Love Story

Everyone deserves a love story

But are any of them ever clean?

They are guaranteed

To take your breath away

.

They are sure to change you

To challenge you to grow

But if you’re not careful

The wrong one

.

In the wrong place

At the wrong time

Can ease into your weak points

And destroy you

.

Sometimes, it feels

Beyond recognition

But even in a good love story

As it grows, rises, and ends

.

There are remnants of your former self

That crumbled in the process

Of breaking and healing

And shaping new beginnings

.

Together or apart

There are always new beginnings

And the parts of you that broke away

Are somewhere in the stars

.

You set out to know someone else

But in the process

A new You emerged

And you have to get to know her, too

.

Love seems like a thing to have

But it is an entity

That transmutes you

Into the heart creature you were meant to be

.

And the story

However brief or however long

Lives in your heartbeat

Alters your pathways of reason

.

You are perhaps wiser

You are perhaps stronger

You are perhaps more You

You are perhaps cleaner

.

You traced the depths of your emotions

Into your palms

You survived hellos and daydreams and goodbyes

Perhaps one too many goodbyes

.

And in the end

Invisible ink is tattooed on your skin

The secret moments of your own love story

As you look to the horizon, whispering, “Let me write another.”

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Goodbye Sunshine

Things were good

Sweet and slow

I liked that we were going

At the same, soft pace

.

Step by step

Springtime dance

Only it was autumn

With our gentle fire

.

Nothing was easy

But the moments were worth it

Sweet, silent whispers

Of “I trust you”

.

And I felt good

Watching this rosebud form

I asked you

“Would you like to see it blossom?”

.

We glimpsed the future

The sunshine, the rain

A glimmer of a chance

For Us

.

And I enjoyed the here and now

Reaching out

Confident

Eternally unsure

.

I didn’t just have to grow with you

I had to grow with myself

Not just hearing me and you

But hearing all the voices in my head

.

All the madness in my heart

All of my own fears

That I wasn’t really going to be loved

And it all feels so silly now

.

Worrying and questioning

What I had

When I had it

You were there, and I couldn’t trust it.

.

Our flower opened up

Just a little

To all the light

I opened my heart to you

.

Let a little love

Pour out to you

Because I started to feel brave

And sure

.

And you echoed

All the light back

And I felt

Like I was home

.

The next day

You started to pull away

Pushed back, didn’t hear me

I thought I knew the reasons

.

But there was so much I didn’t know

So much I couldn’t know

So much you could have told me

But it took so long to trust me

.

And now I’m not so sure

If I can be trusted.

I felt so abandoned

Love crumbled

.

And it was no one’s fault

But how was I to know?

How was I to know

Things couldn’t change?

.

After letters and proof

I found my way back to you

Passed a test

And you added honey

.

To my mornings again

I let you take the lead

You held out your hand

And every time, I took it

.

But after a while

It seemed you didn’t like it

Because I was just like the rest

Another who couldn’t be trusted

.

I had to break down walls

Before they could form

Before they could divide us again

And for a while

.

When I was sure hope was lost

We were in a sanctuary

Of trust, gentleness, and conversation

And I started to feel safe

.

Sometimes feeling safe

Is the biggest mistake.

When things were new

I wanted to be there with you

.

But dark clouds loomed

And you shut me out

I’m not passing any blame around

I just missed you

.

But in the meantime

You had cracked open

You trusted me with you deepest thoughts

And I thought we were in this together

.

Moving forward, a steady song

And you started to drift away again

And I needed to see you

So I tried to make our flower blossom

.

Tried to create a whole garden

My love was something

You held in your hand

But I knew you didn’t want to hold on tight

.

Really, really, really

I should have known

But I needed

To see you

.

You put up walls

You built moats

You didn’t make it easy

For me to enter your kingdom

.

And yet you opened doors

And yet you called off soldiers

And yet you sent an invitation

And yet pulled me near

.

In the end

Your walls went up higher

Than they had ever been

And I was left

.

To leave messages between bricks

There’s no time to cry in a kingdom

And now I just wait

Soft glances toward your fortress

.

I know you think

That I’m just like the rest

Leaving so easily

Not caring

.

