Tag Archives: NaPoWriMo

On Writing

I started this blog back in February of 2015 in my freshman year with a transformative Creative Writing class. The class itself wasn’t all that transformative, yeah I learned good writing techniques and words for things I was already experimenting with. But I was transformed. I learned that my words were important. That people wanted to understand my perspective on life whether that was my Grandma or people from the 122 countries who have visited my words.

When I first started I was writing literally every day with multiple pieces per day. I joined the NaPoWriMo movement in April where you are, supposed to, a write a poem per day for the whole month. I ended up posting 50 pieces on my blog that month. I was always scribbling in one of several notebooks or typing a free verse up. I loved how I felt having finished a poem, the satisfaction that occured.

I continued on at this level for a couple years. In the process my poems and creative essays were published nine times and I had my play produced by a major university. I posted at least 3 times a week. Sure it was difficult to keep to the schedule sometimes, but it was worth it.

I made some great connects with fellow bloggers, some by their words and others talking personally. I follow so many other people’s lives no matter whether it is told through poems, pictures, or write ups about their day. I have found a great community here on WordPress.

But last year my Junior year of testing, huge academic stress, and personal issues hit and my urge for writing slipped. This wasn’t a writer’s block, I’ve dealt with that many times. This was different. To be honest, for the past year almost all of my posts have been saved from years ago that I dug up to have something to show. Sure, writing still gave me pleasure and release, but it wasn’t as much needed as before. I yearned for it’s satisfaction, and yet somehow I didn’t feel like something was missing.

A spark of inspiration would hit that a year ago would have taken a good 250 words to explain, but it would pass before I could get my fingertips to keys. No matter how hard I tried no logical form of letters would escape my keyboard. (You can read a poem about this here)

It’s been over a year since I’ve written my novel. In a year’s time I’ve written only ten poems. I’ve written two short stories in a year. That’s it.

It’s sad.

But I’m accepting it.

However during this time, I have also written a play that received high praise and discussed options for touring. I also written another play to try to see if a third piece can be performed at the major university to break the record there for amount one person’s work has been performed. But my motivations were different for these. I wrote for others, not for myself.

I’ve been writing all my life (read a piece about it here) and have continued to keep a journal for five years. I still have been doing this and have no intention of stopping. It’s fitting though that the journal I’m writing in its cover says, “My Journal: The Original Blog”. Sometimes I just record what I did that day, a funny story, a perceptive. Other days I write lengthy opinions, prayers, parallelism to my life, poems, frantic thoughts.

I don’t want to say good-bye to this place made up of ones and zero and yet which is so so so much more. This has been my life for four years. I’ve written so much. Honestly, sometimes I stumble upons a piece that I completely have forgotten I wrote. Like the words are new to me and they came from my brain only a year ago.

I miss writing poetry the most, a form of expression that I thought was silly years ago. It is true thought captured on a page. (I explain what poetry is to me here)

I will continue to be here. And my blog will continue to be here. But my blog and I will not continue to be here together.

This send off is hard. It’s heavy. It’s thick. But it’s not messy. I knew it was coming for a time.

Writing is still and always will be a major part of my life, but it will depend which part. Writing for everyone and anyone, for a small group of readers, or simply for me.

So I’ll still be around, writing and wandering. But this blog is going to be static for a while. I don’t know how long a while is, but there are 432 other pieces of mine to read.

See me later,


The Chameleon: A Triolet

The Chameleon, a life spent to hide the man

A mask so thick he does not want to find who he was once

With his masks, clothes, and skills he could be anyone from your doctor to your fireman

The Chameleon, a life spent to hide the man

Hired as spy and impostor, even if there is not a personal identity, he is a wanted man

With seven billion people in the world, he can find an identity in abundance

The Chameleon, a life spent to hide the man

A mask so thick he does not want to find who he was once

Doctor Octopus: A Triolet

Doctor Otto Gunther Octavius, a man with eight appendages but can never reach what is his desire

Doc Ock is remembered for his arms, not his real power – his mind

His arrogance makes him constantly misfire

Doctor Otto Gunther Octavius, a man with eight appendages but can never reach what is his desire

He is cast as the villain so that in fighting him Spider-man can inspire

Doctor Octopus idea of superiority over man is always against Spider-man who is fighting for humankind

Doctor Otto Gunther Octavius, a man with eight appendages but can never reach what is his desire

