because it seems that everyone but you celebrates Christmas?

no.
yes.
no.
yes.
but are those the only things?

holidays
are they marked by... 

a sigh of relief for the New Year?
aromas filled with memories—cinnamon and fir, musty mothballs and vanilla, pine scotch and peppermint?
scents with no name, no definition other than warmth and coziness?
home-cooked food?
store-bought delicacies and dishes that taste as good as...

dreams that bear the mark of love (FOOTNOTES!)


"Because dreams that bear the mark of love / are dreams that never die"

do you have any dreams that bear the mark of love, darling?
dreams are so dang elusive
like a mischievous faerie, or a pixie that beckons for you
just around the bend
but you reach the clearing where it promised to wait
and you are left with only the babbling brook for company
not that you mind, usually—she's quite friendly, saves you the need to reply as she chatters on
but that dream promised.

where did it go?

you call for it to return
so that you may seek to turn it into more than a dream
so that you may go from dreaming to doing
but as you peer around the bend and leave the brook behind
endless hills greet you
and no pixie or faerie in sight.
the dream has escaped once more,
into the recesses of your cavernous and gorgeous mind.

***
...

dreams that bear the mark of love (FOOTNOTES!)


"Because dreams that bear the mark of love / are dreams that never die"

do you have any dreams that bear the mark of love, darling?
dreams are so dang elusive
like a mischievous faerie, or a pixie that beckons for you
just around the bend
but you reach the clearing where it promised to wait
and you are left with only the babbling brook for company
not that you mind, usually—she's quite friendly, saves you the need to reply as she chatters on
but that dream promised.

where did it go?

you call for it to return
so that you may seek to turn it into more than a dream
so that you may go from dreaming to doing
but as you peer around the bend and leave the brook behind
endless hills greet you
and no pixie or faerie in sight.
the dream has escaped once more,
into the recesses of your cavernous and gorgeous mind.

***
...

You're Not the Only One (Random, Unedited Prompt Response)

    "Can you repeat the question?" I ask, wiping my palms on my leggings. Leslie doesn't lower her pistol. She looks me dead in the eye. She could probably kill me with that look.
    "I asked you which classmate tried to cut off your braids in Ms. Daden's second grade class," she repeats. She glances to my left at the clone. The fake me. 
    Oh, yeah. I have an evil clone. It's all cool. Except right now, because Leslie backed us into the corner of the alleyway between a tattoo parlor and a Dollar General. Obscured by another wall on the opposite side, I'm betting that it would be days, maybe weeks before anyone found a body here.
    look to my right, where I don't have to look at Kelsea #2 and i can pretend that there's not a gun trained at my head. I admire the ivy creeping up the red brick wall as...

fragile yet strong (relationship woes & joys)

"one look / dark room / meant just for you / time moved too fast / you played it back / buttons on a coat / light-hearted joke / no proof, not much / but you saw enough / small talk, he drives / coffee at midnight / the light reflects / the chain on your neck / he says, 'look up' / and your shoulders brush / no proof, one touch / but you felt enough"

"bring me some hope / by wandering into my mind / something to hold onto / morning, or day, or night / you were the light that is blinding me / you're the anchor that I tie to my brain / 'cause when it feels when I'm lost at sea / you're the song that I sing again and again / all the time, all the time / i think of you all the time"

"when all of your flaws and all of my...

fragile yet strong (relationship woes & joys)

"one look / dark room / meant just for you / time moved too fast / you played it back / buttons on a coat / light-hearted joke / no proof, not much / but you saw enough / small talk, he drives / coffee at midnight / the light reflects / the chain on your neck / he says, 'look up' / and your shoulders brush / no proof, one touch / but you felt enough"

"bring me some hope / by wandering into my mind / something to hold onto / morning, or day, or night / you were the light that is blinding me / you're the anchor that I tie to my brain / 'cause when it feels when I'm lost at sea / you're the song that I sing again and again / all the time, all the time / i think of you all the time"

"let's trace the steps of where we've been /...

fragile yet strong (relationship woes & joys)

"one look / dark room / meant just for you / time moved too fast / you played it back / buttons on a coat / light-hearted joke / no proof, not much / but you saw enough / small talk, he drives / coffee at midnight / the light reflects / the chain on your neck / he says, 'look up' / and your shoulders brush / no proof, one touch / but you felt enough"

"bring me some hope / by wandering into my mind / something to hold onto / morning, or day, or night / you were the light that is blinding me / you're the anchor that I tie to my brain / 'cause when it feels when I'm lost at sea / you're the song that I sing again and again / all the time, all the time / i think of you all the time"

"let's trace the steps of where we've been /...

Brooks & Tag of the Bookstore: Life Changes

    Dying rays of sun had begun to paint the sky in soft hues as Tag followed Brooks into his office. Brooks flicked on the light and sank into his swivel chair. Tag leaned against the desk, clutching the book.
    “Can I take the book home?” Tag pleaded. Brooks shook his head.
    “I already told you, no. I trust you, but this is an RUU book. I can’t take chances with these. The fact that I let you read them without buying is generous. Margaret would have hysterics if you took one of those home.” Tag couldn’t imagine Margaret having hysterics over anything, but he didn’t push the matter. An idea formed on his lips before it connected to his brain.
    “What if we stay the night?” he blurted out. “Like we did when we were younger.” Memories flashed into Tag’s mind of bookstore sleepovers with Dannon, Reid, and Brooks. Moving bookshelves so they could watch...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

