My Writing
My collection of poetry, prose, and short stories
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I think it started at the market When I was checking ingredients lists For milk and whey. I bought margarine instead of butter. I think that was the first day I suspected that I love you.
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I grew kinder as I grew older. Though everyone said that I would grow cold, I felt warmth take root in my soul, When I decided that I wouldn’t be sold On the idea that what was done to me Was simply the way of the world.
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How are you still alive and breathingWhen you haunt me as I’m dreaming?No contact since our indefinite separation,I expected to hear news on occasion.Now I wonder if we existed at all. Should I feel distressed or relievedThat we’ve become nothing more than a memory?Only digital records kept in social media posts,Red-eyed photos and half-forgotten jokes,Serve
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Houses germinate like weeds, Popping up- unwanted- in the fields. The overgrowth has altered the landscape. I dig through the new branches to find the routes- Roots to anchor the present to the soil of the past. The old dirt road has been paved. A thick layer of tar to smother memory lane. I glided
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Once, there was only the Golden Sun and Silver Moon in the great black sky. The constant Sun loved the ever-changing Moon, and the Moon returned the Sun’s love.For many thousands of years, they were content with only one another, until a time came that they wished to grow their love even greater. “If we
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I’m overrun with possibilities of what I could do, where I could go, and who I could be. Instead of making a choice- I freeze. So I can be all of these things and none of them, all at once.
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I almost burned down my apartment Trying to erase the final traces Of the mistakes that I’ve made. But my memories only fade, Like the stupid line tattoo That took a year to remove. What’s been written can’t be changed. Stains in ink as black as sin, on the page and on my skin. Washed
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Neighbors- a flash-fictions urban fantasy I must have missed the moving truck, but I saw lights in the windows last night. Since I moved into the neighborhood 2 years ago, that house has been dark. I could only assume that someone moved in, but I’m not the kind of person who brings a casserole to
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Warm, woody and hearty; Like the old dinner table, Taking center stage in an ancestral home. Strong, full, and nurturing; Like a wise woman’s words. Ancient knowledge, preserved through time. Sweet, layered, and addictive Like a lover’s first kiss. It taste’s unparalleled, but beware the dose.
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I collect hobbies like trading cards. Relishing the thrill of the hunt for for a new pass time to expand my collection. I cycle through my passions like photos. Flipping through an album, never resting on one page longer than a beat. I hoard potential like a child hoards shells. Putting them on display or
Bringing Mae Flowers 