Doc Ock is remembered for his arms, not his real power – his mind


The Moment Backwards

Clothes soaked, hair flinging water droplets, they stomp up to the shore

With every passing second more and more goose bumps crowded onto her skin

Laughter and water fights burst in to the summer night air

Like the popping of bubble gum, loudly and messy she came up for air

Under there the world was murky, yet serene. Small, yet alive

Masking her rationality and embracing her foolish bravery, she plunged

She stood there contemplating when the other girls cheered her on or called her chicken

She watched as the girls ahead of her swam, only heads showing, with their clothes hugging their frames

One by one they dunked their smiles beneath and came up spurting for the others to do the same

Running awkwardly and giggling at their own spontaneity they charged into the mildly rough sea

The girls shared a common sneaky glance and the decision was made without a word

She dipped a toe, then up to her ankle and called back to the others that it was warm

Sun setting, towels and swimsuits too far up at the house. This was too perfect of a moment to not live in.

Inspired by NaPoWriMo’s 28 prompt of writing a story backwards in a poem. Last day of NaPoWriMo! This year with no challenge!


I Remember ~ In Two Hundred Words

I remember my silent overwhelming tear when she came home

I remember the frigid Lake Superior crashing waves when we swam in our clothes simply because we could

I remember how radiant the sun was

I remember the chipped paint on his old wagon riding down the green grassy hill

I remember the earthy enrapturing smell of his paws coming in from outside

I remember how even though my eye were staring ahead at the TV, my soul only focused on her voice

I remember the unique sound that only comes from my old flip-flops pounding the floor

I remember the fleece jacket wrapped around me

I remember how warm his smile was, it reflected his heart

I remember when I first heard his voice, I was instantly enthralled

I remember coarse dirt rubbed on my cheeks and dusting my untied tennis shoes

I remember the stench of sterile and rough hospital sheets

I remember messing hand writing and Crayola markers

I remember laughter and safety-pops

I remember the first time I explored the taste of thick, fluffy pink whipped cream

I remember the joy when they said “First Place”

I remember tropical homemade smoothie for summer breakfast

I remember . . .

Inspired by the NaPoWriMo daily prompt



When Not If

When not if I die,

I want the church parking lot to be lined with chocolate gold coins

because you never know what small token of happiness there is if you just look around

and it is always good if you have chocolate!

When not if I die,

I want the greeters to pass out two things beyond just hugs,

the first is Hawaiian Leis

because I am going to a much better place, so why not celebrate

and second, a pretty stationary for the “celebrators” to write some of their favorite things about me and give it back to my family to read at another time.

When not if I die,

I don’t care if I have a memorial service or a funeral, but if I have a funeral,

I want to wear a pretty, lively colored dress,

possibly, light green silk knee length dress or maybe sunset orange polyester three-quarter length sleeve dress,

but it needs to be colorful and cute, at whatever age.

When not if I die,

I want a little smile on my face,

neither Mona Lisa nor Jay Gatsby smile,

but one all my own,

knowing that where I am is better.

When not if I die,

I want daisies everywhere,

colorful, colorful, colorful daisies, not JUST white, but pinks and blues and many different hues.

When not if I die,

I want the minister to say what he or SHE normally says but also with a twist of me,

some favorite quotes of mine, the books I like to read, superpowered characters I rave about, Epeolatry, my best friend God, how alive I feel when I am with people.

When not if I die,

I want happy smiles and only tiny tears

for I am going to a much better place.

When not if I die,

I want pictures on a slideshow,

I want my words out on display,

I want memories of happy and sad times to be shared.

When not if I die,

I want, care not, to be remembered in the minds of many, but to be engraved in the hearts of those who count.

When not if I die,

I want the meal after to have pink whipped cream and happy music playing in the background.

When not if I die, which I am not planning on soon,

but if God says, so be it

whether it be by plane crash in a hurricane at age twenty-five or

dying of cancer at eighty-five

my service will be like no other.


When Not

When I Was Younger

The funny little things I thought when I was younger,

when I was four I thought dating was where every Thursday afternoon

a couple would go sail boating on a lake.

Oh how boring that would get,

my four year old self never wanted to date!

When I was five I thought the world only consisted

of this huge place called Michigan

and this tiny little island called France where 9/11 happened.

Oh how small my scope of the world was,

my five year old self was missing out on so much

and was so protected also!

When I was six I thought subtraction defied all logic,

what were people telling these teachers?!

They are teaching kids these wrong concepts!