The Things Which Can Happen in a Bookstore

    He was starving. Deprived. He needed books like a heroin junkie needed a hit.
    Never had he felt so desperate for black typeface on paper. For those written enchantments. For the inexplicable warmth that emanated from the pages. Reminding him who he was and giving life to dreams of who he might become.
    His legs changed from walking to jogging without consulting him first. White Converse thudded against leaf shadows on the sidewalk. Books for the Soul felt infinitely far. Would his paper-and-ink lifeline stretch—stretch—and—snap
    A quarter mile from his own house, and he seriously doubted he’d make it. It wasn’t his physical abilities that he questioned; he was a runner. His mental and emotional states, however, needed a swig of that life-giving water: books. And possibly an iced latte.
    Tag breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the bookstore's rough-cut wooden sign dangling in the distance. Rays of July morning sun glistened across the hand painted...

infinities & eternities: part III

Where written words go
is where speech cannot.
Sometimes.
Is it fear? Are we afraid to say these words—
Aloud?
Or perhaps no one will understand
When we try to speak
Too many words, they must be
Written
Words, they remain; words, they are eternal,
Seemingly infinite,
Although they may run out someday—
Not today.
Infinite for now,
Eternal until tomorrow.
 

infinities & eternities: part I

We scream into the darkness.
We hide from the light.
We shelter the deepest parts of ourselves.
We shed the flaky layers like onions.
We give the easiest fragments of ourselves.
We sequester the real pieces of ourselves.
We do what feels necessary to survive.
We do it for the cruel world.
We are frozen like the recesses of Siberia.
We are bitter like the purest cacao.
We are blazing like the Sahara dunes.
We are burning brightly like a meteor.
Once—maybe twice, thrice, rarely four but with luck—
Briefly—
Shining for a flashing infinity—
Brilliant, resplendent, split-second infinities.

infinities & eternities: part II

Some infinities are shorter than others,
Some infinities are longer than others,
Some infinities are infinite.
Some infinities are finite.
Some eternities are but a moment,
Some eternities last—well—an eternity.
Not all eternities are eternal—
Not all infinities are infinite.

Novel Writing Competition 2020

The Things Which Can Happen in a Bookstore

      He was starving. Deprived. He needed books like a heroin junkie needed a hit.
    Never had he felt so desperate for black typeface on paper. For those written enchantments. For the inexplicable warmth that emanated from the pages, reminding him who he was and giving life to dreams of who he might become.
    His legs changed from walking to jogging without consulting him first. White Converse thudded against leaf shadows on the sidewalk. Books for the Soul felt infinitely far. Would his paper-and-ink lifeline stretch—stretch—and—snap
    A quarter mile from his own house, and he seriously doubted he’d make it. It wasn’t his physical abilities that he questioned; he was a runner. His mental and emotional states, however, needed a swig of that life-giving water: books. And possibly an iced latte.
    Tag breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the bookstore's rough-cut wooden sign dangling in the distance. Rays of July morning sun glistened across the hand painted...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

The Things Which Can Happen in a Bookstore

    He was starving. Deprived. He needed books like a heroin junkie needed a hit.
    Never had he felt so desperate for black typeface on paper. For those written enchantments.
His legs changed from walking to jogging without consulting him first. White Converse thudded against leaf shadows on the sidewalk. Books for the Soul felt infinitely far. Would his paper-and-ink lifeline stretch—stretch—and—snap? 
    A quarter mile from his own house, and he seriously doubted he’d make it. It wasn’t his physical abilities that he questioned. He was a runner; his mental and emotional states, however, needed a swig of that life-giving water—books. And possibly an iced latte.
    Tag breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the bookstore's rough-cut wooden sign dangling in the distance. Rays of July morning sun shone across the hand painted letters. Brooks would know what he needed. Most days, he ventured into Books for the Soul with no specific title in mind, but Brooks Felmar—assistant...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

The Things Which Can Happen in a Bookstore

    He was starving. Deprived. He needed books like a heroin junkie needed a hit.
    Never had he felt so desperate for black typeface on paper. For those written enchantments.
    His legs changed from walking to jogging without consulting him first. White Converse thudded against leaf shadows on the sidewalk. Books for the Soul felt infinitely far. Would his paper-and-ink lifeline stretch—stretch—and—snap? 
    A quarter mile from his own house, and he seriously doubted whether he would make it. It wasn’t his physical abilities that he questioned. He was a runner; his mental and emotional states, however, needed a swig of that life-giving water—books. And possibly an iced almond milk latte.
    He saw the bookstore's rough-cut wooden sign dangling in the distance. Rays of July morning sun shone across the hand painted letters. Tag breathed a sigh of relief. Brooks would know what he needed. Most days, he ventured into Books for the Soul with no specific title in mind,...

almost-not-quite in love (random thought poetry)

meet me before school?
i want to talk to you in person

says the text.

arrive at school at the same time
smile as nerves threaten to take over
"so... what did you want to talk about?" 
i am definitely not shaking inside.

he says he's been thinking too much
too much time at home
and now he's doubting
the "expectations" i have for our "relationship"

"none," i say. "i'm good with where we're at. friends."
he says he thought he was taking things too slow
i shake my head and smile
leaves scatter as we walk across campus
i have this ridiculous urge
to put an arm around him or take his hand
but it's cold, and his hands are in his pockets, and there are COVID rules,
and didn't i just say i wanted to be friends?

his parents know that there's "something between us"
his dad asked whether they might need to set a place at dinner ...

oh. (footnotes!)

i didn't know
until just now
how would i have known?

outside
chilly air
thrill of adrenaline 
volleyball with topspin slams down
easy dig
smooth passes
flick of the wrist sets to the outside

busy all day
not bothering to check the news
for once
my house has had no news on today
only the start of college football 
for the pac-12
too bad that less and less channels
are available now
it will be a dark day
when pac-12 network is completely gone for us.

but i'm stalling
aren't i?
i discovered the future of my next four years 
by reading a comment on wtw
a google search confirmed it
"oh."
i said.
"oh."

i don't know what to think
one word can say so much
so i say,
"oh."

