Archives for posts with tag: feelings

The stars wasn’t as lonely as she/ gathered with many/ pinpricks in the sky/ tears pricked her eyelids/ The sun wasn’t as lonely as she/ The sky his very home/ clouds passing by/ The days just passing her by/  The streams wasn’t as lonely as she/ For she was always running into rivers/ She was running out of time / She was one in the universe/ a lonely planet/ orbiting herself






The flowers have long since wilted


Chocolate kisses have melted


You never came


I tire of plucking petals


Being a starry-eyed maid-in-waiting…


For you to come


Bleeding love?


My heart has turned tortoise shell


You took too long


The relationship sailed on


Leaving me to drown with insecurities



The pre-goddess years-21

The Teenaged Version of Myself

she is unsure of her steps

held back by a reluctant tongue

her words are quiet

she stares shyly across rooms

her feelings are written

instead of spoken

she wades through mutinous days

and tear soaked nights

she tries to fit in

but she doesn’t belong

staring through mirrors

she wishes she was someone else

the teenaged version of myself

drew herself into a corner

home wasn’t the best

school was much worst

she was often laugh at like a running joke in sneakers

she was a tight ball of isolation

watching the world through plastic lenses

her heart had the longest longing

the teenaged version of myself

didn’t know the power of dreams and dreaming

being true the thyself

but the adult version of myself

ignores the laughter and whispers

and marches to her own off beat drum

She was born with a spark. Catching fire. Her torch could be seen from the hilltop.

She was born with a spark. Losing fire. The winds of doubt sent her torch teetering.

She was born with a spark. Reigniting fire. Too many tears doused her torch.

She was born with a spark.

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If you ask me how I feel? I say I’m deep shades of melancholy. I just staked a claim in somber city. There are reasons why I feel the way that I feel. Those bastards at work is number one. Last time I check I wasn’t a child so why is another  adult raising their voice at me. I’m making hourly wages and I work hard doing multiple things: zoning, collecting returns, back up cashiering, working freight, assisting customers. Sunday night when I got home my body literally ached. This was no metaphorical things. Every night my feet hurt.They hurt so bad that I toddle when I walk. Which brings me to my next source of ire. How damn impatient those bastards are. “I need you to move with a sense of urgency.” “They on my head. I’m on your head.”  I move as fast as I can. I’m no damn hummingbird. “Ya’ll move like ya’ll have no where to go” Well I don’t . I’m there from 1 to 10 pm. Here’s the thing they don’t schedule any morning associates to handle all that freight. So when i come in the returns are turning into a mountain and there are still pallets of freight. So one can see how I feel. My home life is no better. I need some money to come my way. So I can leave my aunt’s basement. It constantly rains from my eyes.

 My heart breaks when I see my dream not coming full circle. For the past seven years I tried with no avail to break into the literary world. Query here. Query there. So I decided to go the self-publishing route. My book has been on for 27 days now. So far only one person has purchased The Strange World of Neve Rimbel. Trying to sell your book by yourself is hard. I don’t know how to market it. I posted it on twitter and made a facebook page and made a blog on wordpress about it. I even told some of my co-workers. I don’t know how I can get strangers interested in my creative work. I’ve read so many success stories of people self-publishing. I want that to be me. But how? I would love to have one-fourth the success  Amanda Hocking had when she self-published. She made a million dollars. I’ve only made $1.64.

I am 32 years-old. I only want to write books for a living. I don’t want to have bosses (i.e department , assistant, support, zone managers all raising their voices at me. I’m tired of my entire body aching. I’m tired of crying. I am tired of feeling like a loser. I am tired of not having my own place. Living with senior citizens because I really do. (No offense mom) I am finally tired of seeing and hearing about other people living their dreams.