Thoughts.

Sometimes all I do is think. I think of all the poems I have stacked so neatly on the shelves of my mind. All gathering dust and welcoming age. All in perfect alphabetical order. In no particular order either. I think of all the poems I started but never finished creating, all the half written

COFFEE TIME — DEAD POETS SOCIETY

I have my notebook out, my pencils are scattered all over the table leaving just enough space for my steaming coffee. I am so excited. It’s time to write! I curve up a few words. The first and second stanzas are done but how to finish? The first paragraph is perfect but the second one […]

How to Pitch Personal Essays at Longreads: An Updated Guide — Longreads

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Pledge

I embedded myself,To the walls of this pages.I let my blood flow,Painting these pagesWith my fingers,As the brushes.Gently stroking the pagesI let myself do the calligraphy..I gave myself to this paperWhen I finished writing,I rolled a joint,As if to captivate my troublesCouldn’t wait to light it upJust to watch sorrow floatSo confidently in airLike to

IN TIME

In that moment, i hated him. I looked at him with my eyes shooting death curses, red as hell. I could feel my throat clog, the warm, slightly digested lunch threatened to come out the same way, it got swallowed in. I despised every word he spat. I thought and saw through every plan i

Explicit

Here I go again,Blocking everyone outShutting everyone outPutting out the camp fireIt’s time to sleepIt’s time for me to roamIn the jungleAll aloneI don’t mindNot at allHere I go againKilling all I ever gave life toAll you bring is pain anyway,Let me beI just wanna play with my demonsI know I can’t hideI can’t run

Twinkle

As the orangeWas sprayed,Across the vast realmsAnd the sun,Slowly retractedTo its warm, cosy bedBeyond the horizonsAnd over the mountains,Dissolving it’s last raysOn the blue oceansAnd the darknessQuickly rose,Like a mother, in hasteI knew it was time,For me to sing and danceIt was time for my reignAnd they would look upTo me,As some find loveBeneath my

Friday the 13th

Maybe it’s time I pulled out my chest box,let it see the light of day,let it bask in the heat of the sun,maybe it’s time I bent over,with my flashlight on,take slow steps down the basement,it’s scary down here.I don’t normally come here.It’s really like walking to your own death,worse than having a gun to

Frankie

They call me mean nowThey say I’ve changedGrown a lil darkerAnd slenderBut is today yesterdayDoes the week start and endOn SundayDoes your calenderRead the same dateIs the moon always fullYou weren’t thereDuring my fallThey call me mean nowOblivious of the patterned scarsThey tattedOn my once beautiful skinTaking the form of FrankieAn ode to my nameThey

Hush

And as you walk down the pavements of your empty being,noting every wrong bend,every overgrown flower,with the hedge looking a little too bushy,noting nothing but the bad that surrounds you, you can only stop,to give thanks to the mountains of endless windows,trying best as they can to illuminate your darkness,to paint a little hope to