Novel Writing Competition 2020

The Things Which Can Happen in a Bookstore

    He was starving. Deprived. He needed books like a heroin junkie needed a hit. 
    Never had he felt so desperate for black typeface on paper. For those written enchantments.
    His legs changed from walking to jogging without consulting him first. His footsteps thudded against leaf shadows on the sidewalk. Books for the Soul felt miles away. How was he going to get there before his paper-and-ink lifeline was stretched—stretched—and—snap
    A quarter mile from his own house, and he seriously doubted whether he would make it. It wasn’t his physical abilities that he questioned. He was lean and fit; his mental and emotional states, however, needed a swig of life-giving water. 
    Otherwise known as books. And possibly an iced almond milk latte.
    He saw the bookstore's rough-cut wooden sign dangling in the distance. Rays of July morning sun shone across the hand painted letters. 
    Tag breathed a sigh of relief. Brooks would know what he needed. Most days, he...

one month

time
what is time?
is there such a constraint as time in this beautiful, broken world?

hours turn into a day
days turn into weeks without regard for human affairs
but sometimes, weeks pass like minutes
and years like days
and days like years

months.
we get twelve of them each year
before i knew it, one had passed
one month of wandering chaos and late nights
one month of words and profile changes
one month of finding a home
one month of becoming more me.

Things Which Can Happen in a Bookstore (Continuation of Ch. 1)

    “Hello?” His voice came out as a hesitant whisper. Dang it. The girl knelt behind a shelf. She clutched the leather-bound novel to her green hoodie like a lioness protecting her cubs. 
    “Hello.” Silence like tapioca pudding followed. Tag nodded at the book in her hands. 
    “We both had the same idea, I see,” he said in a poor attempt to dispel the awkwardness.  
    “Yes,” she said. Wow, she’s not going to make this easy, is she?Tag tried not to stare at her, but she was more striking than Brooks could have hoped to do justice. Tag considered himself a fair judge on physical attractiveness. He wouldn’t have called her pretty or cute, but her face was sharp and angular and elegant. Her hair looked like… well, it really was fire and sunlight amidst a waterfall of dark chocolate from Big Valley Confectionery. She twisted, shifting to a crouch, and as she did so, light from the window threw...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

The Things Which Can Happen in a Bookstore

 1 - in the bookstore with tag

    He was starving. Deprived. He needed books like a heroin junkie needed a hit. 
    Never had he felt so desperate for black typeface on paper. For those written enchantments. His legs changed from walking to jogging without consulting him first. Books for the Soul felt miles away. How was he going to get there before his paper-and-ink lifeline was stretched—stretched—and—snap
    A quarter mile away from his own house, and he seriously doubted whether he would make it. It wasn’t his physical abilities that he questioned. He was lean and fit and fast, a soccer and cross-country star who would begin his third and final varsity season in a few months; his mental and emotional states, however, needed a swig of life-giving water. 
    Otherwise known as books. And possibly an iced almond milk latte.
    He saw the quirky sign dangling in the distance—the rough-cut wooden slab that never hung straight, the hand...

#dreams of autumn (footnotes/message box—new username challenge!)

autumn, darlings—
ponder it
autumn
delightful word, isn't it?
autumn
delightful season, isn't it?

i think 
perhaps
definitely
i'm more in love with the idea of 
autumn
rather than the reality of
autumn

the aestheticism
the concepts
the lattes and tea and coffee
the cozy fireplace
the fireside chats
the beanies
the flannels
the dresses with boots
the crisp morning air
the amber-gold of the moon through haze
created by decaying leaves
the spices and smells
the crackling logs 
crunch, crunch of leaves.

the Books
musty aroma of worn pages
permeating the rough-hewn bookshelves
turn the yellowing pages by firelight
immerse yourself in the black ink of long-past plots

but who can forget the spectacular display
that God bestows upon nature?
dazzling—how can these hues be real?
    vermilion
        scarlet
            goldenrod
                mustard
                    amber
                        sepia
                            umber
                                flaming
                                    maroon
                                        dusk
                                            leaves.
how i...

#dreams of autumn (footnotes/message box—new username challenge!)

autumn
delightful word, isn't it?
autumn
delightful season, isn't it?

i think 
perhaps
i'm more in love with the idea of 
autumn
rather than the reality of
autumn

the aestheticism
the concepts
the lattes and tea and coffee
the cozy fireplace
the fireside chats
the beanies
the flannels
the dresses with boots

the Books
musty aroma of worn pages
permeating the rough-hewn bookshelves
turn the yellowing pages by firelight
immerse yourself in the black ink of long-past plots

but who can forget the spectacular display
that God bestows upon nature?
dazzling—how can these hues be real?
    vermilion
        scarlet
            goldenrod
                mustard
                    amber
                        sepia
                            umber
                                flaming
                                    maroon
                                        dusk
                                            leaves.
how i long to be on the east coast 
for autumn
the great smoky mountains
how can we be blessed to see such wonders?

unless you're colorblind
then autumn
is a veritable nightmare. ...

pull us ever tighter—but on both ends

let us be pulled
in both directions
the tension, when properly executed
shall make us as taut as a bowstring
but ever so slightly will we be swayed by opinions
leaning to one side
then the other
but never giving into
the extreme left
the extreme right
they pull us ever tighter
so that in our idyllic and convoluted lives
we may grasp that elusive shadow
balance.

