When you miss someone,
what do you do?
Cry,
laugh,
try to cover it up
like you don’t
care?
Do you write about it
or tell anyone else
or cry into your
bedsheets
at night?

Why do we care?
Why should I care
about someone who’s
in my life
for just a short time
and then
leaves?
It doesn’t make sense, but
I care.
I let myself love
and laugh
and relate.
Then all of the sudden,
it all goes…

away.

I mean,
isn’t that
life?

We were those friends who never knew just how we met.
Joshua Kang and Levi Cannon: we just came as a package. We carpooled to school, we took all the same classes at the same time, and we always ate together. It escaped me whenever I thought about it, when we first met. It’s like, the moment I met him, I was born. I can’t exactly explain it better than that.

And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light. ~ Fern Hill, Dylan Thomas

Publishing a poetry book and chose this poem to be in it! Wish me luck, friends! :")

She was walking alone in the dark, her light blue stilettos clicking insistently on the sidewalk. Her floral cocktail dress was damp from the foggy night air, and she pulled her sleek white coat more tightly across her chest. She shuddered and looked around, shrinking away from the shadowy buildings before taking off on a run to the door of her apartment building. She had been holding in her tears for hours now, and once she shut the door behind her and slipped her coat off she let the river run.

She glows...
with a beauty I
cannot explain.
She smiles...
and it's like the
sun shines through.
She laughs...
and the sound is
like ocean-spray.
She whispers...
and I hear the
whistling wind.

Where does she find her
glorious,
radiant
light?
Why does nothing seem to
touch her?
Why is she not
afraid?
She is unmarred
by the opinions of
the world, she loves
to love and hates
bitterness.
Why is she so
different?

Chapter 4 Sisters

Me lever were with point of foeman’s spear be dead
~ The Faery Queen, Book III

(I would rather be dead by foeman's spearpoint)

Mistress sat quietly by the large window, staring out at the brightly-colored gardens. I could tell she was thinking about Master.

I stood hidden, also thinking. I had to tell her. I knew I did. But how? When? I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t want to. I wanted to go home.

But I had to tell her.

“They’re so beautiful, aren’t they,” Mistress murmured, pulling my thoughts back to the present.

“Pardon me, ma’am?” I asked, stepping forward. “May I help you?”

I must do it
On my own
But I have no energy
Motivation wasted on
My sick body
Still I must do it
On my own
I must accomplish
What I’ve begun
My mind is angry
Frustrated by lack of ability
While lack of motion is
Fraught with despair
Still I try to do it
On my own
Til I fall down to my broken knees
Shouting aloud and
Voicing my bitterness
While I ask why I can’t do it
On my own
And that Still Small Voice
Cries into my ear
That it is not given to me