It Calls Me


I spent part of my day today fixing up our patio bistro set. You know the kind? Metal, green, and ugly. So, I sanded down the the rusted bits, washed them off, and managed to prime and paint the chairs. I used a lovely shade of paint by Rustoleum called Ocean Mist. I love it. I still have to prime and paint the table, but once everything is done, and I have it placed where I want it, I’ll post a few pictures. I chose the color I did, because I love the beach theme for decor, especially outside decor.

I love the beach, and I love the ocean. To me, the beach, the ocean, feels like home. It calls me. It provides me with a sense of peace that I cannot usually find. I hope to one day live closer to the beach than I currently do, which is not all that far from it now. I’ve thought about writing a story about it, but I’m not sure how to convey the feeling properly.

Maybe a water sprite, born of sea foam, loves both the sea, and the land that she touches? Or a mermaid, who never had the inclination to leave her ocean home, but is captured and taken away? A human woman who is dropped into the ocean, left to drown, but becomes a mermaid instead?

Are there any places that feel like home to you, whenever you go? Do you have a place that always brings you peace?

Do any of the above ideas sound interesting to you? Are there any ideas that you have that you would like to add?

Let me know in the comments below.


Peace in the Garden

*Inspired by my time spent gardening today.

The warm aroma of rosemary on her fingers, the gentle breeze that stirs her hair, and cools her skin. She closes her eyes, smiling, as she sits among the plants she has nurtured from seeds.

There’s a magic here. Cultivated by her own hands, flowing up through the dark, rich soil, down from the warm, golden light of the sun, and the cool drops of pattering rain.

The natural magic has attracted beings, like a beacon of love and safety. She has caught glimpses of them out of the corner of her eyes, dancing between the shadows and the dappled light that filters through the leaves.

They’re beautiful, with hair, and skin, and eyes appearing every color of the earth, sea, and sky, some with pointed ears, some with tails, and some with gossamer wings that glitter like precious metals in the light.

They watch her when she works in the garden, but she knows they won’t hurt her, and they know she won’t hurt them.

She has taken to leaving things for them, birdhouses she decorated, filled with doll house furniture, little plates and cups, and small bits of food.

They have taken to leaving her things in return, beautiful feathers of every color, shiny stones, and delicate bits of glass, worn smooth my time and the elements. She keeps them safe and sound within a jewelry box on her dresser.

She can hear the tinkle of their voices as they move among the plants. She opens her eyes, and looks down.

A particularly small one stands by her knee, a child, seeming to be made of silvery moonlight.

She smiles, and the little one smiles back, and holds up a feather almost as big as he is.

“For me?”

The little one nods, and holds the feather closer.

She holds out her hand down, and he sets in the feather on her palm, looking proud of himself. The feather is white as snow, and soft as silk.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

He smiles again, before turning and darting away, disappearing into the bunch of green bean bushes near by.

She keeps a gentle hold of her feather. She’s received her favorite gift from them today.

I hope you enjoyed this little story. Please let me know what you think in the comments below. If you have any suggestions for things for me to write throughout the rest of the month, let me know. 

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?