There Is No Escape, My Dear (updated)

A whisper of wind rattles the shadows
Every corner is shrouded in a blackness like ink
Not a soul for miles
Just us, but—
what was that?
Nothing, my dear.

Let us retire for the evening,
Ensconced in our room
Is that timidity in your step?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Do not worry, my dear.

Shivering from the icy gales,
Autumn turns to winter
Frost strokes the leaves—they wither and dissipate on their descent into nothingness
Winter's finest kiss—
A kiss of death.
I shall bestow a winter's kiss upon you, my dear.

Aching in your soul for the vibrant days of autumn,
But winter is far more charming.
Chills skittering down your spine?
Merely a draft from the window,
Nothing more, my dear.

Close the door—don't mind the screeches
Only rusting hinges,
We cannot allow the unwanted to seep in.
Of course I refer to the wintery winds, my dear.

Lay yourself down to sleep, still and silent,
Me? No,...

cheers! here's to you and here's to me (FOOTNOTES!)

thank you

for the 50 followers

and all of the wondrous, inspiring, thoughtful, hasty, contemplative, honest

feedback

it's hard to believe but

i don't feel like the newcomer 

anymore.


i have said before

that i'm here for you, but

i'm also here for me

you know?

i hope that i bring you something that makes you feel

something good or inspiring or funny or thought-provoking or mildly intriguing

but i also do this

for myself

because i want to.


all the conversations

fandom goodness

please, don't hesitate to ask

about a book 

i don't watch many movies or television but

m*a*s*h is my all-time favorite

but i won't say no to golden girls or the wonder years or all in the family or the librarians

or liv and maddie or girl meets world or jessie

i'll fangirl anytime.


it's easy to fall prey

to the allure of numbers

of likes and followers

of comments and notifications

i myself am terribly...

cheers! here's to you and here's to me (FOOTNOTES!)

thank you

for the 50 followers

and all of the wondrous, inspiring, thoughtful, hasty, contemplative, honest

feedback

it's hard to believe but

i don't feel like the newcomer 

anymore.


i have said before

that i'm here for you, but

i'm also here for me

you know?

i hope that i bring you something that makes you feel

something good or inspiring or funny or thought-provoking or mildly intriguing

but i also do this

for myself

because i want to.


all the conversations

fandom goodness

please, don't hesitate to ask

about a book 

i don't watch many movies or television but

m*a*s*h is my all-time favorite

but i won't say no to golden girls or the wonder years or all in the family or the librarians

or liv and maddie or girl meets world or jessie

i'll fangirl anytime.


it's easy to fall prey

to the allure of numbers

of likes and followers

of comments and notifications

i myself am terribly...

There Is No Escape, My Dear (updated)

A whisper of wind rattles the shadows
Every corner is shrouded in a blackness like ink
Not a soul for miles
Just us, but—
what was that?
Nothing, my dear.

Let us retire for the evening,
Ensconced in our room
Is that timidity in your step?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Do not worry, my dear.

Shivering from the icy gales,
Autumn turns to winter
Frost caresses the leaves—they wither on their descent into nothingness
Winter's finest kiss.
I might bestow a winter's kiss upon you, my dear.

Aching in your soul for the vibrant days of autumn,
But winter is far more charming.
Chills skittering down your spine?
Merely a draft from the window,
Nothing more, my dear.

Close the door, don't mind the screeches
Only rusting hinges,
We cannot allow anything unwanted to seep in.
Of course I refer to the wintery winds, my dear.

Lay yourself down to sleep
Me? No, I tire not this fine evening.
Let me...

Letter 2: Lost Letters of Illea

Our darling Celeste,
    Because we were so unceremoniously thrown out of the palace, we didn’t get to say goodbye. There were so many things we wanted to say to you. You looked stunning, as usual, at every moment. You get it from me (your mother). Your father thinks it’s him, though. I can hardly argue with that.

    We always knew you were destined for fame and glory, and this is as good as it gets. Almost. You may not be the princess yet, but we know you will be. How could Prince Maxon not choose you? You’re everything that any man could dream of having as his own. We groomed you well. We only hope that you’ll obey your training.

    Honestly, we can’t see why he’s bothered to even keep the other girls around. Sure, the Three is polite, but she wouldn’t make half the wife and queen you would. The blonde—Natalia, or something—is so fragile, we...

Letter 1: Lost Letters of Illea (inspired by Rohan's Defender and Ghoulgirl2020)

My dearest Maxon,
    Perhaps this is not something I should be saying—or writing, for that matter—but I've never been more proud of you than when you stood up to your father today. I thought I could not be more proud when you made the announcement to provide food for the lower castes, but today...
    I know Clarkson is hard on you. But I also know he wants what's best for you. He wants you to develop into an even greater king than himself. Yet I sense that sometimes, he pushes you further than you're ready to take. He does what he does because he loves you, Max, but you have so much of his fierce courage. You are both strong men in your own right, and those personalities are bound to clash. 
    I'm not saying that the kind of disrespect you displayed today should have been seen by the Elite or the producers. Nor...

That Sort of Person

The Kind of Person...

Miss Alencia Clove Fulbrook is the kind of girl who would deliberately bestow a baroness-level curtsy on a duchess in order to spark political tension and advance an agenda, while wearing an outrageously feathered hat to provoke further offense and doling out barbed remarks behind a lovely smile.

Mr. Nicholas Leonardo Hadsworth is the kind of gentleman who doesn't hesitate to crack a joke, flirt, or attempt to charm a lady, but would never overstep the bounds of polite society without his heart and soul committed to the lady.

