Writers block

So lately it’s been hard for me to write but I really need to get into doing it daily. It’s rough when I don’t know when or what to write about and it isn’t like anyone is reading this right now. But it’s something I need to do. Mentally writing is so good for me – it’s just sometimes hard to force myself to. But I’ll get the hang of it


I don’t sit out here very often, but I should. It isn’t much ; just a back patio with a view of all of the neighbor’s back porches. Yet, at this time there is something special about it- calming almost. I can hear basketballs bouncing in the distance, kids playing, crickets making noises along with the other creatures, and vehicles starting and stopping. Despite all of the noises there is a calming quiet that settles over everything. The colors in the sky seem to be telling everyone that night is settling in and the moon is coming out. The blues fade to yellows that fade to pinks that turn to purples, that only go to blue again. It’s chilly this time a year, but not cold. It’s that feeling where my heart aches for the time long ago when I wasn’t sitting here taking it all in. I was waiting on night to settle and the fun to begin. My  adventures were an adrenaline rush and love blew through the air to fill my lungs with every breath I took. Now as I sit here , it is hard not to look at all of these house and wonder what happens within those thin walls. What comes after the curtains close? What are they yelling about? Who’s birthday party is going on in the dinning room? They all look so happy. I guess there are some things we just cannot know. However, I do know that these were the houses I ran between during my adventure sin the night. But I do not feel like I am living an adventure anymore. I guess only time will change that. I just hope that somewhere inside of any or all of those walls, there is someone waiting for night to settle. I hope they take risks like I did. I  hope those risks lead to great beginnings, and mostly that they never regret them. I know I do not. Because somewhere under these colors painted above me; someone else is thinking this too (and maybe not) , but I can pretend. Some place somewhere some one’s colors are fading into night , and some where else night is turning day. And some where in between all of that , the person who began and lived my true adventure with me is looking up at this painted sky and thinking of me, at least I hope. Maybe it’s just the colors, maybe it’s the sound of the wind, and maybe it is just the time of the year, but I still hope.




I work in a restaurant. Most look at this job and say no. Honestly it’s rough on your body and it takes a good memory. But the people make it worth it. Some people you see every single day , sometimes more than once. Some you only see once. Some know your name, birthday , school schedule , work schedule and all of the above. Others don’t even know your name so they simply call you ma’am. This isn’t my dream job by any means and I plan on switching soon. But I know I will miss seeing the steam pour from the coffee pot as I tend to my first customer of the day. I will miss the jokes me and my coworkers make and how we share our hatred for huge huge loud groups (especially when it’s almost closing time). I will miss the warmth of the people who hug me before they leave and carry on with their day. I will miss the sunshine sneaking through the blinds and wishing I were outside feeling it. I will miss the rush of the kitchen and the urge to get a million things done in two minutes just to keep those tables happy. I will miss seeing the little girl who is convinced I’m a princess in disguise. There are lots of things that I know one day my heart will ache for. I’ll look back and know that this wasn’t what I wanted to do but I did love the feeling. It’s not perfect and it’s hard work really , but this is an experience I wouldn’t trade for anything else. This job teaches you quite a bit about respect and integrity. Because even if no one sees you do a bunch of stuff that you don’t HAVE to do , you do it anyways. You do those things to help out the coworker who did it for you one night and you never got to thank them. You learn how to treat the ones who are doing things for you with respect. Amongst everything I’ve loved about having this job , I have to say I’m walking out a different woman than before. I will never forget the lessons and things I have learned by working here. So thank you , for being a little warm restaurant that taught me so much.

Shallow Thoughts

Sometimes simply writing is not enough. Sometimes it is not enough to express the whirling winds of my mind. A pure paragraph cannot make you see into my soul and drink in the intensity of my bones, but poetry? Poetry can. So here we go.

Shallow Thoughts 

She’d learnt to keep a shallow mind

So people didn’t have to swim

and it led them to think they knew

the thoughts she held within

but below the wading pool she’d made

Was a world left unexplored

An ocean of her feelings                                                                                                                        hidden under the pool’s floor

the waters turned to blackness

Where not even she dared to go

stretching from behind her eyes

to the ends of all of her toes

she didn’t want to dive right down

And find what lay hidden there                                                                                                          Because she knew with all of the deep water

come a deadly lack of air

but she didn’t foresee the lonely boy

who found a crack in her cement

Broke free of her wading pool

and into the darkness he went

he told her not to fear her thoughts

as he took her by the hand

and went with her to places

that their lungs could not withstand

in their new-found love they both forget

the importance of their breath

and interwoven in the world they’d found

they both drowned in its depths.

Yellow Paint.

I saw this today. You probably need to read it first before you read this. Because “yellow paint” sounds odd by itself. Kind of lonely without any explanation as to why I’m talking about yellow paint. Nevertheless – I want to talk about the yellow paints of our lives. Or I guess in this case , my life. My yellow paints at one point became self harm, including myself in a life where I ran away from everything, stealing, and drinking. All super unhealthy but I thought it would bring me happiness. Of course it did for a second, but after that second it only became sadness again. And don’t worry I’ll spare you the sappy details of how I met my first love and how he took away my want for those yellow paints. But the moral is that everyone , at some point, will have at least one yellow paint, and that is okay. But you cannot keep this color. For you must learn to change it out for better colors. Because if you keep this want for thing that are not good for you , you simply will not be you anymore. But a wall hiding problems beneath a thin layer of paint. And if I’m telling the truth there are much prettier colors than yellow.

However, have you ever seen an acrylic painting? Have you watched the artist take the brush and blend the most odd colors together and somehow, some way, form a masterpiece? Well, if yellow is the bad things in life we do to try to make ourselves happy there has to be other colors attached with other emotions. Although I do believe our canvases are pure when we are born. What sort of picture would our lives be at the end if they didn’t include some of every color? In other words I don’t think anyone can live their life without trying this yellow paint, and sometimes those mistakes or bumpy roads can be the very things that define us. So explore, try things, mess up, make mistakes, but most importantly learn.


Writing On Walls

I hid what you had done for what I believe you would do one day. You never apologized for anything, yet I accepted it. I wiped the tears you brought to my tired eyes before anyone could see. Physically you never hurt me. But mentally you tore me apart. What do you do when your first love turns out to be your first real hate? What do you do when they become someone you can’t even stand looking at? When the small hole in your chest that had been there before rips open wide and all of your insecurities lay bare to the world? When the you that stood with open doors and had trust in everyone suddenly became someone who double locked those doors on a daily basis? What do you do when the man you were talking about isn’t a lover, but a so called father? What do you do when you now have found the love of your life , but cannot bring yourself to trust because frankly…… you are scared of falling and not being caught, again? I do not have the answers to those questions. If I did I don’t think I would be asking them, but damn do I hope I find the answer soon. I guess sometimes the ones who break our hearts are not lovers at all, but people we expect to be there no matter what. Lovers will pass, lovers will slam doors they never reopen, lovers leave, and heartbreaks happen. But family? Family is supposed to stay. Through life though I’ve learned that not everyone does the things they are “supposed to”.


Deafening Silence

Short story type.

And then there was a long pause; a silence; the kind of heavy silence that you can feel in your chest., the kind of serene silence that reminds you of when you were a child watching the air bubbles break the surface tension of the water above you as you lay on the bottom of the pool holding your breath. The kind of silence that could make you cry without even realizing that you’ve been holding back those waves of salt behind your eyes for far too long. In that silence, that silence that spindles memories into flickering celluloid images flailing out of control as the world beneath you seems to stop on its axels. Your first thought: how did I get here? And the second thought: I do not deserve this.