Challenges, Summer Break, and Inspiration

Hello everyone.

It’s been a while, I know. Life has been hectic, and I have let some things fall to the wayside. I am hoping to rectify that.

My last day of school for the semester ends tomorrow, which means I will have three months off. I am looking forward to it. My brain is feeling extra crispy at this point.

A challenge came to me from the administrator of the Ninja Writers group on Facebook, to make a post a day for the month of May, now the original challenge was to post to Medium, but I have my hands full with the social media accounts I already have, so I will be doing the post a day here. Because of school being almost done, I have decided to accept the challenge, and I hope that all of you will like and comment, and keep me going.

For a final for one of my classes, I had to do a project based on the three poetry books we had read. We were able to choose from a list of questions, picking and choosing parts, and combining them with parts from other questions if we so chose. The basis of my paper became talking about how our experiences, and relationship with the world, helped to develop our sense of self. We were able to do more than just write a paper though, and the professor encouraged us to delve into other mediums.

I was inspired by a poem by Amalia Ortiz called Some Days, and if you have not read it, you should check it out, it is lovely. Anyways, like I was saying, I was inspired by this poem to draw, and it turned out better than expected, and I have decided to share it here. It is titled When the Facade Crumbles.

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Please, let me know what you think below. Also, if you have any ideas for me to write about over the next month, don’t hesitate to leave a comment. I love to hear from you guys.


I Dreamt Again

I Dreamt Again


I dreamt again-

The kind of dream

that leaves you gasping,

and your chest too tight.


Everything we have built

was going up in flames-

You were trapped,

I could hear your screams.


They tried to stop me,

but they couldn’t hold on-

I found my way to you,

just like I always have.


I held on to you,

wrapped you in my arms-

You begged me to leave,

but I couldn’t, not alone.


The fire surrounded us-

The heat and the smoke

chased the breath

from our lungs.


We whispered,

I love you, I love you

against each other’s lips,

as we lost everything.


I huddled over you,

trying to protect you,

but I couldn’t, I couldn’t,

and we went up in flames.


I wake up, frightened,

and you hold me close-

You’re here with me, safe,

but I dreamt again.

Late Nights

Late Nights

It’s finally quiet, after a long, long day. The kids are asleep, tucked away safe in their beds. The ceiling fan casting slow moving shadows against their ceiling, from their nightlight cycling through colors of red, purple, blue, green, and back again. The radio turned down low, the smooth sound of George Straight floating from the crack under the door. She’s sprawled across her bed, snoring gently, blankets bunched near her feet. She’s always slept just like her father. He’s wrapped up in his blankets, the soft material brushing at his face with every gentle breath, his chubby baby fingers hold tight to his favorite stuffed bear.

It’s dark out, the street quiet, way past any sane person’s bedtime. Including my husband. Safe and dreaming up in our bed. I sit on the couch, wondering why it is that I am not up there, dreaming away next to him. The dog huffs out a groan from the floor by my feet. Apparently it is past his bedtime, too. He heaves himself to his feet, and moves to sleep in his crate instead. Why am I still awake, when even the dog has decided it’s too late?

Insomnia. Anxiety. It’s a combination that does not bode well for a good night’s sleep. It means late nights, little sleep, and dark circles under my eyes. Is there a real way to hide those? Late night television has not gotten any better over the years. Infomercial. Infomercial. Infomercial. Oh, new kind of toaster oven. Infomercial. Oh. Oh, ok. Not an infomercial. Moving on. Anything good saved on the DVR? Kids’ cartoons. Cartoons. Kids’ movie. Why did he record a football game? Cooking shows. Do I really want to watch one now? It always makes me hungry. No. Finally, tired. Time to try to sleep


Let me know what you think in the comments below. I love to hear from you guys!




It’s been nearly twenty years

since we lost you,

but it does not feel like that long.


The wound left by your passing

has long since scabbed over

and left behind a scar.


There is still pain left behind it,

it aches and serves

as a not so gentle reminder.


But it no longer bleeds,

it no longer has the sharp edge

of a fresh wound.


This scar that sits on my heart

will never let me forget,

but I no longer drown in the grief.


I wrote this poem for my great grandmother, whom I love dearly, and miss terribly. I did try to leave it a bit vague, to make it easier to connect to. I hope everyone liked it. Let me know what you think in the comments below.



 It pierced her heart-

burning her from

the inside out,

tasting like acid

in the back of her throat.


This agony

is not anything

she would wish,

even on the most hated

of all of her enemies.


She clenched her fists-

her skin felt like

a raging inferno-

Any moment now,

she would turn to ash.


How he danced,

but not with her-

Moving, flowing,

like a demon

with the face of an angel.


Oh, the pain-

How she longed

to rip the feathers

from his wings,

cage him, for just her.


As if he felt

her angry eyes,

he turned, smiled,

twisted the knife, deeper,

into a gaping wound


So hot,

why is it so hot-

She couldn’t breathe,

the burn chased

 the air from her lungs.


The beat changed,

moved faster now,

echoed the rapid

gallop of her

runaway heart.


Suddenly there,

he stands before her,

smiled again,

hands on her hips,

lips against her ear.


And cool air

rushed into her

screaming lungs-

The hideous acid green

faded from her sight.


So, that was my poem called “Jealousy.” I hoped you enjoyed it, please give it a like, and shoot me a comment below. I love to hear from you guys.


Here is the next poem that I will be sharing. Please, enjoy, and let me know what you think in the comment section below.