Miss Caroline Penelope Wolhurst is the kind of girl who would lie about her age and her social standing to follow a plan, then abandon the plan and charge into action, probably in men's clothing and wielding an iron rod while darting about randomly and confusing everyone, including her allies.

Mr. Esau Caldegrove is the kind of gentleman who makes every female within twenty years of his age swoon and stutter,...

Letter 1: Lost Letters of Illea (inspired by Rohan's Defender and Ghoulgirl2020)

My dearest Maxon,
    This is not something I should be saying—writing, I mean—but I've never been more proud of you than when you stood up to your father today. I thought I could not be more proud when you made the announcement to provide food for the lower castes, but today...
    I know Clarkson is hard on you. But I also know he wants what's best for you. He wants you to develop into an even greater king than himself. Yet I sense that sometimes, he pushes you further than you're ready to take. He does what he does because he loves you, Max, but you have so much of his fierce courage. You are both strong men in your own right, and those personalities are bound to clash. 
    I'm not saying that the kind of disrespect you displayed today should have been seen by the Elite or the producers. Nor am I saying...

Godly Severed Heads Floating in Kiddie Pools (A Joint Task Force Meeting, Part 1)

SPOILER ALERT! If you have not read the Magnus Chase trilogy, the Kane Chronicles, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Heroes of Olympus, and Trials of Apollo, you may receive spoilers. You can still read and enjoy—just remember, I warned you. ALSO, it may not make a lot of sense if you don't have the context from MAGNUS CHASE. In fact, it won't make any sense. 


MIMIR
   

    "I don't see why you need your kiddie pool in the middle of a Chick-Fil-A parking lot," grumbled Blitzen as he hauled a duck-printed blow-up pool past a dented pickup. Behind him, Hearthstone's nimble fingers moved rapidly. Mimir sighed. 
    "You promised not to ask questions, Blitzen," Mimir warned in a sing-song voice. Hearthstone looked ready to kick over Mimir's fishbowl, but he settled for a few hand gestures that weren't native to ASL.
    "It wasn't a question, it was a complaint." Blitzen began filling the kiddie pool with...

Godly Severed Heads Floating in Kiddie Pools (A Joint Task Force Meeting, Part 1)

SPOILER ALERT! If you have not read the Magnus Chase trilogy, the Kane Chronicles, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Heroes of Olympus, and Trials of Apollo, you may receive spoilers. You can still read and enjoy—just remember, I warned you.


MIMIR
   

    "I don't see why you need your kiddie pool in the middle of a Chick-Fil-A parking lot," grumbled Blitzen as he hauled a duck-printed blow-up pool past a dented pickup. Behind him, Hearthstone's nimble fingers moved rapidly. Mimir sighed. 
    "You promised not to ask questions, Blitzen," Mimir warned in a sing-song voice. Hearthstone looked ready to kick over Mimir's fishbowl, but he settled for a few hand gestures that weren't native to ASL.
    "It wasn't a question, it was a complaint." Blitzen began filling the kiddie pool with a hose from Chick-Fil-A's gardening system. 
    "No inquiries or attempts for information whatsoever. And you can tell your elf exactly where to shove...

tell me, darling, is there anything that can be agreed upon in this world?

tell me, darling,
do you ever wonder 
who can truly be right
and who can truly be wrong?

when you are convinced without a doubt
when you seen the proof
when the evidence is stark and bold before your eyes
when you have been visited by an angel or a spirit

but so was the other person
across the way
contradicting all that you say
and they speak of revelations
of the same evidence
of proof beyond reasonable doubt
whatever reasonable means these days

sometimes
many times
it's a matter of
p
 e
  r
   s
    p
     e
      c
       t
        i
         v

          e 

but other times—
other times, how can there be any argument, any
doubt?

yet it exists
it lingers for years
maybe it roars in your ears
doubting everything

just one voice of...

untitled? because i feel like it (aka procrastination)

you probably haven't noticed but
i've been active on WtW for a over an hour and
that was an hour i should have been
doing homework

so
i should get on with that
and be glad that i can't access WtW from my school-issued chromebook
even though this place has become quite tangible and important to me

so this is me
still procrastinating
as i translate spanish video clips
for school
using google translate
and cringing at the cheesy videos

but at least we get to watch alvaro soler music videos
he looks like thomas rhett
anyone ever noticed?

i'm rambling at this point
definitely procrastinating, then
i don't have that much work today, really
i hardly ever procrastinate
at least, never to a dangerous point
it's not even noon!

i always ramble, though
don't you know?
rambling and overwriting and talks too much and talks too fast,
that could be my official description

i should have had school today ...

Inventory

Items Hidden on the Person of a Young British Lady in 1875 in the Espionage Business

Miss Alencia Clove Fulbrook. Age 19. Currently resides in a derelict hotel in an alternate imagining of London, England as an initiate of an espionage society dedicated to preserving the fae bloodlines, bringing faefolk back to genetic purity, and halting interbreeding between humans and faefolk.

Things one would find on her person or in her reticule (which hangs from her chatelaine as well):

Spools of red, blue, white, and green thread of various widths and durability (reticule)

Tarnished sewing scissors, hanging from her chatelaine

A small and elegant handgun inlaid with dark wood, somewhere in the region of her bustle

Two tiny ink pots in black and green; the green one is labeled 'caution: do not touch' (reticule)

Two fountain pens and a stick of graphite; one pen has tiny blue and gray feathers glued hastily to the top in a fan shape (reticule)

A delicate beaded fan, with floral patterns painted on and a leather guard across the blades...

untitled? because i feel like it (aka procrastination)

you probably haven't noticed but
i've been active on WtW for a over an hour and
that was an hour i should have been
doing homework

so
i should get on with that
and be glad that i can't access WtW from my school-issued chromebook
even though this place has become quite tangible and important to me

so this is me
still procrastinating
as i translate spanish video clips
for school
using google translate
and cringing at the cheesy videos

but at least we get to watch alvaro soler music videos
he looks like thomas rhett
anyone ever noticed?

i'm rambling at this point
definitely procrastinating, then
i don't have that much work today, really
i hardly ever procrastinate
at least, never to a dangerous point
it's not even noon!

i always ramble, though
don't you know?
rambling and overwriting and talks too much and talks too fast,
that could be my official description

i should have had school today ...

