Darling Sentimentality

…a lovely saccharine medley…


There is something oddly satisfying

About the chirping of birds

At an early hour,

Just before the dark disappears

But before the Sun comes up

Seeking Insomnia

I, among many others, find peace

In the Darkness that blankets my bedroom

From the hours of one to five in the morning,

For the entire World seems to steadily fall still;

Unmoving, unwavering, and entirely silent

Besides the passing vehicles that glide along the road

In no hurry to get anywhere just beyond the trees

To the right of my window that barricades me inside,

Limited to merely a room full of eerie darkness

And a bed that grasps the weariness of my limbs

But not my mind.

And yet somehow-


Among many others,

I find peace in the silent chaos of the Night


The Hour of Motivation

As the Sun falls, my pen rises


The Color Black

As children, a black crayon or marker is viewed

As nothing more than unnecessary and unused;

That is, until we get older and spend an hour

Trying to find that once useless color

To make blackout poetry

The Writer’s Purpose

My pen has not met paper for quite some time,

But that does not mean that it has forgotten how to write

Or how to create elegant images for the minds of others,

For that is the writer’s purpose.

The Lotus: Play Script

Please feel free to follow the link below to read another short scene from my novel in progress, The Lotus! This piece is in a play script format for a class assignment, but I found it interesting to use nonetheless! Enjoy!


Photo Credit to Pinterest




It is the cotton of your favorite winter blanket

And the fur of your kitten that you just adopted,

As well as the vase that stands empty in the corner of the living room.

It sounds like morning mist whispering on a Saturday

And the heavy thunder outside your window that shakes the glass ever so slightly,

Which causes you to seek comfort in turning worn pages from an old book.

It tastes like the smoke you exhale from your addiction (you wonder why you never quit)

And the ashes that fly into your mouth from burning all those old love letters,

Or maybe it is the capsules that slide down your throat after every meal.

It feels like the comfort of your stuffed elephant that sits inside a cloth basket,

The soft touch of a feather you found outside your doorstep,

And it is the texture of concrete biting your clumsy knees.

Gray can bring comfort or melancholy depending on your relationship with it.


In Season

Sunlight stretches just above the

Strings of Wheat that cover a former

Naked Field that did not grow in harsh weather;

Out of Season, the sign read as hung by the Farmer

Who doubted the regrowth of his only business,

But to his delight the Day unveiled a fresh beginning

And something to wake up to


Photo Credit:

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- p h a n t a s m a g o r i c -

just me

a creative girl


where emotion found thoughts and thoughts found words

Neither Apples Nor Oranges



how strange it is to be anything at all