Message from Writer

Thank you so much for 90+ followers!!

Est. March 4, 2021

If you want a peer review, just ask :)
Please, please, please feel free to give constructive criticism!! I thrive on it. I want to improve!

Current word count (watch this go down tomorrow once I realize I hate something I've written XD): 15 257

Also for the coming like twenty days, I am going to either take a really long time replying or not be able to reply at all cause it's Ramadan! I will still write but replying time will be an all-time high. So don't think I'm ignoring you, I love talking to all of you! <3

Published Work

You can see everything from up there

Nothing made me cry faster than the beauty of (true) peace.
My heart aches with a wondrous thrum of love.
The mind that is never silent is silent.
I know you were going to run to me;
but I couldn't wait;
so I grabbed a bike and cycled till my legs were going to fall off;
then when they dropped like a melted lolly;
I flipped upside down to continue peddling;
my arms throbbed and the cyclical nature of my injury continued;
until I lay before you naked;
yet you still took me in your arms;
lifting me to the top of the tree.
That was when I knew;
everybody was wrong;
you are real.

April Grab Bag


I think I was the strongest when I was 12.

See, I live in Canada and get lots of that fluffy, pure, free toy around wintertime: snow. At my elementary school, we had both a tarmac play area as well as a big soccer field and in the winter, we would have plows come and clean the tarmac. That snow would pile up at the edge of the field and there all the children would kick at the snow for no reason other than machismo. One day I spent the recess with a girl I normally didn't and we needed someone to break this big ice chunk. She kicked it down hard, nobody, not even a boy could do it, but she did. I remember my little weasel self asking her how she was so strong and she told me she did taekwondo. 

I was a little feminist, the girl who raised her hand to help the teacher carry chairs...

I love (a hallucination)

His eyes contain more nightmares than the lowest caverns of Earth;
and his hair more curves than the ocean at night;
he should be my worst fear but-
his hand is warm to the touch, like fresh cookies that have been cooling for a few minutes;
and his soft breath like a fall breeze makes my heart beat faster, faster, faster
until suddenly,
I can’t breathe,
and just like an angel in disguise,
he’s gone without a trace,
leaving only my 
b r o k e n
heart behind.

Boring essay

“So as you can see, my great grandfather was interested in acquiring fine art. He liked impressionism, I prefer surrealism but oh well, now I have both.” Ms. Ruse said as she let out a booming laugh from her tiny body clothed in black silk and heavy diamonds. The grand clock in the corner came to life, gears grinding against each other signaling a new hour.
“Come now Elias, it’s teatime.”
Her sharp voice echoed around the hall, disturbing the tranquil scenes lining the walls. Elias followed Ms. Ruse out of the gallery into her tea room and took part in light conversation until the maid came with tea. Seated in an old bare chair, the wood pressed on his tailbone. It was more elegant from a distance.
“Oh, finally Gertrude, come on, hurry, I am feeling in such a daze right now.” Ms. Ruse’s hand flew to her face in feigned lightheadedness. Behind her was a window hidden by...

Drowning in a sea of meaning

Walking along the rough path, the honking of cars and taxis fades away as my mind focuses elsewhere. A pedestrian on my left bumps into me, pushing my shoulder backward; the same happens on my right. Again and again, I am pushed backward through a sea of meaning and I am drowning. Nobody gifted me a lifejacket and there's no life ring being tossed out to me. No hope for my hands to grab at and get burnt on as I pull at the fiber strands with urgency. The normal aroma of pastries doused in cinnamon and heat is replaced by the pungent smell of rotting meat by the butchers in front of me. With pig blood-covered hands, a man exits the building to discard some unnecessary parts of an animal. I see an eye-poking out of the clear plastic bag, staring at me, screaming for me. Head pounding like the swaying pendulum of the clock standing in front of...