The Same Way

All these people.
People I’ve laughed with.
People I’ve yelled at, talked about in annoyance. Rolled my eyes about.
People I’ve talked with, and they seemed happy. Joyful, even.
People I’ve judged wrongly.

I’ll never look at them the same way again.

Their stories, captured in six words, tell me everything and nothing.
For all I know I still know nothing. 
But it’s a different kind of nothing now.

I’ll never look at them the same way again.

They brush it off, but this is only a scratch on the surface.
Their humor, their antics- all a facade for what they hide. Have to hide.
They get in trouble, run their mouths, and talk trash. All a disguise that’s easier to wear.

I’ll never look at them the same way again. 

So many secrets, such pain, such loss.
A cloud over their lives of which I never felt the shadow or the rain.
Hardships befall all, but they appeared to...

You Have One Minute to Explain What You're Doing Here (version 2)

    "You have one minute to explain what you're doing here, then I'm kicking you off my property," growls a tall, solid man as he stalks toward Ivan. He stops a few feet away next to his rusting 1987 Chevrolet. A grin slides across Ivan's face. 
    "Mikey, Mikey. Still hung up on the past?" Ivan can't help but tease him. Mikey glares and adjusts his Crimson Tide ball cap.
    "Call me that again and you'll get a boot in your soft spot. Thirty seconds," he says, folding his arms across a dusty t-shirt. He leans against his pickup. Any other man would be intimidated by Mikey's stature and attitude. But Ivan is not so easily cowed.
    "Your ex-girlfriend sends her regards. And she made you these scones," he says cheerfully, as if Mikey hadn't threatened him just a few seconds before.
    Hesitantly, Mikey steps away from the pickup truck. He peers at...

infinities & eternities: part I

We scream into the darkness.
We hide from the light.
We shelter the deepest parts of ourselves.
We shed the flaky layers like onions.
We give the easiest fragments of ourselves.
We sequester the real pieces of ourselves.
We display a shimmering facade as 
We are cracking, fracturing, shattering inside.
We do what feels necessary to survive.
We do it for the cruel world.
We are frozen like the recesses of Siberia.
We are bitter like the purest cacao.
We are blazing like the Sahara dunes.
We are burning brightly like a meteor.
Once—maybe twice, thrice, rarely four but with luck—
Briefly—
Shining for a flashing infinity—
Brilliant, resplendent, split-second infinities.

Heart Places

two places i long for

there are two places
that i find myself longing for
a place that exists in real life
and a place i want to exist in a place other than my head, but in my hometown

my high school gym, its floor bright and pale like hickory
vast lights beaming down
squeak of volleyball shoes against the wax
now covered in dust
too wide-open, too empty
chatter used to fill the corners as we pulled knee pads and ankle braces out of backpacks
lace up
the rhythmic thuds of warming up
hits going awry
peppering, why do they call it that?
laughing, smiling, wondering what she's thinking of me
does she judge me because i'm not one of them?
we on the outside know who we are
but it still feels like home.

tournaments were the best, tournaments on our home turf
arrive before sunrise, wrapped in blankets with a decaf coffee in hand 
sweats and birkenstocks and hoodies and backpacks ...

All Talk

You have one minute to explain what you're doing here.

    You have one minute to explain what you're doing here, then I'm kicking you off my property.
    Mikey, Mikey. Still hung up on the past?
    Call me that again and you'll get a boot in your soft spot. Thirty seconds.
    Your ex-girlfriend sends her regards. And she made you these scones.
    A
pple with a jar of salted caramel sauce to go with?
    You know it.
    That gets you in the door. Come on. And don't touch my scones. So, why have you been in contact with Laney?
    She's my friend.
    
Friend. Right. If she's just your friend, then I'm your real brother.
    Are you still not over that? And watch what you imply.
    
I'll never be "over that," and I can imply anything I want.
    ​I didn't choose to lie to you. Blame Ma.
    You still went along with it! Hiding the...

YOU in threes

Overwriting Again: Me in Threes

Three quirks or idiosyncrasies:
  • I tug on my earlobes when I want something to do with my hands, which may be related to "Tugging my ear. Whenever" from The Selection by Kiera Cass. I'm not sure.
  • If you hear me singing in the shower, there's a 90% chance it's a Taylor Swift song.
  • I run an analysis on at least half the people I see and all the people I meet. From clothes, to looks, to expressions, to posture, to speech and how they interact with others (if possible). It's *mostly* objective. I notice cute clothes and cute guys frequently, but I forget a good percentage of them in days.
Three communities to which you belong (these can be unusual):
  • The community of athletic nerds, whoever you are! (Volleyball and long-distance running in track are my two sports, but I've played softball, soccer, cross-country, and basketball. VB is my all-time favorite sport, and it's been a rough journey to get...

I Am No One's Hero (Part IV)

Now what? It’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. What was I thinking? It’s comical. 
A laugh bubbles up, a laugh that has wanted to escape for years. 
Here I am in a 1975 pickup truck, waiting outside the gate of my best friend’s family ranch, who I last saw about 70 years ago before he went off to be filled with bullet holes.
Praying his younger sister is still there, having driven 1581 miles for… for what? 

