Writing

I wonder what kind of mind lies behind those big brown eyes

behind her laugh, of which makes the sweetest souls swoon, 

behind her smile, infectious and sugar sweet. 

yet through it all, 

note: this is not targeted at anyone, it’s just my opinion :)

Writing is my pulse,  
my breath,  
my way of being.  
They don’t own my words,  
my thoughts,  
my voice.  

Megan was staring out the window in the backseat of her mom’s minivan with a blank expression painted across her silent face. She shivered at the thought of spending her whole summer vacation at her grandma’s house.

Why does Ophelia look so calm?

Calm in calamity, peaceful in perishing 

Why does she look so calm?

She died in a fit, she died in anger

People say that movies are scary

There is nothing scarier than those movies

They scream and wake up in cold sweat afterward

Clouds fixed in settled explosions of amber and saffron

Clement winds tossing seaweed on the toasted flaxen sand