Dear reader, I created this website in 2015, my sophomore year of high school. I cannot fathom the fact that I've created four (almost five) years' worth of content, writing, and online connections. When I look back at my first July post, I know that I've transformed so much as both a writer and a…
Follow my new YouTube channel and listen to my spoken word piece (find the preview on Instagram)! Please leave a comment or like below so that I know whether to continue this series.
Poor Grammar. It has such a strong, hateful stereotype, doesn't it? People call it unnecessary, ugly, devious, and even sadistic. But Grammar and its convention henchmen are actually quite helpful and vital to the English language, at least literarily. The trick is how to use it. Sometimes, people forget that the point of grammar is…
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…
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…
Happy Friday! This weekend, I'm planning on seeing a comedic play about the relationship between Edgar Allan Poe and Emily Dickinson, which made me think of doing something like this. Here's a humorous piece that places modern-day labels on famous late poets. Enjoy! Walt Whitman Whitman is known to walk into places barefoot and proclaim…
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…
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…
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…
I used to want to be an astronaut, floating above the earth and watching the stars; instead of a story teller, I wanted to be a listener. My great-grandmother wobbled over to the dining room table every morning to slip her mug in the microwave. She plopped down in the sunlight, dunk her tea bag,…
2B or Not 2B 