But the gate starts to open, slowly, and he looks up to heaven. “Thank you,” he says to God.
He was raised in a time where belief and trust in God was simply the way life was.
Panic seizes him; what if the McCranes do not live here anymore? But beneath a dying tree… 
Eleanor Mary McCrane-Willard stands, eyebrows raised, arms crosses, mouth upturned.
Stepping out, he hobbles uncertainly toward her. “That tree used to be alive,” he notes.

“So did you.” Her tongue is...

I Am No One's Hero (Part III)

Scenery so beautiful he wants to cry, through Montana, Idaho, Utah, and finally, Arizona.
He hasn’t seen new scenery in almost seventy years. 
Red rock, mountains, aspens, fir, deep waters, Ponderosa, sagebrush, sand, cacti, true mountain deserts.
In Provo a shudder runs through him. All the way to Kanab he feels strange. 
When he passes near Lake Powell, his knuckles turn white. Flagstaff has him sweating. 

And there is Prescott, AZ. So large, it’s a veritable city—of course it’s grown. What did he expect? 
Coughs wrack his body at the city limits, where the green and white population sign blows him away.
What if Eleanor McCrane is gone? What if the McCranes sold that hundred-and-fifty year old ranch?
Pulling over, breathing slow, closing his eyes, recalling the address stamped on every childhood memory
Red Chevrolet rattles, protests (like his joints) but it gets him there. To the brand-new entrance.

Different sign, white picket fence, new wood, golden light bulbs. 
But...

I Am No One's Hero (Part II)

Flicking on the television, gunshots explode
Echoing from speakers—he cannot breathe, think, move
Black and white figures; but the picture is too clear
Schindler’s List, he sees on the banner across the screen
The mother, the daughter—red coat, a different war—he can move once more.

He changes channels—a jewelry infomercial—damage is done
“Thomas,” he breathes. Wishes to rescind the words instantly, but
Maybe Eleanor... just maybe, she’ll still be, a foolish hope... 
For a whole day and a half he doesn’t know what his hands do, where his feet take him
Until they open the door of and step into a 45 years young pickup. 

Where am I going? He knows exactly where he’s going.
Alberta is a long way from Arizona. Red Deer to Prescott.
1581 miles. He drives. He stops only as needed; everywhere, people eye him as if he’s on his last legs.
They’re right, he thinks with a grim smile.
 

I Am No One's Hero (Part I)

Dark window and fading light
He steps outside; his bones creak in time with the porch
Sun waits and sun sets
Chill already sweeps the air.
In Arizona, he thinks
It was never this cold—still summer!
He wrenches his heart and thoughts out of 1945
Out of a past that shone until—was it 1950? Yes. Summer.
“I made my choice,” aloud, he says
To the dying horizon and his dying husk of a body
He hates, hates it
Pardons, forgiveness, guilt, bullets, young, inexcusable, duty, loyalty, honor, patriot, hero
“I am no one’s hero.”
One week is all it takes. In two more he will have seen ninety years on this planet.
A call from his far-away nosy neighbor, but she’s hardly a friend
“Why don’t you have some family over for your birthday?”
You’re lonely, she means. Why are you all alone?
She is exactly right. But alone is what he deserved. Deserves.


 

I Am No One's Hero (Part I)

Dark window and fading light
He steps outside; his bones creak in time with the porch
Sun waits and sun sets
Chill already sweeps the air.
In Arizona, he thinks
It was never this cold—still summer!
He wrenches his heart and thoughts out of 1945
Out of a past that shone until—was it 1950? Yes. Summer.
“I made my choice,” aloud, he says
To the dying horizon and his dying husk of a body
He hates, hates it
Pardons, forgiveness, guilt, bullets, young, inexcusable, duty, loyalty, honor, patriot, hero
“I am no one’s hero.”
One week is all it takes. In two more he will have seen ninety years on this planet.
A call from his far-away nosy neighbor, but she’s hardly a friend
“Why don’t you have some family over for your birthday?”
You’re lonely, she means. Why are you all alone?
She is exactly right. But alone is what he deserved. Deserves.


 

Because I'm Still Overwriting

    In school, I always found it difficult to write narratives about myself. I don't know exactly why, because now, I could talk about myself all day. I wager most of us could, because we are self-centered, wonderful, flawed human beings. Maybe it's because the prompts I faced in elementary and middle school were like, "Write about a time when you got injured," or "Write about a time you helped someone." The second was the hardest for me—not because I had never helped someone, but because I just. Couldn't. Think. Of. Anything. I ended up asking my parents and partially fabricating a story about helping a baby quail, which did happen. I just don't remember it. My difficulty in this kind of writing might have been due to my age—in sixth grade, how many of us know much about themselves and what they'd really like to do? I didn't. I mean, I was fairly certain I wanted to be...

infinities & eternities: part V

Emotion is not infinite.
Eventually
The last drips in our well dissipate.
Drained, exhausted—who hasn’t felt the burden?
The burden of mental and emotional weariness.
Laughter is not infinite,
Smiles are not infinite,
Passion is not infinite,
Happiness is not infinite, but—
Fear and doubt are not infinite either,
Anxiety and exhaustion are not infinite,
Pain and loss are not infinite. 
What can be infinite in this lovely, broken world?
Joy can be infinite,
Peace can be infinite,
Hope can be infinite,
Love can be infinite.
The kind of joy—
Peace—
Hope—
Love—
That comes from Him and only Him.
God is infinite. God is eternal.




