Posts
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this summer
this summer holds many adventures waiting:
graduation
next week I leave this school behindthe begining of an end
ice cream and treats with friends
playing with the neighborhood dogs -
ocean cottage
10 years i've spent here
this cottage by the seathese 10 years i've spent here
have become a part of melong i've stood on this shore
the tides come in and out
and so my heartbeat follows:
in and out -
Alone But Not Lonely
A tundra desert stretches as far as the eye can see:
far away, one might glimpse
a wandering soula little fox,
fur white as the snow
eyes blue as the coldest mountain creek -
Scared
We're coming up on the end of the year
and a new horizon soars closer every day.I don't want to leave this place,
yet every day I long to be gone. -
cold water
the splash of a mountain creek,
my feet in a wild stream,
hiking in the hills,
swimming under waterfalls.old brooks
summer days
cold water.
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If you could become an animal - Writing challenge
If you could become an animal what animal would it be? Would you retain your human mind? Write about a day in the body of an animal.
Loves
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Pressures of Love
For anyone who's been thinking about Valentine's day, or not, I just wish so much that for once I could get someone to like me back. But then do I? It's fine to be single and I'm fine being single, but I hate being called single.
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Weaving My Hair into Strength
My fingers weave my hair into a braid
Twisting in the experiences I’ve faced:
The “girliness” insults
That say I’m not delicate enough,
The jokes about how I look,
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Leaving Love Behind
It was the month of May 2023
For 4 hours we drove from Susie to York Beach
And it was the last time we visited Maine when you were alive.
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The Mirror
A wall of reflections
I see you,
as you berate yourself,
day in
and day out,
about your imperfections.
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Watch The Ghost Flower
"Some say the world will end in fire." Robert Frost's line echoes in my head, quickening my heartbeat and breaths, as if I should just give up and succumb to the soils surrounding us.
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If I remember you
I can't. But if I were to, I'd think of that old snowy hill beyond the library, the one where paths were cut into its snow by our sled. That one hill-- you know? The one bare and eerie this winter, with no sleds to pierce it. . .