Could Be ( A Poem)

This could be amazing;
ride upon unicorns
over sparkling rainbows
while bards play magical melodies
and wild nymphs dance on trees
Others may spring into light
out of sheer joy.
This could bring delightful dancing doggies
or curiously cute cats,
wonders upon wonders could be brought.

On the other hand
if you flip the tape,
reverse my hopes,
show my fears.

This could be terrible,
rotted death could ooze out its orifices
like black tar filled humiliation
and the sulfur smell of dying dreams
those that were crushed by failure,
which would cause a dank cave
to become a bare home for my soul
with only swollen sadness
to guide my lonely days.

There is a burning flame
a flickering fire inside
that holds to the unicorn
almost seeing the sparkling rainbow
and knows
even if dying dreams are crushed by failure
new one will arise
out of the dream pulp
or ashes of failure.
The phoenix that is my heart
will go on
will create.

Let Me Live (A Poem)

Let me live among the stars
Allow me to dance a jazz-square
on the moon.
If not teach me
how to trap my dreams in reality.

I will soar high
above my common life
living in the clouds of my desire
then like gravity
you pull be back
to where I sit.

Let me fly.
Let me soar.
Let me live,
even for a moment more.

Instead you pull me
chain me
and remind me of my fears.
Road blocks are made
while obstacles rise
like you forget what’s inside.

My heart will soar
I will fly.
You may be helpful
reminding me of reality
but my dear mind
you know my heart and my soul.
They will win.
I will live among the stars
and dance on the moon,
so please just step aside.

The Reason

Oh, there’s the reason.
There it lies,
on the floor of my mind.
It was hidden
behind ideas of romance
under longings of intimacy
neither the reason.
They only hide the truth.

This attachment to a stranger
with the idea of romance
longing for discovery of the deep
was caused by a dream of more,
just like reading my mind
told by another life,
this one also touched my soul.
He spoke my heart,
showed the world my hopes,
and told me I could be
the more of my dreams,
without even knowing my existence.

To Sleep (A Poem)

Will my eyes fall
before my mind fades?
Will poetic words escape,
running faster than sleep?

They are there,
right behind my pen,
pushing and struggling to be freed.
Too many push
Too many are jammed into the passage way.
The ink cannot be spread fast enough,
they are clogged and stuck.
My eyes are falling
as my mind fades.
My poetry lost the race;
sleep won.

Makes Me Beautiful

ME 152

What makes me beautiful? What is pleasing to the senses?

You may answer my curves. I do have them and the contrasting peaks and valleys are pleasing to the eyes. Yet, I believe that the strength hidden within the curves of my body are more beautiful than the outward appearance. You see my body hides its toughness and endurance behind my hour-glass form.

Perhaps you believe that my eyes are what makes me beautiful as they sparkle with blue hues. I could agree with you as I do think that my eyes are beautiful. Still what makes them beautiful is the mind and heart that is behind them. It is the life and love that shines out of them.

My smile, lips and mouth are also physical features that could be pretty by themselves. They are brought into beauty by how they are used. My smile shows the happiness that lies within my soul. My lips and mouth are only beautiful because of the encouraging words and unique thoughts that come from within.

You see my mind, soul, and heart are what makes me beautiful in my eyes. My outward appearance in beautiful because it shines what is inside.

Now that I answered what makes me beautiful I ask you, “What makes you beautiful?”

Weekly Writing Prompt (#25)


  1. Write a scene or short story involving only two people. Have these two characters be in a relationship, but add a twist in the relationship. The original idea I had and the story I will be writing that goes along with this prompt is that there is a dimension traveler who goes to different dimensions or universes. He thinks he is home and his wife is getting ready for bed. She is dancing as she brushes her teeth like normal but as soon as he greets her by joining in and trying to wrap his arms around her he realizes she has no idea who he is.
  2. Have you ever been in a situation where a person you knew saw you in a different light or saw a different side of you? This could be s a co-worker saw at a party or a parent saw you as an adult for the first time. Either write a short story or poem about this experience. What was it like after? How did it change you or your relationship with that person?
  3. Write a story about your day and then use that story to inspire a poem. Try not to let your real day influence your poem. Focus on the poem. If you have a partner or someone who could help you, ask them to either write their day or have them tell you about their day.
  4. Write about what gives you the most hope or what inspires you.
  5. You are beautiful. The definition of beautiful is having beauty; possessing qualities that give great pleasure or satisfaction to see, hear, think about, etc.; delighting the senses or mind. How are you beautiful? What makes you feel beautiful?

I hope these prompts help you create some sort of writing or art. If they do I would love to know and read your work. 

Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day.

A Romantic Monologue


Let my mind be cleared of thoughts of you. Quiet my heart from day-dreams your appearance creates. For how do I make reality out of these girlish fantasies? You are further than a world away from me; living among the nobility of this age, while I toil with only my dreams as an escape.