 

infinities & eternities: part IV

We arrived at the cusp of eternal.
Eager to move along,
Begging to cross the precipice.
But not all—no, a few hung back.
Terror has taught them better,
Blindly charging into eternity?
No. But the others, they are ready.
To fall into the new world.
And so we went.
Crashing, plummeting, free-falling.
Seeing the whole world as we fell.
What could have been and is to come.
 

infinities & eternities: part III

Where written words go
is where speech cannot.
Sometimes.
Is it fear? Are we afraid to say these words—
Aloud?
Or perhaps no one will understand
When we try to speak
Too many words, they must be
Written
Words, they remain; words, they are eternal,
Seems infinite,
Although they may run out someday—
Not today.
Infinite for now,
Eternal until tomorrow.
 

infinities & eternities: part I

We scream into the darkness.
We hide from the light.
We shelter the deepest parts of ourselves.
We shed the flaky layers like onions.
We give the easiest fragments of ourselves.
We sequester the real pieces of ourselves.
We do what feels necessary to survive.
We do it for the cruel world.
We are frozen like the recesses of Siberia.
We are bitter like the purest cacao.
We are blazing like the Sahara dunes.
We are burning brightly like a meteor.
Once—maybe twice, thrice, rarely four but with luck—
Briefly—
Shining for a flashing infinity—
Brilliant, resplendent, split-second infinities.

Notes on Traversing Space and Time

    As soon I near the ground, I tuck and roll onto my side. You’re not so lucky. You land in a hard crouch, your knees popping as they absorb the shock. I offer a hand, but you hop to your feet without help. We brush off the pine needles and debris.
    “So, where are we this time?” you ask, surveying the landscape. “Lots of evergreens, but that could be half the world.”
    “When are we,” I correct. Cedars, pines, and firs tower over us; a few wildflowers, dogwoods, and grasses scatter the forest floor. It’s obvious we’re in a forest, somewhere mountainous. 
    “Early spring?” I glance sideways at you. You shake your head.
 “Late spring, early summer, more like it. If we’re in the mountains, seasons come later. Maybe May.” I nod, satisfied. Even though when is more important, getting oriented to where is a bit of a relief, like brushing your teeth after dinner.
  ...

infinities & eternities: part II

Some infinities are shorter than others,
Some infinities are longer than others,
Some infinities are infinite.
Some infinities are finite.
Some eternities are but a moment,
Some eternities last—well—an eternity.
Not all eternities are eternal—
Not all infinities are infinite.

This Poem Has No Deep Meaning

This Poem has no deep Meaning.
So don’t try to puzzle out what I’m saying, 
Don’t attempt to glean knowledge from between the lines.
When you’re sitting in English, ruminating not on the poem, but
Rather on what forces of the universe played hell to land you there,
Don’t look for hidden clues.
They are not there—actually, they’re over here!
I’m messing with you; I wonder if the poets of old did that too.
Some of my poems, of course, have the depth of the Mariana Trench,
Philosophical, desperate, curious—but most of all,
I love the way words string together, so beautifully, whether 
Chaotic and whirling, delicate or haunting, peaceful or fiery—
Words are my haven, my passion. That’s all.
But this poem—well, perhaps it does have some meaning after all.

hands

Time heals all wounds,
They say,
And so far, 
They’ve been right.
Anger and sadness,
Bitterness and longing
All in a few days,
Weeks,
Months,
Years,
work. 
A little thorn
Snagged my thoughts,
What if there comes a time when
Time’s slow, steady hands are not enough?
Months pass and it’s all the same mess,
Years try their hardest
In vain.
Until a drop of sense drops down from heaven, 
And truth dawns like the glowing dawn,
That only His hands will hold us forever
That only His grace can be sufficient,
For His great power
Is perfected in this weakness.
So vulnerable—a thin sapling alone in a forest.
So reachable, teachable—firm in His grasp.
To stay open to this love and peace,
Renewal of life and joy,
For His goodness makes itself known,
Always.

oh, words!

Words—
We weave ‘em into stories
Stories we want, desperately,
To have a twinkle of reality.

Words—
We make them come alive
Shining like the sun.

Words— 
We twist and glorify.

Words—
The flames that warm our hungry souls
When we wonder where hope
Has slunk away to.

Words—
The foundation of our hearts and hopes
Our thoughts and restless spirits.

Words—
Double-edged swords and piercing arrows
Or warm gifts of life and love.


 

The Same Way

All these people.
People I’ve laughed with.
People I’ve yelled at, talked about in annoyance. Rolled my eyes about.
People I’ve talked with, and they seemed happy. Joyful, even.
People I’ve judged wrongly.

I’ll never look at them the same way again.

Their stories, captured in six words, tell me everything and nothing.
For all I know I still know nothing. 
But it’s a different kind of nothing now.

I’ll never look at them the same way again.

They brush it off, but this is only a scratch on the surface.
Their humor, their antics- all a facade for what they hide. Have to hide.
They get in trouble, run their mouths, and talk trash. All a disguise that’s easier to wear.

I’ll never look at them the same way again. 

So many secrets, such pain, such loss.
A cloud over their lives of which I never felt the shadow or the rain.
Hardships befall all, but they appeared to...

A Book Is a Look

A book is like a look.
They both end with the same three letters. 
They rhyme. How pleasing.
But, a book is also like a look
Because a book
IS a look. 
A book is a look
Into new worlds
A book is a look
Into the magic of imagination.
A book is a look
At the power of creativity.
A book is a look
At unexpected journeys and unexpected friends.
A book is a look 
At our never-ending need for stories.
A book is a look
At the insatiable, unquenchable, forever-desirable:
Beauty. Darkness. Light. Love. Hope. Fear. Joy. Tears. Truth. Lies.