Your Horoscope Says:

"Your True Love is on the third rock from the sun. You must meet your soul mate before to clear the path to her.
​The color blue will favor you but, first, it demands a sacrifice.
​Please, do not stargaze tonight. The stars will be awake and gazing down."

There is something in my past
It eats away at my future
I do not yet know what it is
But it is jeopardizing tomorrow
I must pull it by the root
So that it may never grow again

Your Horoscope Says:

“Contemplate the purpose of being. The philosophy of endeavoring.
The west favors you today.
​Be suspicious of those wearing the color green.”

Find me all the time in a castle of gray and white
When you do, ask me what I left behind
In time you will see that all I am
Is not what I proclaim to be

I am a shell of a shell
Was never true to myself
Perhaps it's not too late to learn
That a helping hand eases the pain

My castle is overgrown, I should cut the weed
But the thorns are digging deeper, leaving fine scratches on my skin

I hired a gardener to oversee
The cleaning and pruning of thorns and weeds
He took one close look at me
And created a sculpture of my visage

It is me, he corrected eagerly
How he sees me! Surprised, I've never seen myself
I am amazed, looking around, noticing
That the thorns and weed were made to resemble me

Come spring, I'll have a garden of fragrant flowers
That my gardener has nurtured himself
He's got a green thumb, an affinity for growth
I meant to keep him... If he's not already mine​

Your Horoscope says:

“Endurance through the long night reveals the brightest dawn.
Consult the stars.
Your True Love folds six socks. He frowns. They are missing their half. The dryer smirks.
​Carry a water bottle with you today."

Inhale the winter’s breeze
Green turns bare
Life; a knotted ending

Your horoscope says:

“Perfection cannot be rushed. It does not exist.
Your soulmate awaits in the unlikeliest of places. Remain vigilant.
​Your True Love hides his face. ”

Your Horoscope Says:

“To everything there is a season.
​The eve is upon us.
Patience will flower beauty while impatience yields only barren fields."

I'm teaching you how a girl became a monster
All the dreams she'd hoped to spin
All the songs she'd hope to sing
On the road she drove too fast out of control

The sad and the lonely
The arms wrapped around me
The truth and the tales
All the lies we sold

We're chasing tomorrow
We're chasing fortunes
We're chasing our pasts
Trying to forget misfortunes

Never a fantasy we couldn't ruin
Fill in between lines and, true,
You'll find us running as fast
To get away from who we are

***
Little ants. Tiny, little ants.

****
I'm teaching you how a girl became a monster
All the dreams she'd hoped to spin
All the songs she'd hope to sing
On the road she drove too fast out of control

Your horoscope says: “You wake up with a frog in your throat. Leave it there. Reminiscence about a past decision. You are better off not making that choice. Thunder will strike, revealing the diamond in the rock.”
​

We were past the highway when you realized you never knew me at all 
Regret is the word we use when we wish we could forget
So you ask
And I speak
You glance anywhere but at me
The trees reach in: soft, canary yellow appendages gliding against your skin 
As if to comfort you 
I am alone in my box, watching the scene like a bystander 
The cars weave in and out in front of you 
My words do the same, monosyllabic as they are 
Perhaps the silence held the knife 
While my words were mere menacing pinpricks 
Stoplight: blinking yellow then un-approving red 
Stop 
Exactly like a mother would scold 
Her bright-eyed child for being too eager 
Green 
You realize it might have been better not knowing me at all 


Afterall, forgetting ensures there is nothing to regret

Your horoscope says: “Take a break from studying. The numbers 6 and 2 comes to you in a dream. Play them. Do not turn left at the sign. Your destiny awaits on the right.

Sun: light, glare, heat, crisp
Butterflies dancing, gleeful
Does not feel like fall

​Sometime in 2014, I wrote a book.
​It was not great nor was it moderately okay but it was 400 pages of my dreams and hopes. It was mine. I got feedback saying that it needed work. I edited, sent it out in the world, and the rejection letters, deservingly, came pouring in. 

Autumn, students chat
Worried about new school year
Boredom, grades, what’s next?

This place is not a home
It’s a place that thrives on tragedy
It leaves me feeling cold
And I cannot explain it
You keep telling me how good it’s been
But I can't stand my life
Destroyed in front of me
I wished I had enough courage to leave
I don’t know what I’m still doing here
I keep telling myself it ends now
But the next morning I wake
To see nothing’s changed
And my prison gets smaller
My leash suffocate me
This place is not a home
It’s a place that slowly
Squeezes the life out of me
A sacrifice of only one

Dreams was written sometime in 2013.

In my dreams I have lived a hundred lives
I have been both good and bad with iridescent shades of grays
Once I was a teacher who led a revolution
A cook who cooked for the king
A revolutionary leader who killed a king
A traitor with a heart of gold
A queen who ran away
The child who knew it all
And the axeman who let the axe fall
A cell phone which talked too much
A book holding unto stories and touch
Of the reader who left it behind
But the best dreams are the ones
When I'm with you
The best part of dreaming
Is that these are songs I've yet to sing

​Life is not easy. Living is one the hardest things to do. It is a choice made each and every single day. A conscious decision to go on. I want this to be a place where I can tell my truths. All the ugly aspects of it. The struggles and the triumphs. 
My truth is I am struggling to write. To dedicate myself to my goal of being a published author. It seems like I am fighting myself. Fighting against what is set for me and what I want to become, especially now that I am an "adult." I'm trying not to be a disappointment to those around me but I feel like it is inevitable. 
Life is never what you want it to be, even when it seems that way.
I am struggling but I am still fighting. Trying to find a balance where I don't disappoint myself as well.
I pick up stream and I lose it.
I pick up a pen and nothing but a thin line of abstract sorrow comes from it.
Life is inhaling, holding that one precious breath while visualizing shelter from the storm.
I hope this can become my shelter.

#apathappears was written to commenmorate the show, during the viewing around January 27, 2015

Seeds was written December 21, 2014.

Ice was written on March 23, 2014 about the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi. Enjoy!

The Young Girl first appeared on Twitter February 6, 2014. Enjoy!

A few years ago, February 5, 2014 to be precise, I started posting poems on Twitter (under #poetrylive). Well, for the next few weeks, I'll be reposting those poems here as a part of #tuesdaytreats. 

​One aspect of writing that a writer must know is genre. Most don't think they know much until it is explained. No matter where your writing takes you (be it author, screenwriting, or directing e.t.c.) you will always encounter genres. It is inescapable so you might as well become friends now.