But I wonder if you’ll let me

Hold on.

I’m not passing any blame around

I just miss you

.

I think back to those early days

The first hellos

The first jokes

The first sense

.

That this could be something real

When we walked at that slow, soft pace

Step by step

With our gentle fire

.

And now I wonder

If maybe that was the problem

We started off slow

And then we were at different speeds

.

When I was ready to race ahead

You still wanted to take your time

And then you stopped altogether

And vanished

.

And I looked back

Wondering how we could press rewind.

I wanted you too much

To let you take the lead

.

Because so much so

I wanted you to know

That you were one of the best things

That ever happened to me

.

I’m not passing any blame around

I just missed you.

And I don’t want to dance alone

I hate the feeling of you being gone

.

Never knowing if you’ll reach out again

Never knowing if you’ll let me take your hand

Never knowing if you’ll like the feeling

Never knowing if you’ll see I’m not like the rest.

Whale Songs

The ocean feels so far tonight

I can’t decipher the whale songs

Even though their melodies

Drift into the forest

And I’m left thirsty

For the music

.

I am a conch shell

On the coast

Half-buried in sand

I am nobody’s home

I’m just in the shadow of the moonlight

Wrapped up in the tent of cold

Listening out for ocean waves

I want to be washed away

.

But I can’t ask for the horizon

I have to settle for the memories

Every time the ocean

Drifts away from me.

And I can’t see

In the seaside dark.

The stars that shine

Don’t seem to shine for me

As I drift further

Into the sandy sea.

Ronan: Ghoul of the Underworld

[Hi 🙂 It’s been a while since I posted anything. I’ve recently started my master’s degree and I’ve been busy busy busy. In an attempt to keep the writing magic alive, here’s a story/poem I’ve had in my head for a few days. Happy October! ❤ ] 

My first impression of Earth
Is that it is too bright
Much more luminous
Than the Underworld

It makes me ache for home
But I have a job to do
My ears twitch at the sound
Of car tires and sirens

But my fingers
Rest upon cool bricks
As I step into the shadows
Of an alley

Where a body lay
Of a man with a dirty jacket
And a beard peppered with gray
His pulse has been silent for hours

I pull a jar from my bag
Its glass as clear as water
Orbs of blue, green, and orange light
Swirling around in a dance

The orbs of light
Are human souls
I pull out my dagger
Inscribed with ancient texts

And I speak one of the chants aloud
In my native, whispery tongue
The dagger glows with black and green energy
And an orange soul emerges from the man’s ear

With my blade,
I guide it to the jar
Capturing the orb.
It panics at first

Zig-zagging around
But with a second chant
The spirit is sedated
And it floats to the bottom

Into a deep sleep.
I check my assignment scroll
And see that this corpse
Is a Category D5

He has no family
No close ties
And no one knows he is here
I whisper a final chant

And the body fades away
Sending him to be buried
With his closest ancestors
Embraced by Mother Earth

My name is Ronan
Ghoul of the Underworld
Daughter of Rylan and River
And I have just captured my first soul.

I made it to three hundred followers

I started this blog in 2015, after I graduated from college. One of the many pieces of my writing journey. It really makes my day when people like my posts or leave comments. It can be nice knowing that my thoughts, poetry, art, or videos resonated with someone. The people blogging in the WordPress community are so creative, kind, and thoughtful (at least the ones I have come across). It is so nice to see so many people sharing their work, ideas, and stories.

Like many people, I find myself at times wanting to take a break from the internet. (I’m rarely successful at taking such breaks, but hey, I try.) But this blogging platform has been overall positive. I can go onto my feed and see poems, personal essays, and artwork at any time of day or night. Thank you to the people who make this corner of the internet so positive and inspiring. And thank you to the people who have followed my blog or interacted with my posts.

I don’t have a niche blog (I always get bored with trying to write those). I’m just here to be myself and post whatever comes to mind (it’s usually poems). This has been a space where I can say what is on my mind and I am thankful for that. Thank you everyone ❤

thank you.jpg

Thoughts on art

Creativity has always been a big part of my life. Before I even started kindergarten, I loved to draw. By the time I was nine, I was filling my journals with poetry. In high school, my life revolved around singing and acting. And for the past six years I’ve been focusing primarily on writing poems, fiction, articles, web copy, plays, and of course blog posts.

