The water runs
And the blackbirds fly
The orange flame sun 
In our blue powder sky
But with all these words 
Come many little things
Snails, and more
Snails, and more

The oak wood trees
And white Meadow Rues
Yellow-Black bees
And water drop views
But with all these words
Come many little things
Snails, and more
Snails, and more

When all goes well
And shadows all go
I’ll see the hard shell
Taken as it grows

As water rushes in 
And life slowly clears
I’ll know that under my skin
I’ll still have fears
‘Cause with all these words
Bring many good times
Like snails, and more
Yes… Snails, and more

Summertime,
the time for relaxation,
the time for seemingly endless sleep,
has come to an end.
And although my heart,
my mind,
saddens with the thought
of saying goodbye to so much,
the sticky heat,
the random bike rides to the park,
the stressless nights watching TV, 
I realize that there is so much 
I am excited for,
so much I long to achieve. 
Today, 
I said goodbye
to my sister,
who has left for college,
the next towering step in her life.
Yes,
this farewell is temporary,
but as I hugged her,
tears escaping my eyes,
I was sorrowed,
I already missed her.
This year is going to be difficult,
each year always is,
but there is always a bit of light 
that seeps into the world behind my eyes. 
And over time,
this tiny sliver of light will 
begin to grow,
as I think about my sister meeting friends,
going out to dinner,

D'here's a storm brewin'
finna comin' up my way
We're right in its track,
ha, 
not the first woman to storm

Sadly,
I can't leave
I ain't got no money

Not to mention,
I don't know if the hotel gonna let my dog in
the highway's fixin' to be filled with people like me
y'all already bought lagniappe outta those stores
cars line up jus' to get a tank of sold out gas

every year
Rouses sells out faster and faster

D'here's always the option of stayin' home
The option I have to go wif
It ain't my first storm I have to stay for d'ough

But last time,
my house went unda the water
my roof was in my backyard
my livin' room wall blown out
tree in smack middle of my house
everythin' I owned flushed out jus' like the water did

never even got the relief fund afer d'hat

Well, hope d'his storm ain't like the last

To be so desperate 
to lift your baby in the air
so the army can take it
and save its life
to give up your infant
so it can have a better life
so it can have a life

To hide at home 
to hide your face
so they can't hurt you
but they find a way to hurt you
they find a way to suck life and joy out of this world
till we are all too scared to move

not being able to leave 
the place 
with the people 
that will terrorize you
without a second thought
not even caring about the life
they ruined
by ending 

all you can do is hope
but you wish so desperately you could do more
you want to do SOMETHING 
till you scream into the dark night 
to be so desperate 

 

Peach light filters through green leaves shaped like hearts.

A yellow and orange sun fills the sky with a pink and orange light.

Soft pastel colors coat the world.

White and pink clouds float across the skies of grey.

As the light fills the sky, the summer is ending.

A sleepy haze of peace.

Birds awake slowly.

A soft quiet chirping fills the silent haze.

The cool night turns slowly honey warm.

Alone in the peace and silence.

The coyote howls fade into a distant dream.

Small butterflies flit around drinking dew.

They hover around the opening flowers.

A humming bird whizzes past.

It lands on the red flower.

Its green and red feathers shine eerily pink and orange.

The moon sinks slowly past the mountains.

Snap! I jerked my head up. The sound was so soft, I wouldn't have been able to hear it if I hadn't been about a foot away from it. I strained my ears to try to hear it again. I had been looking for this all day. I was just about to give up and call it a day when I heard the noise. Snap! Now I heard it again, a little bit louder. It seemed to have come from my left. I looked and saw an old tree with roots like spider legs sticking out of the ground. Then, a flash of green came weaving in and out of the roots. It stopped in place when it spotted me watching. She wasn't at all what I imagined her to be like. Instead of pointy ears, she had mint leaves on the sides of her head. She was wearing a miniscule pale green jumper and she had a golden belt, about the size of a piece of grass tied to her waist. Attached to her belt was a thimble-like basket that was made of wood shavings, filled with wild strawberries. On her feet she had miniature lace-up golden boots.

I've recently started a little thing. I hope I can get some feedback. I've already got another novel on my mind, but this one has really captured me, and I'm not nervous about the fact that I'd like to start it. It's an excerpt from what could possibly be a finished project. Enjoy. 

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Death was cold. A plebian, unimaginative word, and yet the only descriptor that didn't seem inadequate, or overly elegant, to what Jax was experiencing. Cold. Unlike any she had ever felt. Ice crept through the soles of her boots and cradled her shins as she walked, every single step reminding her forcibly of Sage's bright blue eyes in the midst of white. Every droplet of water, dew from the early morning, clung to the trees—just his shade. 

in dreams of October
the clothes we hung to dry
fill with wind
and come to join us at the 
dinner table
how lucky
we had already set their plates
and pushed over extra chairs
i do not feel surprised 
no one is ever surprised in October
and the dinner guests 
hold our silver forks and knives
just beyond their sleeves
yet
i trace the roof of my mouth in fear
that the wind will grow stale of spice
and rush out through the floorboards
leaving our guests dripping off the 
chairs and onto the floor
silvers forks spilling cranberry sauce
onto the white pressed table cloth
then
we will fold our guests into neat squares
and smother them together with the moths
how unlucky
in our haste we skipped dessert
cooling pies beading onto the tinfoil
and we push their chairs back into the corners
like rooks on a chessboard

I turn fifteen in exactly sixteen days. That, in and of itself, is terrifying. Difficult to explain, really, but I am a writer — that is my job — to explain, to entertain, to engage. And so, here I stand, holding my innermost pains out to you all. 

I may not be able to walk through those doors and breathe as I should — I have no conscience when it comes to my own heart, and so it may explode, painting my bones with dark blood — blue, until it spills out of me — just as I learned in school. I could not think of a better platform to express my fear, and so I have relocated my entire being to this website — packed up and left my bedroom and stored my soul in the curving edges of words — the slopes and curls and shelter I reach for in-between them.