Mist of Life

Fashioned from a bone
Should I long for the other part of the cage?
Or should I take advantage of what time I have?
Wearing flouncy open dresses of desire
And dark restricting jeans of revenge
But if I stretch out my arms to grab your beating heart
And rip mine in a sacrificial routine
To give up all evil, negating yours
My thoughts swirl in a grey fog out of my brain
Pushing out of my eyes and ears- never my cracked mouth
Losing all sense of logic and emotion
Jumping at them in an attempt to remain whole, I drop
When we join, your skeleton stabs my flesh
Drawing red liquid to meet your own
Our souls intertwine but
Pathogens crawl from your restricting role
And the sun's eternal waltz with the moon
Slowly fosters the disease
Our stars stumble and drift in the sea of despair
Yellow turns to red and my eyes clouds over

Home’s Essence

120 Cherry Road

Home is 120 Cherry Road.
It's my grandparents' house that's being trapped in a permanent bear hug with the houses beside it.
My extended family flows in and out like a waterfall.
It's the big banner saying "Welcome Home" when we visit for the summer.
The delicious pizza from the place down the street, toppings so plentiful they fall off as I bring the piping slice to my mouth- I've never had pizza like that anywhere else.
It's running into my grandparents' open arms at the airport and falling asleep in the car till I feel that familiar lull in the movement. 
The constant rain as necessary to me as food and the zooming cars I can't seem to sleep without.
Hairspray and makeup remover filling my nostrils when I enter my aunt's room and my grandfathers' special cologne that I inhale in his warm embrace.
My grandmother's sweet flowery perfume and elegant clothes. Her food I thought I would...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

It Hurts

Two-thirds of hate crimes go unreported Statistics Canada says.
And hate crime does not include one-time hate words, it is only when the hate becomes visible to the naked eye that it is deemed crime. It is only when we can see the consequences of actions that something becomes illegal because "one word doesn't hurt". But I've never forgotten that day when someone called me a Jihadist to my face or how I went to bed crying, thinking someone was going to come hurt me and call me scum for believing. And shoot bullets to take lives, in the place we shoot prayers of love. And throw acid on my face to try to cleanse my soul but little would they know I cleanse five times a day because cleanliness is half of a faith that is living, breathing, and fueling me to say, 
It hurts
Knowing that what I am will stop others from seeing who I am. Never...


There is no greater idolater than a writer to his words.

Dear White People (see footnotes)

Dear White People,

Stop laughing over how racist your family is to your POC friends. It doesn't make us think you're more accepting- if anything it makes us question why you don't say anything. Saying how you had to tell your father not to say the n-word on thanksgiving dinner doesn't make us feel loved but remind us of how hated we are. And stop saying that the discussion of who should use the n-word is controversial- it's not. Nobody except Black people should say it (personally, I don't think anyone should say it but that's because I don't believe anyone should swear).

Stop looking at us when the teacher starts talking about slavery- it's weird. Especially if we're not Black and have no experience with it. You guys will literally stare at anyone with an ounce of melanin.

Stop comparing your tan to ours and saying how dark you've gotten. It's really odd and makes us feel like outsiders.


A feeling beyond feelings
that tears one's heart in two
while fostering it to be
as enlarged as an elephant's

and a stabbing pain
transcends reason
and comprehension
leaving one
and broken
in halves 
to a dream of their whole
that just slips through their 
outstretched fingers
grasping at salty hope
and bitter logic

and their ribs
while the 
but all they want is 
one last look


He is everything I could have wanted
everything I could have asked for

He's crazy smart- way smarter than me 
Literally looks like a young Shawn Mendes- even my friends said so!
He's caring and friendly
Pro woman's rights! (He likes AOC!!)
Beautiful smile
Adorable laugh
Floofy hair with loose curls that's that *squeal* perfect length
Share same interests

Slightly mentioned I write
A week later when I started my writing account he followed me (he follows like 400 people and has 1000 followers)
And liked and commented on my first post (first comment, applause emoji)

Older! -only by a year, don't freak

Oh, but did I mention he goes to another school- in my school district but not region
And we've met like 3 times
On Zoom
with other people

So why have I fallen so hard?


Shoes squeak
soles bounce

Time runs
Clocks circle 

Gun raises
Air penetrated

Dust floats
Cloud forms


Rain patters
on windowsills
“You matters”
Papa told the mills

Clothes with burrs
A phlegm cough
With a drunken slur
He sent the boys off

“Please no
I can do more”
“Watch a show?
Run to shore?

“No you will stay
Forever. You’re worth
nothing, now lay
that picnic on earth.”

