In pieces.

I’ve been writing little…tidbits of things almost every day for a couple of weeks now. I figured I might post a few of them, if I felt like they were worth sharing. Here is one from a few days ago.

 

I want to drop a plate

in the middle of the tiled floor

to let you know that I feel

just as shattered, just as broken.

I think I would take pleasure

in seeing myself in its shards,

but I can’t be bothered to pick up the pieces.

 

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A little rhyming poem.

(Goodness, is it June already? I really need to start posting here again! I’ve made some crafts that I need to share as well, but in the meantime, have a little poem! I wrote this for my boyfriend, because he likes poems that rhyme.)

With her pen, she began to write,

Late, late into the night.

She wrote of things that caused her fright,

She wrote of things that made her spite,

But when she finally turned off the light,

She dreamt of things that gave her might.

Freddie.

It’s been a little over a year

Since the boys in blue caused his death.

At 25, he had barely started living

And maybe his past wasn’t perfect

But whose is?

 

Freddie’s death was unnecessary.

There is no place for ‘rough rides’

Or abuses of power.

Protocol is not a choice,

But police brutality is.

 

It’s been a little less than a year

Since violence erupted

In the streets of Charm City

And we saw how anger corrupts

Even the best of people.

 

Freddie’s death was a catalyst,

A wake-up call, an anthem.

He showed that our society

Is more broken  

Than the body he spent his last hours in.

 

© 2016

(I’m not completely happy with this, but I felt it best to post today due to the events it references. Timeliness and all that. Written as a challenge based on this post but also because I’ve been thinking about this lately and wanted to say something about it.) 

The Appeal of Good Writing.

(I was thinking about good writing and this strange little poem thought itself into existence.)

 

I am turned on by letters mingling on a page

Forming words that evoke images

Or ideas.

 

I am excited by the way a writer arranges their words

With care and precision

And purpose.

 

If they strip down to their bare selves

Exposing their truths,

I am ecstatic.

 

I aspire to be like them,

To take a reader’s breath away

In a moment of pure delight.

© 2016

Perks of being friends with my sister.

I’ve been experimenting with different writing forms lately. Today I wrote a list (that counts, right?!). I thought about making this more poetic or something, but then I kind of liked it the way it was. A nice, simple list. 

Perks of Being Friends With My Sister

  1. She’ll give you candy and other little presents. It may feel like you’re drowning in kindness, sometimes. (There are worse ways to die.)
  2. She’ll send you letters. LOTS of letters. (She might single-handedly be keeping the US Postal Service in business.)
  3. She’s pretty big on hugs.
  4. She’s not good at lying. You’ll always get the truth out of her.
  5. She says funny things, often without intending to. There’s never a dull moment with her!
  6. She knows a lot about opera. This may seem very specific, and it is, but she makes it interesting.
  7. She’s a hard worker. Her work ethic is inspiring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A new month = a new submission! (Writing process inside!)

I’m actually working on several entries for this month, but the one I’d like to share with you today involves working from a given first line. That’s right. Someone ELSE wrote the first line of this piece, and now I have to see where I can go with it!

I’m not allowed to publish it yet, because rules are a thing, but I wanted to talk a little bit about my process thus far.  Continue reading

I am very excited to present the piece that I submitted to Enchanted Conversation. Regrettably, it was not accepted for publication, but I knew it was a bit of a long shot for a number of reasons. I am just glad I was able to finish something and be proud of it. Without further ado, then!

Cinderella’s chariot hastened her to the ball, but not before the rain began. A slow drizzle gave way to a brisk downpour that coated the ground in mud.

Continue reading