Nov 24
poem 0 comments challenge: Grateful


This poem is for everyone I love and care about in my life, and all my past, present, and future friends :).

Sometimes I give for giving.
Sometimes I give to get.
Sometimes I give memories.
Sometimes I just forget.

Sometimes I give homemade things.
Sometimes I give my time.
Sometimes I give stories
And sometimes I give rhymes.

Sometimes I give away things
That I don't want to lose,
But sometimes it's just mandatory –
It's something I can't choose.

But the best times are when I give
Because I decide to —
And that's why today for Thanksgiving
I give thanks to you.

Nov 22


Imagine a world where we're all set free
from all the worries we face every day.
Imagine a world where you're always safe
and can find peace.
Imagine a world where no one will judge.
You can be who you are, and that would be enough.
Imagine a world were no one tears you down,
where your peers only help build you up.
Imagine a world where you aren't divided.
White or Black and that's all right.
Imagine a world where everyone feels welcome,
where you can sit side by side and feel warm inside.
Imagine a world that's willing to change.
And that will be us someday.
Nov 22
poem 5 comments challenge: Tune

Steerage and the lamp

Heron lost; 
Sunless, covered in ice;
No course, three days. 
Falling asleep-no, no.
So weary...




Cracked eyes squint;
Could it-?...
Careless now, anything 
is better than dying like this.
Eyes, arms, locked; 




The light. 
Weary, but with purpose; 
Got some hope after all.


She led me true, the lamp. 
Frozen pines drift past. 
All is still;
In awe of the biting cold.

Nov 21

A solemn affair

It is a solemn affair,
As I take a knife to Grandmother’s hair,
One little lock
Dark and silvery,
Which sits beside my own,
Between the paws in a cardboard box.

It is a solemn affair,
As Joshua takes up the spade,
A hole is dug amongst the trees,
Where roots crawl through the soil,
In the hopes of putting an end
To the funeral.

It is a solemn affair,
As Grandmother weeps,
Running her shaky fingers,
Over soft as velvet fur.
In the wake of her hands
Are cedar twigs and flowers.

It is a solemn affair,
As my hands reach for fresh brown earth, 
Cold, but not as cold as my pink tipped fingers.
Every handful helps the ground to close her lips,
Finally swallowing that cardboard box, 
The headstone is our final kiss.

It is a solemn affair, 
As Grandmother weeps about my shoulders.
She forgets her coat,
Her gloves,
Her hat,
Nov 20
fiction 0 comments challenge: Tune


This story was inspired by the song “Safe Place to Land” by Sara Bareilles, featuring John Legend. This song has a very sad tone to it. For most of the song Sara and John are singing a story about bad things happening, but then right at the end it changes to a more hopeful tone about how people can make a difference in the lives of others. I drew from that and told the story of a woman who had really been struggling in life and had gone through some tough times, but was then okay after getting a little help, and then went on to make a difference and speak about her life.

    “You can be a light for someone in a time of darkness like my friend Peter was for me. You can have a huge impact on someone’s life just by taking the time to notice them. I am a survivor. But I wouldn’t have been unless someone had taken the time to notice me.” Alicia paused, sweeping her eyes over the crowd. 
Nov 19


The best, and possibly, the first thing — or, at least, the first thing I remember, anyway— that my mother ever told me, her arms wrapped around my small body, black hair glinting in the firelight, was, "Your heart is not a conduit. Not a vessel for others to bend and break and walk through at their leisure." 

I, being only three years old, didn't understand, and just nodded, eager to please. 

Mom's blue eyes went liquid, soft, long, blunt fingers carding through my hair, wisping through the warm strands. 

"Who you choose to love is your choice, my darling." 

Her lips pressed to the top of my head. 

"Keep control of your own heart, my lovely, and when you find someone willing and deserving, you give them a shard, a small piece, of your ever expanding love, but never all of it. That way madness lies." 

Now, here, alone, I think, I'm sorry momma. I still can't replace your piece. 

Nov 18

Wishing seeds

Wait so you can see the glow
Of faces lit up with new hope
With smiles wider than the breeze
With strength that's stronger than the trees.
Wait so you can see the heart
that grows together not apart
And all the wishes in the air
that crystalize if spoken there. 

Right now uncertain times unfold
But into golden fabric bold
The fibers weave those crystal shards
Into the visions of the stars.
And those wise stars then paint a picture
Constellations. Brothers, sisters
Holding hands and being one
looking at the future sun.
And in the suns there lies the truth,
Fortunetellers, eclectic sleuth
Find stories filled with good inside,
it's then revealed unto our eyes.