I wilt like flowers
without water
because the cowards
hate a daughter 

Night (extended)

Lying on his back, Yousef stared at the stars, trillions of miles away. The warm and giddy hues of white, yellow, and orange seemed out of place against the ferocious navy blue; as mismatched as if a five-year-old had clothed the universe. But creation has more order than that, and so the lights are no match for their evil canvas, and without squinted eyes are dismissed as a piece of dust clouding the cornea. Crooked branches rustled in the feeble wind, barely visible against their dark background; trying to stay put but being tormented by a power far greater. As Yousef splayed his thin limbs across a cold patch of Earth, watching the shadows he owned shape-shift, he contemplated existence; remembering everything leading him to this moment. Skydiving in Fox Glacier, New Zealand; hiking in Camino de Santiago, Spain; finding his true love in Florence, Italy; dancing with her in Prague, Czech Republic; losing her in Bruges, Belgium; and now, somewhere in Russia, he lies trying...


Tiny cobblestone streets filled with pubs, butchers, and bakers wind for miles around quaint, cozy, two-story homes filled with more people than plausible and on whose doorstep sit two beautiful glass bottles of fresh milk. Voices with pitches going up and down, every sentence a rollercoaster of sound yell, “Fresh vegetables, 2 pounds” on every street corner. Following those voices inside, eyes will fall upon a small building stuffed to the brim with sweets, crisps, and sodas, vegetables, loaves of bread, and racks of newspapers. A commuter will top up his Oyster with the last heavy coins sitting at the bottom of his tweed jacket pocket. He’ll run outside to catch the double-decker before it leaves, whipping past dozens of pedestrians rushing to their destinations, wielding large black umbrellas and dressed in bright yellow wellies as a defense against the abominable rain clouds appearing for the tenth time that day.

The jostling bus will have no seats left for the...



Spiders crawl all over my skin, paralyzed I remain still
I open my eyes and realize it was all a nightmare
Maybe that’s all we need: to open our eyes; see reality


When the sun’s rays caress my soul and the wind’s gentle breeze runs through me, I feel at one with nature. And when I fall, my bum hitting the padded ground, shockwaves of potential from the Earth’s core flow straight through me, rigid like a puppeteer stick poked up my spine. As I walk barefoot across the diverse surface of our great planet, tiny dirt flecks cover the soft flesh of my feet, speckling them with polka dots as though they were a child’s dress. The prickly grass strands poke at the underbelly of my extremities, beckoning blood cells to the surface, reddening their appearance. My back conforms to the bumpy shapes of terrain as I watch the bright tones of Earth fade away. And as I stare in wonder out at the shining stars, I realize how insignificant a speck of dust I am; but then I ponder, do the stars in other galaxies look at me the same...


Love is a societal construct and yet somehow everyone in society has a different definition for it. And I think therein lies our fault; we are collective in our ideas but not the way we go about them.


“I don’t know whether to be mad at you that you did it, or happy that you did it for me.”

“Well, I guess that depends if you’re a positive or negative person.”

”Ah, see that’s where the paradox lies.”

She continues scrubbing the blood off his back.


When the sun’s rays caress my soul and the wind’s gentle breeze runs through me, I feel at one with nature. And when I fall, my bum hitting the padded ground, shockwaves of potential from the Earth’s core flow straight through me, rigid like a puppeteer stick poked up my spine. As I walk barefoot across the diverse surface of our great planet, tiny dirt flecks cover the soft flesh of my feet, speckling them with polka dots as though they were a child’s dress. The prickly grass strands poke at the underbelly of my extremities, beckoning blood cells to the surface, reddening their appearance. My back conforms to the bumpy shapes of terrain as I watch the bright tones of Earth fade away; I imagine a man, a great painter who forgot to properly clean his brush before applying the next coat and so brings the half cleansed bristles dipped in murky water across his canvas, haphazardly spraying white...


When the sun meets the sky
And I see a little dove fly
I know there’s something greater

When the ocean unleashes it’s wrath
And paves the stones a new path
I know there’s something more

When the mountains touch the stars
And the red soil is so beautiful on Mars
I know there’s something majestic

So how do you not see it?


