Archives for posts with tag: thoughts

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


Her colors were muted. She wanted to be bright. To shine like the sun. She was dour, dressed in black. Gray was her brightest color. She wanted to see something more…to be. But her vision was blurry. It rain from windows. She didn’t know how to begin. The yellow brick road. The unbeaten path. She was blue girl with shades of gray dancing before her eyes.





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



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Still. Silent. Planted firm between a rock and dreams. Patience of a pebble. No surrender of dreams.

Standing on the edge of hope and disappointment. So easily torn between keep trying and stop trying. The winds of doubt blow dreams like scraps of paper.

No matter how long it takes, never cut loose that passion that burns like fire. A fire inside your very soul. Snip. Snip the naysayers. And believe in your decade long dream coming to fruition.

So on the 9th of July , the seventh month in our calendar year I turned 34. Being 34 just feels kind of odd. 27, 30 or 33 didn’t feel odd. I haven’t really accomplished much in 3 decades of being on Earth. The beginning of this year when I was still 33 I was hoping this would be a literary year. A year where I would land an agent and so forth…Instead I am approaching 34 rejections on my 3rd manuscript. Ok maybe not that many but it is double digits. I have 34 creative ideas running through my head. Ok maybe 7. I have 34 pages typed in my fourth manuscript. I really think that is accurate. I have entered 3 writing contests. The results are in on two of them. And the winner is…not me. One can not say I haven’t tried to achieve my literary dreams. Will it be the 34th thing I write. Here’s to 34. Maybe I will cry for 34 minutes and let 34 tears roll down the contours of my face.

Staring at the full moon in the sky

she felt empty inside, her dreams felt dead

as lilacs in winter

dried tears made tracks on her cheeks


Staring blankly at sheets of paper

out of ink

creativity runs dry as desert ground

She ponders, “what happens to an undreamed dream?”


Staring at the cloud clotted sky

she felt heavy with rain, her dreams seemed to fall

like snow

She ponders, what happens to an undreamed dream?”

She couldn’t not dream. She had to dream. And that dream had to blossom into

something real.