Be it DNA,

Be it memories,

Or little parts of the soul.

What is left over in a place we no longer go?

Growing up with the trees around you makes you one of them.

But what happens when you leave that shade they’ve always swaddled you in?

Does a tree in a forest still grow if you’re not there to witness it?

Does a tree hold the same memories of you that you do for it?

How many trunks I’ve...

She sat there in the corner every afternoon. While the rest of the world carried on its necessary functions, she simply stilled and silenced herself. She wasn’t waiting for anything. She wasn’t hoping to share her thoughts or planning some grand scheme to save the world. She simply watched.

She learned about life from that corner. Occasionally she’d turn her attention to a book when the chaos ar...

She’s a little bit of everyone that she’s ever met

The funny thing is, she’s met no one like her yet.

Sometimes she cannot fathom the pieces of herself

All unique and scattered like forgotten books upon a shelf.

She’s always longed for someone whose pieces matched her own

It took her some time to realize that her mindset was all wrong.

Instead of searching for pieces that were the same as he...

Feeling escapes me;

thoughts evade.

Nothing left

but this dead brain.

Morals for shit;

Sins already committed;

sanity taken

and long since hidden.

Heart twisted;

tears unshed

Everything left

is already dead....

What is so great about a flower?

Maybe it’s in the way it yields its power.

The power to rise from nothing but dirt;

The power to bring beauty to a world of hurt....

I'm a different person now 

I feel like all I feel is down

I'm oppressing my expressions to minimize my indisgressions and avoid your aggression 

I can't feel

I feel too much 

I feel like your going for blood 

You won

I'm exhausted 

I'm tired of the game,

it’s always the same,

my mind is in flames,

my life without aim.

I’m walking in a shadow and my shadow’s ashamed. 

I've changed. 

I'm di...

Maybe someday when the sky finally brings you the horizon and you hold it in your hands studying the mystifying blues and purples and yellows and pinks, you'll see that my heart is swirling in its depths, drowning in things that were attained and forgotten, beaten and bloody, and in that moment you'll remember the girl who was, and the daughter you lost.

(An excerpt of a longer novel in progress)...

And there it was - on an old beaten path through thickly grown and long dead weeds - that I tried to save myself.

I knew the words by heart. I knew it could only work among the sighs of ancient pines and cricket cries.

And so I recited the words that had always worked before, the words that could always bring me back to the surface. As the air thickened and grew heavy with unspent magic, I lif...