And look! Our eyes can see the truth!
The good, the bad is coming loose.
The crystal wishes all refracting,
Doubts and worries broken. Cracking.
There we see what we have sought
Nov 17

Let's laugh

The smell of bleach filled my nostrils as the feel of a rough paper towel against my hand scraped against my skin as I wiped down my desk. After covering the desk in the strange smelling solution I swung my backpack over my back, sighing at the load that I couldn’t get rid of because lockers were no longer allowed. I bounded down the halls trying to keep up with my friends as they walked a few steps in front of me.

“Six feet ladies!” I heard one of the teachers call out as they walked past us. I conceded and took a few large steps away from my friends but ended up running into another girl from my grade.

She glared at me. “Sorry,” I muttered, not knowing if she heard me because of the mask wrapped around my face. I continued down the hallway alone, having lost my friends in the crowd, I finally walked into my classroom and sat down at my assigned table. 
Nov 16

Stories, and why I love them

A few weeks ago,
I stared at a book,
simply the cover of it,
no writing,
no words,
no stories. 
I thought to myself,
do I really want to read this?
I told myself that this book 
was known to be amazing,
to be magical, 
to be marvelous,
but yet,
I still found my mind
arguing with itself,
telling it that I won't like this adventure.
This journey.
But then again,
why not?
Why not read something new?
Something different,
something truly exciting,
truly fascinating?
And so I did.
And I really,
enjoyed it.
Who knew such a thing could
change one's thoughts almost immediately?
Who knew such a thing could change minds,
change ideas,
change lives?
Who knew a simple book could do such a thing?
it isn't really that simple.
It truly isn't that easy,
to write a book,
Nov 13

Afternoon sun in the fall

These past few months, I've fallen in love with
the way the afternoon sun rests
upon the foot of my bed & finds
its way to the windowsill across my bedroom.

In the past I only knew the sun 
when the two of us had just woken up.
Her beautiful light seeped through 
the branches of my cedar to happily dance
on the side of my dresser while I sleepily lay in bed.

Now that I've met the warmth of sunshine
at two in the afternoon, everything
has changed. That orange-yellow light
makes the house feel old and untouched;
pure and still.
Nov 12


My friend and I walk to Starbucks
Two miles away and we are dripping sticky sweat by the time we get there.
We go unnoticed,
Laughing, talking loudly, bright colorful clothes,
A few glances.
No one cares.
We order and slurp down our frozen frappes that are cool and melting, flavorful and full of energy.
Not a single person says anything.

Why would they?
We are "normal."
Two white girls with brown and blonde hair pulled back into loose ponytails,
Shorts, T-shirts, whatever we found on the floor of our closets this morning.

My sister and I walk to the park
Half a mile away and we look presentable when we get there.
We start attracting attention
Talking quietly, me in jeans and a shirt, her in a rainbow of colors, and
Our matching rainbow checked Vans.
We get glares.
We start chasing each other around and explore the newly placed equipment.
People murmur.
Nov 12
Roses and Summer Dreams's picture

My dog loves crossing guards

My dog loves crossing guards, it's truly the funniest scene,
whether she likes the badges or the smell of gasoline. 

Whenever she sees them she will stop and wait,
just the neon glow of their vest makes her little heart inflate.

There is one crossing guard who will give my dog biscuits
and every time she smiles, it's a wide smile with pink lipstick.

My dog loves this crossing guard because in her hand she will always have a treat,
that special one that makes my dog stop dead in the street.
Nov 10

Shooting star

Last night I saw a shooting star.
It was so small,
so tiny and insignificant looking,
I was lucky to notice it.

When I described it to them,
I said that it was so small, 
it had no other lights, 
so it wasn't an airplane.
It was the right color.
I said it looked the same way it always looks on TV,
it made them laugh,
but it was true.
I said how amazing it was,
and how I've never seen one before.

I'm honestly not sure if I'll ever see one again.
It was beautiful,
and so fleeting.
I think it was showing me 
that life is beautiful and fleeting too,
(at least to something its age),
and I should make the best of it.

Nov 10
poem 3 comments challenge: Onward

An election reflection: Raising the dead

The shouting, the joyous shouting
I didn’t expect it but here we are
People line the streets, screaming and cheering
We lean out the windows, outside and united, united, un-tied
After months of nail biting waiting, we are free!
Flags waving in the wind, roman candles flying in the night
We believed, we believed, we are alive.
There is a we now, by the way –
There's a them, but there's also an us
And they are hiding today.
A text from a friend – ”I guarantee none of us will forget this day.”
And I guarantee that he’s right.