Once something is there, it can never be taken away.

Oh how fragile my mind was,

my six year old self was so confident and stubborn!

Now that I am older I understand that I was naïve.

I wonder what I will think when I look back at myself now?




I Am An Ice Cream Carton

I am an ice cream carton

and all my mint chocolate chip ice cream has been scooped out.

Serving one is dessert on Saturday family movie night

and things feel a little different.

Serving two is the boy’s snack home from school

and I know that I am missing something.

Serving three is celebrating the father’s job promotion

and I have decided that I feel empty.

Serving four and the final serving is stress eating after the teenage girl’s high school break up

and I am tossed away.

I am a trophy shelf above my boy’s bed

and he is going off to college.

One Wednesday afternoon, he starts putting things in boxes,

Clothes in one,

Books in another,

Old toys in a bag,

and then comes me

The first grade soccer trophy comes off first,

I always liked that one

when he was little, he would always smile at it

but then the spelling bee medal was hung on my hooks and

he stopped smiling at the soccer trophy.

With one large swoop, he grabs all his participation medals and

throws them in the box.

Trace, Honor Roll, and the cheese-y “Best Boyfriend” award are all taken next.

Soon I am empty

and the boxes are taken to their appreciate places.

And my only job now is to hold the forgotten dust left behind.

I am a fancy wine glass

and I was bought for a nice couple’s wedding present.

I held the Sauvignon Blanc on their honeymoon.

When they moved into their house,

I got my own special rack to display my beauty.

The couple was so very kind!

I loved how the husband would surprise his dear wife by making dinner,

he always made the best lasagna along with Brunello to drink.

Then I was put away for a little while

when the wife’s stomach got larger,

but I didn’t mind because a few months later

I held Merlot in celebration that “the baby slept all through the night”.

I loved being hand-washed after the couple would have parties and they would talk and wash dishes together afterwards.

But one night,

the couple was angry about something,

and the wife stormed into the kitchen

and she took my sister glass and threw her on the ground,

and then she picked me up,

so much tighter and fiercer than she ever had before and threw me.

And now my glass is shattered.

I am an ice cream carton

and I am tossed away.

I am a trophy shelf above my boy’s bed

and my only job now is to hold the forgotten dust left behind.

I am a fancy wine glass

and now my glass is shattered.

Don’t let the people who hold you be tossed away, forgotten or shattered when you are able to stand on your own.




And Yet

I sit here

and you stand there

just feet apart

but we both feel the desert widening behind us

with every breath not taken

to express these whirling thoughts.

And so the feet apart become


each so unique and beautiful and full of life

but galaxies

are known for being large, formidable, and unexplored

and so you remind unexplored

and the universe has to grow a little large

to hold all the space between us.

We are both dazzling in our own right,

but the risk too high,

challenge too massive,

gamble with the odds never in our favor

to see maybe, if, possibly

we could dazzle brighter



I sit here

and you stand there

just feet apart

but we both feel the desert widening behind us

with every breath not taken

to express these whirling thoughts.

But at the same time,

there is another “You”

who I so desperately want,

however there is true physical miles

between us,

not the ones we create for ourselves.

I sit here

and you dream, walk, stand, smile, live there

five-hundred miles between us

and right now I am a pillow

without a bed

I am a piece of bread

without jam

I am a lover

without lips

I am a playground

without children

I am a laugh

without a smile

I am an ocean

without waves

I am paper

without a pen

I am shoes

without a pair of socks

I am music

without a beat

But this time

But this time

But this time

there is nothing I can do to shrink this abyss between us.


I sit here

and you dream, walk, stand, smile, live there

five-hundred miles between us.

Oh how opposite these instances are

and yet

and yet

and yet

we go on living like these emotions we feel are not truly there.




I Am

I am the chorus stuck in your head

I am the perfect hair day

I am the golden leaf falling in autumn

I am your second favorite pair of shoes

I am the Frisbee you throw at the beach

I am your homework on Friday night

I am the birthday card underneath your bed

I am the Chicken Alfredo on the first date with your future spouse

I am the chilling breeze in spring time

I am the pen out of ink

I am the New Year’s Eve bubbly

I am the pixel on your iPhone

I am the little girl’s fifth tooth taken by the ‘tooth fairy’

I am the Ma and Pa restaurant that you never stop at

I am the cool soda on a warm summer day

I am the smile of the greeter in your local supermarket

I am always there, but never remembered.



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