You graze your whithered hand across my plump flesh
hot air pushing onto my face 
"I want you", escapes from your cracked lips

Twisting your bony arm
to get a good grip

I pull away
from your putrid breath
tendrils entering my nostrils

Face turned 
I cry out
for help
assistance from any being
to be my savior

But none arrive
they have no authority here
so traversing into the
white light
with nothing 
I calmly accept my non-existence

You are death
my end.


With hair perfectly gelled in the right position, I can’t imagine a purer formation of strength and beauty. Not even in the great canyons of the world could there be something carved more eloquently. And I know it seems crazy to say, but the little lilt of his voice always makes my day. His rosy cheeks are like tulip petals drifting in a light spring breeze and his pearly whites constantly flash in an array of pleasantries; never steering off mannerisms. I can’t seem to find anything to bring me more happiness than his smile which brightens his surroundings. He must have foundings in the soil that roots in the ground because nothing that majestic can come from anything other than earth herself.

Just like a volcano erupting, he has a fire; his determination is remarkable. After getting a mark-off on a test, he'll march right up to the teacher and demand an explanation. Or if anyone ever insults his...


When you see me falling, why don’t you stop it?
When you see me flying, you always grab on.

When I am running, you drift in my wind,
But when I start walking, you leave me behind.

When I smile, you wrench yourself to my dimple,
But when I cry, you don't soak up my tears.

When I am me,
You want me to be you,
But I'll never be enough.

Friendship Tweet


Friendship cannot be defined
it's the little things that make us feel good inside
of our broken shells;
who we once were and who we are. It's the buckets that try to empty the wells
of pain and sorrow within and mend
the fraying stitches we thought would mark the end
and its that feeling of completion by finding our other half
that we can share with and make inside jokes which always make us laugh
painfully yet we have no pain
because then one of us cracks a joke and the pattern repeats again

Op-Ed Competition 2021

The Need for Diversity in Journalism

“Not everyone thinks the way you think, knows the things you know, believes the things you believe, nor acts the way you would act.” -Arthur Forman

Although born in the 1800s, the famous English schoolmaster and cricketer’s words still hold up today. Everyone is different. But we aren’t using that to our advantage, and that’s where the problem lies.

In my spare time, I write articles on current issues for a non-profit. I started about a month ago and recently received feedback on an article I wrote, “The Significance of Black History”. I wrote with passion and a clear goal in mind, to inform people and advocate for change. But when I saw my edited article I started crying unable to distinguish where my words ended, and the revision began. They censored every stance I took. They softened every truth. Removing my ideas to avoid any possible risk of causing offence to anyone. I don’t blame the organization for doing...

I Bleed

I bleed but it’s not red
Nor is it warm
Or sticky

It leaves through my fingertips
Not from a vein
From my soul
I lose myself

I keep trying
And keep failing

It hurts
And I don’t know what’s worse
Seeing myself shrivel
Or watching you crumble
To weak to stop you
Falling apart


Darling, children should be seen and not heard, now don’t you peep another word.”

Sweetie, no whining, we want to see those pearly whites shining.”

Pumpkin, no crinkling your face unless you want it to look like lace.”

“Why don’t we-“
Baby, actions speak louder than words, now go cut that cake into thirds.”

“This is my-“
Cutie, do you even have a brain? Oh my, you’re a plain Jane”

“I fell and scrape-“
Missy, ladies are elegant not clumsy,
Oh, haven’t you learnt from mumsy”

“Pass the-“
Dear, we say thank you and please,
Speak properly, you’re not a sleaze.”

Angel, did you talk back?
You really want a smack?”

Elizabeth Addington

A pretty girl was she
Dancing beautifully
Dressed in flowers and tule
Fought over brutally

The face of pride
Of the Addington Clan
Look only out the door
To find a man

Lined up block after block
To see the fair maiden
The top contender of all
Herald McFaden

However the pretty young girl
Love isn’t really what Herald's
Motive is

Although from a prominent family
The girl finds a mistruth
The young bachelor has no inheritance
Due to being terribly uncouth

Needing to marry rich
To carry on his life of luxury
Invitations to elite parties
Courtesy often perfunctory

Her family in love with the bloke
Wanting to elevate her status
Hastily making plans for marriage
Even through the stratus

Not really in love
The girl decides
To make a plan
With fast strides

With the marriage planned
In the upcoming weeks
The girl's plan includes
Marilyn Meeks

Plotting and Planning
Day after day
They find a solution ...

