Posted in Word Prompt

Blue Doors

Blue doors stoic against white washed summer walls
What awaits me beyond those carefully curated wooden walls?
Are there candles aglow or choirs angelic?
A return to life which withstood pandemics?
Were every role played
Within the confines of finite memory?
Perhaps there awaits all which we’ve lost.
Tears shed over damp sheets
And fresh mounds of dirt;
Carefully sculpted castles for our bones.
For once I may say, we’ll never truly know.
As my ornate blue doors slide into the distance,
The way our true love fades
From your memories and words,
Meant for another, promised over sun bleached summer days.


A little story time to go with this little poem.

When I was a snotty pre-teen, maybe around 11 or 12, I was giving my mom a hard time as we drove home. I don’t remember about what, it doesn’t matter really but it was a moment for her that unleashed something else. Without saying much she swung her old minivan into the parking lot of a mixed Korean/Baptist church at the end of our street and started crying.

“Maybe one day I just won’t come home.”

I didn’t know how to react. I kept telling her it would be ok but what I really remember is that we were parked right in front of the church doors.

Looking back I’m fairly sure my mom probably suffered from the same anxiety and depression that now plagues me and my sisters in various forms. Coupled with the weight of my narcissistic father’s constant cruelty and I’m certain this wasn’t her only breaking point.

It may not have been a breaking point at all but more of a blip on the radar of constant pressure to provide when the one you’ve promised to walk beside has more or less declared “jokes on you”.

Today’s International Women’s Day and I’ve seen posts all over social media remembering and celebrating accomplishments. That’s wonderful, I embrace it. I also ask that we not forget about the women who are dragging themselves out of bed everyday simply because they have to. The women who have laid awake all night threatened by their own nightmares and now have little people depending on them to function. The women who have gently laid dreams aside or practice them quietly after hours because there’s simply no one else to “bring home the bacon” and the dreams they have aren’t to that point yet. The women who have found themselves trapped and unable to leave for fear, so they trudge through every day the best they can while pretending everything is ok.

Society has come far but society still has a way to go.

Daily Prompt – Uncompromising

Posted in Word Prompt

No Good

Daily Prompt – Compromise

Punishing myself
Has done no good.
There are sins
I can’t atone for.
If I were who I’d been
Before,
I’d carve every fucking word
Into scars.
I’m not her,
She’s buried
Beneath bleeding,
Fleeting seconds.
So I stare
Into the blistering Sun
Instead,
Letting it set fire
To every small fiber.
Maybe the world is warmer
When you’re blind.
Maybe the pain will numb
When it’s your spirit
You finally find.

Posted in Word Prompt

The Thing Is …

WordPress Daily Prompt – Cozy

On cold nights like this,
I wonder if I miss the sun
Or the feeling of laying in your arms
By the fire, tracing stars in your smile.
People sometimes tell me to move on.
It would be lying to say I haven’t tried.
The thing is,
How do you move on
When that first kiss sent chills down your spine
And fireworks into your sky?


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Posted in Word Prompt

When We Drown

The view under the waves is distorted, bending the world as we know it. It crashes, murky greens into peaceful blues with an explosion muted by the space between the Sun and me. I strain to reach, my fingers grasping for the last wispy rays of a rope I could never hope to hold. Perhaps if I try to hold them tight enough, clutched in my palm until nails bite skin, the Sun will pull me above the wake as it journeys from one horizon to another. I hold my breath but the water holds me like a lover, tight without remorse. It sighs and heaves, weaving tapestries of mystery before my eyes, tempting my lips to part as it tickles my skin.

“Drink.” It sings. “Breathe.” The siren song every fiber of my being aches to succumb to floods my ears. Water tousles my hair, roughly catching it in the fine stems of seaweed beds for two. It strokes my cheeks and surrounds every part of me with suffocating romantic intents. “Let go.” It whispers.

I cling to the Sun with weakening resolve. My hands, stained with the blood of a thousand moments, are slipping down the silken rays as the water takes me into its arms. “Just breathe.” A siren song echo in my mind. The seaweed bed pricks my skin, weaving tight through my hair, restraining my arms, pulling my legs. I have no choice, the last rays of rescue slide right through my fingers as the water pushes me violently down.

“Breathe.” It sings in a voice undeniably angelic while I watch the view under the waves, distorting the world as we know it. I have found the water is a demanding lover, a suffocating romantic with murderous intent. The seaweed grips my waist, holding me steady, while I breathe.