I see carload after carload of students go by, roiling in revelry,
Pounding on the horn
I see an elderly couple waving their arms and cheering
We cheer back! 
Today is a joyous day, oh happy day, oh beautiful day
We are reborn, we are all babies who have seen so much already
There is so much left to do and it’s so hot for November.
Nov 09
poem 0 comments challenge: Onward

We have work to do

Small victories are victories 
but we have work to do.

The hate has grown and grown,
unruly, spiteful gardens 
made to strangle.

The weeds have slipped up under
our stockings and the burrs
are clinging to our knees
like tears cling to lashes.

Small victories are victories 
but we have work to do.

Our gloves are muddy
so we will use our hands.

Callouses splitting on palms
and bruises digging on fingertips.

Unearth the sleeping dahlia bulbs
and rescue them from the anger-caked plots.

Protect the quiet roots.

We may have won a battle
but there is work to do.

Small progress is progress
but it is not enough.

What is addicted to its own history
cannot move past its mistakes. 

We have work to do.
We have to start now. 
Nov 09

Elections, over the years

In kindergarten, I was oblivious. I think I knew what a president was, and, well, that was it. I asked my parents who they'd voted for, and they told me Barack Obama – a name that signaled nothing in my five-year-old mind as I announced, "Then I vote for him, too!" I imagine my parents laughed at me, or maybe just smiled – perhaps with amusement at my declaration, but perhaps with knowing that for another four years, America would be okay.

In fourth grade, I knew more. I listened when my parents told me about Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump, and I stuck nine-year-old labels of "good" and "bad" on them just like the I voted sticker my mom let me wear after I went with her to fill out bubbles on a piece of paper. That Wednesday morning, she entered my room and, when I eagerly asked from my bed, she told me, It looks like Donald Trump won. Why I remember the exact words she used to tell me the news, I don't know, but ... I think I do.
Nov 08


I was on a Zoom call when it happened.
Naturally – a Zoom call
because Zoom has embodied the essence of 2020.
There were 26 of us. Cameras on, 
listening to the lecture.
Or not – I don't know. I wasn't.
I was a bit preoccupied. Constantly looking at the numbers.
Oh the magic number 270.
I was willing that tiny blue bar to make its way to the black pixilated line.
Because if that happened there was a chance.
Just a chance 
that the future of my country would meld into a shape I wanted to be a part of.
That my country would try harder. 
Try harder to be equal, safe, accepting, knowledgeable, respectful.
Surely the majority of the people believed in what I believed in ... right?
Surely my own uncles and aunts and cousins have a similar idea of the future as I ... don't you?
Naturally this transfer of power from fire to ice will only hiss softly,
Nov 08

Tiny Writes: Biden/Harris Win!

Collected from tiny writes, Nov. 7, 2020:

- Roses and Summer Dreams

Yes! Not to mention we finally have the very first woman vice president EVER!! What a time to be alive!!
- Treblemaker

I feel like the world just tipped back to normal. Like how it was when I was.... I believe eight years old!! Somehow the sun is shining again. I feel like I’m eight for a second time.
- NiñaEstrella

Honks, whooping humans:
our jubilant homecoming.
- Yellow Sweater

Yaaas! We are making history!
- dogpoet

I haven’t quite taken it in yet. But I also haven’t stop smiling.
- flowersinherhair
Nov 06

Conch shells

You sound like the ocean
yet escape my hands every time I try
to hold you.
Sometimes it’s not enough to
press conch shells to my ears and listen to your regrets,
to open little glass bottles that you stuffed
skeletons into and sent away with a kiss.
Sometimes it’s not enough to cry at night
and think of all the bodies in the Titanic,
all the lovers who drowned without saying goodbye,
and even though I’ll meet you again someday,
I still miss your perfume and how your bones
fit so nicely next to mine.
Sometimes it’s not enough to pretend that a section
of driftwood would be big enough
for me to sail across the Atlantic to be beside you.
Sometimes it’s not enough to fill my mouth with seawater
and whisper prayers in languages that I don’t understand.
Sometimes it’s really not enough
to sit under a lamp and wish that I had run out of similes
Nov 05

We Need Change Now

We need to change as people, as communities, as a nation, as Earth.
Humanity needs to change for more love, more peace, more acceptance.
We need to stay true to ourselves while being kind.
We need to accept people of all religions, races, genders.
We need to hold the door open in our hearts and in our minds.
We need to stop judging people before we even listen to what they have to say.
We have voices and votes and love to use and we need to use it.
I have to change and so does everyone reading this.
You may think, "I'm not racist, sexist, biased, or judgmental."
You are, we all are, subconsciously, and we need to stop.
We need to not lie to ourselves
Or trick ourselves.
We are not a perfect race.
We are human 
And we need to be the best humans we can be right now
For everyone.