The Drabble


What is there to do when the ones you love the most are the ones holding you back?
The hardest words to leave your mouth, 
Leave me be
I want to be free
Needs to come out
but it doesn’t.


You stay as you always have.
Hiding in the shadows like you feel you deserve.
But you are more.

You are worthy,

You are the best of this world and yet, you are out of this world.
Magnificent and grand,
You stand tall,
And yet you bawl.


Why do you not see you, like I?


Contrasting with others whose voices are alike kettles boiling, hers is sweet and flowy like honey. Face scrunching up as she rapidly types, searching a thesaurus for her perfect word. She captures all the beauty in the world through a few sentences. Talent and art has never found a truer definition. She takes pride in her work and cares for the simple things of life like seeing a silken multicoloured butterfly or a cold brooding moon. She sees positivity in the negativity. Her sleepy but affectionate, noticeably gentle tan eyes are deeper than a thousand oceans and ground me to her natural beauty. Her skin contains more warmth than a summer’s day in India. Her intelligence is incomparable, always with her button nose stuck in a well-read book. Glasses that frame her soft face. Wide-eyed and innocent, angelic and intense. Hair falling over shoulders, she gives the most wondrous smile, capturing more joy than could ever pass through a child's heart. Her...

Dream Big

I Want

I want to be happy.
I want to create change and change the world; research cures, end world hunger, and instigate peace; surrounded by people who only care about money. I want to create change.
I want to be a dreamer; designing fictional worlds for people a hundred years from now to look back on and analyze every subconscious thought I had, tearing up my work because I wasn’t who they wanted. I want to be a dreamer.
I want to be social; friendly, nice, and bubbly; have a million friends, then they’ll all ask me for money, take a few selfies, and leave. I want to be social.
I want to be more; more than anyone said I could be, or dared me to be, or defined me to be, but will that still be me? I want to be more.
I want to be brave; braver than superman and King Kong even though I’m scared of heights and...

25 Words

Four 25 word stories/poems :)

“Ewww, a pimple.” She cried.
“It reminds me of a mountain.”
“A great rise in otherwise flat lands, like Kilaminjaro, it shows your strength.”

I deserve to be valued and heard,
I am more than you could ever dare dream to be,
How? You ask. 
Simple- I am me.

If independence is a moat, and love is the castle, the two cannot co-exist
For it is in self-deception we waste the time of everyone.

He said, 
"Falsehood blossoms from truth. 
Greed fosters hate. 
But beauty confounds reason, your presence teaches me." 
She smiles at their stars, holding his urn.


In the depths of the sea,
I can't find me.

In the highest of the sky,
Everyone but me fly.

In the middle, perfectly average.

At a standstill, while others keep moving.

In a world that rewards it, I've bare privilege.

I see you standing, staring, upset, disproving.

I close my eyes, let go, and try.
To you fear, I scream, goodbye.



Waves come tumbling
Salty water rushing forth
Drenched in pain, I'm cold

My 8 year old sister's first attempt at Haiku's :)

The fall leaves are crisp
All colours from red to green
Oak, maple, birch, I see.

I stand by the lake,
Water trickles down my skin,
I feel cold and light.

Jungle Madness
The jungle is green;
birds, mammals, reptiles, and fish.
Fresh air surrounds me.

Cherry Blossom
Pink flowers blossom,
Soft petals fall in meadows,
Smells like perfume.

March Grab Bag


A 100 word story based on a randomly generated word

Ideas are a figment of reality we choose to believe in because they fill our desires. Providing money, fame, power. Associated with a positive connotation, but all evil in this world was once innovative: factories making smog, paper cutting down trees, junk food causing diabetes. So what is progress other than a societal construct? Our efficiencies and cures have created new maladies. We have failed. Our “ideas” have ruined the planet. By moving forward, we have impaired ourselves for future growth. Forget optimism, we need to look at the realities. Or else, we’ve not met our own standards of moralities.


When I sit down
I type one word
Then another soon comes to follow
Tumbling out like a gumball machine
I just can’t help it
But if others seem to appreciate my vomit
Then, all the better