As I transitioned into my “adult” years, it felt important for me to hold onto my inner artist. I knew too many people who grew up and left the passions and talents of their teen years behind them, trading them in for more practical jobs and the responsibilities of family life. There is nothing wrong with making money and there is nothing wrong with having a family. I certainly aspire to these things in my own way. And I am without a doubt a creature who values comfort and stability.

But I never wanted to be someone who let go of her passions just because she got older. But I realize this line of thinking was flawed in a sense, because holding onto the passions of my teen years potentially stopped me from developing new interests. And it may have made me a bit closed-minded in the things I pursued, deciding too early on who I am and who I am not.

I also realize that, contrary to what I may have thought, passion and business don’t always go hand in hand. Just because you enjoy an activity, it doesn’t mean you will enjoy the process of trying to do it for a living. I love writing, but I don’t love selling things, making my work as an self-published author bittersweet. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, but trying to sell books has also made me feel like there’s a barrier between me and my ultimate goal, which is to connect with people.

Writing for online magazines can be quite fun, especially since comment sections can be so interactive. It brings me great joy to see someone share thought-provoking ideas based on an article I wrote. To see that someone was so invested in your writing that they decided to leave a comment can be wonderful, and it offers a feeling of instant gratification that one doesn’t often get when it comes to writing.

Attempting to make money in the world of marketing, copywriting, and public relations has also been interesting, informative, but ultimately not terribly lucrative for me. High competition plus a lack of deep interest on my part has not made this a fun ride.

When I meet other people who are trying to make money writing, I hear about how they’ve hopped from job to job, perhaps haven’t always been paid as much as they’re worth, and have been taken advantage of or dropped by companies that made promises they couldn’t (or wouldn’t) keep. I feel like I have a quiet understanding with these people. So many writers are dedicated, smart, and hardworking.

We’re expected to have fast turnover times but may be slow to receive paychecks. It takes a special kind of grit to try to make a career in business (or any kind of) writing. There is so much (seriously, SO MUCH) advice on the internet about how to break into writing for money. It’s a path I have attempted. It is also a path I am happy to trade for one of less resistance.

The thing that no one tells you about being an artist is that you are a salesperson first, an artist second. If you’re going to make it full time or even part time as an artist, you have to be a businessperson above all else. Marketing is necessary, and may even take more time than the artwork itself. Even when I was a girl scout selling cookies, I never liked the feeling of trying to convince someone to buy something. I never outgrew this lack of interest in sales.

Whether you’re a writer, painter, actor, or musician, you have to sell your work in most cases, especially if you are independent. The age of social media, in my opinion, creates unrealistic expectations about how easy it should be to get hundreds or thousands of people interested in your work. It can feel like attention and fame are of utmost importance, and that is never the reason I wanted to make art. The success of a creative person is almost always equated with some level of fame or influencer status. But trying to get many peoples’ approval has never been at the top of my list.

I still have a desire to make things and connect with others. So it’s confusing and I don’t really know what I want. I wish I could just be the little girl who painted on a canvas in her bedroom. The girl who scribbled poetry in her grandmother’s living room. The girl who sang in the music room and studied monologues over lunch. I was happy living in the process of doing all of these things. Back then, these things were done for passion.

But I’m at a point where if I’m going to do work, I want it to be part of my career. I want it to be the mark I leave on the world. Maybe a love for art isn’t enough to make a career of it. Maybe making a career of it creates a process I don’t enjoy. I don’t know what any of this means for my inner artist. But I think that I’m not so afraid of letting go of my former self. I know that I need to make room for all of the things that I can be. And I know that after six years of constant productivity, I deserve a break, or least less pressure to achieve such large career goals.

I always go back to writing and art. I always find my way back to music and dancing and self-expression. It’s an extension of me. But that doesn’t mean it’s all I am. I don’t think I need to be afraid of letting go of the past. I’m allowed to evolve and grow. Growing up is weird, messy, and complicated. It is change. But evolution can be exciting. I don’t have to stay on any one path. And if I know that, then I’m free to be who I want to be.