Anyone Can Write

I had an interesting conversation with my mother--more like an ongoing one--where she praises how well I can write and how she wishes she could. So I told her, ANYONE CAN WRITE. And seriously, anyone can. Can you read? You can write. Can you speak? You can write. Countless journals have been published that are…

Olivia’s Mistake

This was a short story I wrote last year. It was rotting away in my google drive, and I thought, why not, maybe you'd want to read it. Have fun. Tell me what you think in the comments.

The Last Year

Yes, I took the last year off from writing in my blog. No, it was not solely because of the pandemic, although to disregard the constant malaise that everyone must be feeling from staring at the same four walls and the same people day in and day out for months would be folly. I call…

On Audience and Thunderstorms

I wrote this in December last year while floundering for what I wanted to write about. The truth is, you are always floundering, even if you KNOW what you want to write. This was part of the struggle last year, and though most of it is written in second person, you will get the gist:…

The Dry Period

I don’t know how long it’s been since I wrote anything (except journal entries), but it’s been far too long. For a writer, not writing creates its own set of problems. You get these little nagging voices inside your head telling you all kinds of messed up crap: you write shit, give it up; when…

Christmas and Obligation

While Christmas shopping last night, I couldn’t help but notice the faces of those around me, the harried looks, the frantic airs. How I saw myself in them! How much I wished to throw down all in the face of such, disgusted with the SHOW of Christmas spirit but none of the care, yet stay…

Field Trip

...There were no houses. There was nothing around them except a narrow dirt track that was surrounded by trees. No escape. There were fifteen on the bus. Now only twelve, and still no one stood up to save themselves...

On Anxiety, Depression, and Writing

This has been a difficult subject for me to tackle, as I'm sure most would agree. At least, I'm agreeing with myself and maybe a few others would, too; I don't profess to be a mind reader. I've struggled with depression and anxiety for nearly all of my life, possibly before anything traumatic ever happened…

Death Rattle

It’s a tragedy Stuck in a stuck sense Like mud-hardened shell of pain Like tar of a million years Bubbling away and eating the flesh Eating, rotting like a corpse  Underground? No. Above ground  Mausoleum of Fire Caged and spitting hissing cat Kissing the moon like a fool While around the world spins Towards some…

Scrambled

A poem dedicated to Josh, who took himself from us too soon. There’s a hollow space inside of me, and I can’t breathe  I’m an apple with no core, no seed, no arsenic If I could, I wish the water were, so I could feel the burn Sizzle, drip, watch the other lives tripping along…