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Grazing Between the Chaos and the Calm
I am standing on the bridge between chaos and tranquility, between crimson and greenery. I want to drink from that well of blue water, to graze beneath the hearts of rounded mountains. I want to stop and dance with the dandelions, to twirl around their seeds, to grow my own. I want to expel black…
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So College is a Thing
It's Week One of my freshman year, and my writing has been almost nonexistent due to the chaos. The plus side? I'm starting my adult life with my right foot forward and my head held high. I'll start writing on this blog routinely in a little. For now though, please feel free to visit the…
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Waiting List (Also, I’m Back!)
I’ve spent countless days blowing thought bubbles above my head. I decide which thoughts are scribbled on my waiting list: which ones suspend in the stars, which ones hover over the moon, which ones waltz with the waves-- this list is pulsing and alive and none of these thoughts will ever pop unless they are…
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Writing the Beginnings of Stories (And Only the Beginnings)
As an experiment, I've written the start of a few short story ideas. If you're a writer, doing this really helps the creative juices flow for the projects that you're working on. I hope you enjoy them! The Musician: Carla, the cleaning lady on Clermont Street, has a son who is engaged to a…
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Solace
When everything churns and sinks in reverse and the moon pulls back its tides with taut strings, the waves of the ocean crash and disperse in the tumult of my imaginings. But oh, let the continents shift and quake, and let the sun’s final rays brush the shore; his promising light is what my…
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The Rose
A delicate rose perched on a bush, her hand beneath her chin. Her sigh froze dew drops in the air; her patience was waning thin. For she was awaiting Autumn— he hadn’t visited in days— and he had promised that he’d bring her the sun's sweetest golden rays. But ‘twas Winter who had stolen Autumn…
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The Librarian
There is a librarian who organizes fluttering memories. The birds fly in with ebony words smeared on their wings and they always soar with more questions than answers; her thoughts are dust-covered dancers twirling behind crumbling books locked in skyscraper-shelves; she told me to look for your book yesterday and I peeled it open and…
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To Love a Bird (Is to Paint Her Red)
I am azure-headed, ruby-breasted, emerald-winged. I flutter into your embrace, only God and His sun as my witnesses. You tell me that I dazzle color, even when my feathers are plucked, even when all that is visible is the white plumage beneath the surface. When my toes are ripped, you stitch them back; when my…
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Coffee & Company
Don’t fill up on coffee, she said, Because the grinds are too simple-- they sit in your stomach-- they rub your intestines like sandpaper. Coffee is straightforward and bitter like your grandmother’s humor. Instead, break the fast with orange juice-- something sweet yet sharp. Start your morning with a complication, hydrate your soul with sympathy…
2B or Not 2B 