Bold | Saturday Poem

The boldest faces are the ones making the transition from babbles to bubbly speech. The boldest thoughts are spoken aloud from the smallest and high-pitchiest of mouths. The most audacious dreams come from the youthful minds uncorrupted by flocks of fear and failure. As is all things, the newest to come and the soonest to…

worn out words | poem

thoughts travel without passports or permission; love cannot be contained in the human body, so it now grows in the oak trunk of an endless tree. time threads us together in loose, haphazard seams; dreams contain all my greatest fears and fantasies, so now I plant them in the mulch beneath tall grasses to grow…

now they know | stream of consciousness

what could they know finale part 1 part 2 ~ How many lies until I get to open the door to the real world? How many memories must I earn to be welcome to reality? I asked what could they know, I asked myself what I am– and with confidence I can now say it….

Identity | Saturday Prose

There is some sweet solace in knowing that I am a product of love rather than hate, violence. Of the girls past born of my breed, there would be no such comfort. There is good and bad that comes with claiming this skin, but the fact that I exist not as lesser scum but as…

Italian Autumn | Short Story

There is nothing worse than sadness on a beautiful day. Her hands were overflowing with worry, the poor genovesi and liquor coffee at the mercy of her shaky, anxious grip. To travel so far, to sit outside the forno she had spent thousands to get to and barely mutter a word, to be cast in…

bliss | poem

sunrise and a breeze, the bliss of their kiss, upon skin covered loosely in silk and satin. sunrise and a breeze, the bliss of the dewy grass under golden flats, the air smelling of crushed roses and soil. sunrise and a breeze, the bliss of the book that sits between knees, waiting to be read…

existence in a vaccum | poem

to be taken to a place, a mirrorless world, to say it clearly, a world devoid of everyone save for I. a place meant for me and the colors of my brain, where busy fingers cannot tousle my hair. the songs of the north and the south are deaf to me, the writings of the…

Sonderlust | Poem

Visions of sonder that transpire down yonder traveling around the block again. Tip the man with his scuffed, cuffed pants, and wait until the moment is your friend. Sidewalks are busy, the yellow dresses and loose shirts dancing, while the wind plays a mellifluous tune. Night soon falls, all lilac and dark and still. And…

nails in the brain | SoCs poem

Good morning, everyone! This stream of consciousness poem is written for Linda G. Hill’s SOC Saturdays with the prompt as “nails.” I hope you all enjoy! ~ dull metal stabs the soft tissue of my fleshy, futile organ, puncturing it over and over, until all the life, all the intelligence, all that power I thought…

Homemade Cinnamon Rolls!!

Hello, everyone! This was my last culinary assignment, and I wanted to share it with you all. I’ll definitely be making these again soon, and I highly recommend you do too! You can view the recipe here. Have you been doing a lot of baking these past two months? Let me know in the comments!…