People like me never get to be the forerunners in our own adventure novels. We usually stay on the proverbial sidelines, cheering for our extroverted companion while they try to make us ‘like them’, whether that means making friends or making us extroverted as well. Because this is real life and  I don’t mind being the odd girl who likes reading and writing. I find comfort in writing my opinions down because more often than not they make more sense...

his eyes were dark and warning
his posture tall and proud
his voice strong and sterning
his gestures a war without sound

he moved as if he owned me
he smirked as if he knew
the thoughts i had were darkening
the feelings i had were blue

he says he wants forgiveness
he says he wants me back
he says he knows i love him
but all of it seems black

the way he holds me close
the way he watches...

the thing is,
my reckless fingers are incessantly slamming this keyboard.
my mortal body is trembling to the beat of this lovesick song.
my traitorous heart is  b u r n i n g  with this fickle feeling.

i think you stole
my self control.

so please tell me
i'm not the only one
b u r n i n g .

    I make promises to myself. Expectations, really. But it is so extremely difficult for me to hold on to them. My mentality is that they are a lifeline, so I obviously clasp them tight, clutch them as if I could perish within seconds without them. As if they are the antidote to a poison that never can leave me. But then, I fall lazy. I stop working for my life. I am persuaded that all will go well with this ...

like most poems, it's just a scene and a story—
a crumbling sky sprawled by black
like gentle flame at lapped parchment
and i could hear muffled music through death's blanket
sounded like a moaning of a mammal
or maybe i stepped on guitar strings
trying to reach you.
the rubble stood in heaps, old toys
and tears left untended, unravelling
from smoked cheeks, a child
knifing the air in thin, pristine wails;
he wanted his mama, he wanted
memories regained,...

   it didn't start in june but i can't say it didn't not start there either: there were twenty-three bloody fingerprints stapled to my white t-shirt that morning as the wooden bench weaved splinters into my bare knees. it would go like this: i pinched the thread between my left forefinger and thumb, and held the needle as steady as i could in the other hand (which for me, was only less shaky than usual). the silver flashed in the...

You fell into my life and I caught you.
You were safe in my arms and I found you.
You surprised me then and I needed you.
You smiled at me then and I owed you.
You came to me and I wanted you.
You kissed me and I knew you. 
You were everything and I loved you.
I fell into this, I love you.

So this is another POV exercise for Elfboy; this one is from Principal Snyder's point of view. To read the same chapter from Chris's point, as the book is told, here's a link: Elfboy Chapter 4
Thanks to everybody who has offered me the slightest bit of encouragement or criticism on my second journey through Elfboy; the first I made alone (except for my sister and book characters). This second one has really been something spectacular to me. Thank you...

Hey everyone, 
Guess what, I am holding another contest!!!! For all of you who love Star Wars, and those of you who are still mad about the Last Jedi, but still enjoy the rest of Star Wars, I have a contest for you! All you have to do is write a Star Wars Fan-fiction, it can be about anything in the Star Wars mythos, Legends or Canon, or you can create your own characters. Just mention Darth Plagueis The Wise66's...

they found my body
at the bottom of the sea
but my thoughts and emotions
floated to the surface
and spelled

'i am free'
 

People like me never get to be the forerunners in our own adventure novels. We usually stay on the proverbial sidelines, cheering for our extroverted companion while they try to make us ‘like them’, whether that means making friends or making us extroverted as well. Because this is real life and  I don’t mind being the odd girl who likes reading and writing. I find comfort in writing my opinions down because more often than not they make more sense...

his eyes were dark and warning
his posture tall and proud
his voice strong and sterning
his gestures a war without sound

he moved as if he owned me
he smirked as if he knew
the thoughts i had were darkening
the feelings i had were blue

he says he wants forgiveness
he says he wants me back
he says he knows i love him
but all of it seems black

the way he holds me close
the way he watches...

the thing is,
my reckless fingers are incessantly slamming this keyboard.
my mortal body is trembling to the beat of this lovesick song.
my traitorous heart is  b u r n i n g  with this fickle feeling.

i think you stole
my self control.

so please tell me
i'm not the only one
b u r n i n g .

    I make promises to myself. Expectations, really. But it is so extremely difficult for me to hold on to them. My mentality is that they are a lifeline, so I obviously clasp them tight, clutch them as if I could perish within seconds without them. As if they are the antidote to a poison that never can leave me. But then, I fall lazy. I stop working for my life. I am persuaded that all will go well with this ...

like most poems, it's just a scene and a story—
a crumbling sky sprawled by black
like gentle flame at lapped parchment
and i could hear muffled music through death's blanket
sounded like a moaning of a mammal
or maybe i stepped on guitar strings
trying to reach you.
the rubble stood in heaps, old toys
and tears left untended, unravelling
from smoked cheeks, a child
knifing the air in thin, pristine wails;
he wanted his mama, he wanted
memories regained,...

   it didn't start in june but i can't say it didn't not start there either: there were twenty-three bloody fingerprints stapled to my white t-shirt that morning as the wooden bench weaved splinters into my bare knees. it would go like this: i pinched the thread between my left forefinger and thumb, and held the needle as steady as i could in the other hand (which for me, was only less shaky than usual). the silver flashed in the...

You fell into my life and I caught you.
You were safe in my arms and I found you.
You surprised me then and I needed you.
You smiled at me then and I owed you.
You came to me and I wanted you.
You kissed me and I knew you. 
You were everything and I loved you.
I fell into this, I love you.

So this is another POV exercise for Elfboy; this one is from Principal Snyder's point of view. To read the same chapter from Chris's point, as the book is told, here's a link: Elfboy Chapter 4
Thanks to everybody who has offered me the slightest bit of encouragement or criticism on my second journey through Elfboy; the first I made alone (except for my sister and book characters). This second one has really been something spectacular to me. Thank you...

Hey everyone, 
Guess what, I am holding another contest!!!! For all of you who love Star Wars, and those of you who are still mad about the Last Jedi, but still enjoy the rest of Star Wars, I have a contest for you! All you have to do is write a Star Wars Fan-fiction, it can be about anything in the Star Wars mythos, Legends or Canon, or you can create your own characters. Just mention Darth Plagueis The Wise66's...

My heart is craving,
My ears are aching,
My smile fading.

My soul is breaking,
mind is waisting,
fingers tapping.

Memories scaring,
tears are falling,
sobs convulsing. 

I'm remembering,
all the feigning, 
all the chaining. 

Are you seeing,
them slowly creeping
around my breathing? 

Am I sealing
the fate of my dealing
with my feelings?

I'm  realizing,
I can't be seething, 
and still be happy.

So I am changing,
simply waiting,
to be forgiving. 

But it is so, so hard...