I stand at the window,

watching the flakes flutter down,

moon bright on the blanket of white-

Cup warm in my hand,

the rich smell of melted chocolate

making me fuzzy


Bare feet, near silent

on gleaming wood floors-

Beard prickly against my cheek,

soft lips soothing the faint sting-

Eyes the color of evergreens

crinkle at the corners,

Laughing at my surprise


I study a face I know

almost as well as my own,

wrinkles I hadn’t noticed before-

When did we start getting older-

I don’t remember

agreeing to grow up-

He laughs again


Bed time he says,

the kids are always up early-

I take one last sip, it’s cold-

How long have we been standing here-

Cup in sink, run the water

till the cup runneth over,

one more dish for tomorrow

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think.



I’ve decided to post some poems that I wrote for one of my English classes. This is the first ins the series, please enjoy, and let me know what you guys think in the comments below.



A flicker

A spark

A light in the dark



Never going out

But fading


Till suddenly

It dances




Chasing away

All of the shadows

A place of refuge

A guiding light



I suppose by this point in my life, I should be used to disappointment. If something seems like too good to be true, it probably is.

Yesterday, and in a post before that, I mentioned getting to take a special project based class, where my goal was to write short stories, and turn them into a book. Well, it turns out that my school could not find a professor to cover the Individual Studies classes, even though I was asked to pick a professor, and ask them to be my mentor, and fill out paperwork saying they accepted, and get them to sign it. On top of that, no one though to inform me that I could not actually take the class, I had to reach out and find out what was going on. So, I was forced to choose a whole new class, at the last possible moment.

It’s disappointing. I was so looking forwad to this class, and working alongside one of my favorite professors.

Oh, well.

I will not let this stop me.

I will keep working, and keep writing.

Has anyone else experienced a pretty big disappointment? How did you handle it? Did it make you more determined? Or knock you off your feet?


Fresh Starts

It’s a new year, with lots of snow, and my spring semester starts today. I will be doing an  independent studies class,  where my goal is to write a book of short stories. Eventually, I would like to have them published. If you have any short story ideas you think I should try, or not try, hit me up in the comments. Also, comment below if you would be interested in a book of my short stories.

Short Story: Grief

This was a writing exercise that I had to do for my fiction workshop class last year. I decided to share it here. Let me know what you guys think in the comment section below, please.



Catching sight of her reflection in the window, she sighed, and brushed the unruly flaxen ringlets back from her face. She frowned, her full mouth a touch too wide for her face, as trying to tame her mane was a useless endeavor.  She attempted to brush her hair from her caramel eyes one last time, before giving it up as a lost cause, and continuing down the street. Her eyes danced from building to building, moving from sign to sign, searching for the one she needed, and she shoved her hands in the pockets of her black leather jacket, hunching her shoulders to ward off some of the chill from the breeze.

She frowned again. She was running late, should have been there already. The little cafe she was supposed to meet Maya at was not as easy to find as she promised.

Finally, the sign caught her eye, ‘Taste of Heaven’. She sped up her steps, the noise of her heavy booted feet drowned out by the noise of the day. The scent of cinnamon reached her nose before she even made it past the wrought iron fence that blocked the cafe’s patio from the sidewalk.

Upon opening the glass door, she was bathed in the scents of cinnamon, sugar, yeast, and coffee. The sudden warmth of being inside caused a shiver to race down her spine. She looked around, looking around the small tables – placed in groups of twos and threes- for a familiar face.


Her head snapped around, and flaxen curls tumbled around her face. “Maya.”

“There you are. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.” Maya smiled, making her big blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “I already bought you a hot chocolate.” Maya gestured to the seat across from her -a cup in her hand- to where another small cardboard cup sat waiting, steam rising from the lid.

Andie moved to sit at the table, wincing at the noise her chair made as it dragged across the floor. “Sorry.”

Maya shook her head, her brunette ponytail bobbing at the motion. “It’s ok. You’re here now.”

Andie looked down, and slowly wrapped her hands around the cup in front of her, sighing at the warmth.

“I hope you like it.” Maya smiled as Andie glanced up at her through her lashes. “I love this place.”

Andie brought the cup up to her face, and the rich, earthy scent of melted chocolate invaded her nose. She blew some of the steam away, and took a small sip, wincing at the sharp bite of heat at the tip of her tongue, but then sighing -her shoulders relaxing- as the taste of creamy melted chocolate washed over her tongue.


Andie’s brown eyes snapped up to Maya. “What?”

“Do you like it?” Maya’s quirked lips suggested she already knew the answer.

Andie glanced away and nodded. “Yea, it’s good.”

Maya sighed, and reached her hand across the table, hesitating, before she let her fingertips rest gently against the back of Andie’s hand. The blonde kept her gaze away, even though her shoulders tensed. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

Andie’s eyes closed, and she sighed again. She seemed to be doing it a lot over recent days. Her shoulders drooped, and she nodded. “I-” She cleared her throat. “I know.” Her flickered her gaze to Maya’s face, the concern written across her features, making her eyes jump away again. “I’ve missed you, too.” She took another quick sip of her drink.

Maya drew her hand away, and took a sip of her own drink. She looked down at the table top, then closed her eyes. “It shouldn’t be this weird between us.”

Andie bit at her lower lip, the guilt bubbled in her stomach, turning the sweet hot chocolate sour. She frowned and moved the cup away from her face. “No.” Her response was barely a whisper.

“Then what do we do?” Andie looked up at the sound of tears in Maya’s voice. They weren’t falling yet, but her thick eyelashes glistened in the faint overhead light. “I know you loved him, but he was my brother.

Andie closed her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. “That’s the problem.”


“Every time I look at you, I see him. I can’t-” Andie swallowed thickly and turned her face down, her ringlets shielding her, before continuing in a tight whisper, “I just can’t.”