Truly the dreams are but mere lies, that my heart tells my mind. Perfection such as yours can not honestly exist. You must wear a gentleman’s mask as a ploy for the ladies of your kingdom. Yes, the bright, warm person on display must be hiding a rotted center. I am sure that the loving smile and open heart is an act to create loyal subjects.

How would a charming prince such as the one portray be permitted to survive in this cold harsh land, where the noble are as wicked as the corrupt rulers, that allow the wealthy to step on the poor? Understanding how a heart can stay intact and opened while among the pressures of aristocracy is beyond me.

Perhaps, a day will come when fate will bid us a meeting and my aloof admiration will yield to knowledge of the inner workings of your beautiful mind; finally releasing my girlish fantasies into reality. Until that day comes I will assure myself that you have purely perfected your art and the public is simply seeing a seduction act.

Well, this actually isn’t how I thought this monologue would go. I was planning on starting Shakespearean and degrading into a fan-girl. That would have been fun to write.  Of course staying on the old / formal side of things was also fun. It gave me a little challenge, since I do not normal talk like this. It also might be fun to act, because unlike the artist, it will actually be acting. I mean this is for sure a different character.

In case you were wondering who this monologue is referring to; it’s Tom Hiddleston. He is dreaming and seems pretty cool.

My Nightmare Mind Box


My mind is a box, lately, that I am trapped inside. My optimism says there must be a door, a window, or a hidden way out. I don’t see one. All I see are wall entrapping myself in my mind causing me to be unable to do much of anything I would consider being me.

To the left is the security of my day job, creating a thick time-consuming wall. To the right is my obligations and my bills stacked as high as my job with no holes to escape from. Behind me is my past failures, current fears, and reminders that the future can not be known. There is a reason my back is towards that wall, by focusing on that wall I would sit down, stop fighting and accept the box I’m in. Above me, on the ceiling of this box are all the people, careers, and talents that I compare myself to. I place them above me, although I am the only me. Below me are all my ideas trapped under glass in a cloudy stew of tar and mire. Still I know they’re there, just like a mother knows her baby. In front of me are painting of could-be’s, maybe’s, and the future if I only live my current life . I know there are keys to unlock each painting, except for the immanent future, that one does not need a key. The keys to my dream futures are unknown, lost or far from me. I do not believe they are in this box. All I can do is stand and look at the pretty pictures hoping and looking for at least one key.

Perhaps breaking the glass under my feet will lead to a key.

Artist ( A Monologue)


I want to boldly tell you; I am an artist. I’m sure you already knew that or at least suspected. I mean how can anyone really hide their creativity? I know I’ve tried to hide or ignore my creative side, wanting to be normal. I yearned for a quiet mind that could simply observes the world and did not have a need to share its beauty.

Yes, there was a time I wanted to be normal, but not any more. An ordinary life in no life for me and if it seems like my life is just like yours ask me what I’m thinking about. For you see I have worlds and universes living in my head. My mind is filled with lands of poetry, worlds of paintings, and many stories in many different universes. They are all just waiting to be created.

When I am at my day job tapping the keys of my computer part of my mind may be trapping dragons to get to the keys of a prison to rescue some royalty. While I’m driving home I am most likely also involved in an elaborate love affair that will tragically end  when I park my car. If I am watching the sunset I am also memorizing the colors in hopes that I could paint it one day.

You see my mind is not a quiet place most of the time, which now I love. It makes my life extraordinary in an ordinary world. This is why I must boldly tell you; I am an artist. I’m sure you already knew that or at least suspected.

Kitty’s Monologue


Kitty is a character in my novel, who can not talk. She finds different ways to communicate and share knowledge. There is a lot to her, but she can’t always get that across. This monologue is an internal monologue taking place inside Kitty’s mind to Noah, one of the other main characters and the person she is closest to.

I do hear you. I do understand you. I do deserve my position. I really do and I know you know I should be where I am. I just wonder if the others think I belong. Sometimes I know that I don’t, but then you look at me and I belong. Your brother seems hard and protective of his mission. He can’t see that it is my mission too.

I am locked inside my mind. I wish I could just tell you and your brother. Really I wish I could tell everyone what is happening inside. It is like the neural pathways  connecting my voice and thoughts are missing. With every trauma or change they are erased and I must relearn how to make sounds that would be considered words. To make matters worst my memories are misplaced. They are not lost, just misplaced. This makes it hard even know what I know. All my memories are intact, but they are hidden from me and it seems like just when I find a memory or way to connect my vocal cords and thoughts together they are erased or jumbled up.

I hope you understand that I am doing my best. Your smile makes me think you know, but how? I never know until I start reconnecting things. Maybe that is why you’re with me; to help me remember that I am not permanently broken just different with misplaced memories.

Hopefully one day I will get to thank you. Hopefully one day everyone will understand. I am smart and I am worthy of helping. It may be a long time, but I do hope.

I hope you like this and if you follow my blog you will learn more about the characters of  Duality, since I am pretty focused on it. At least I am trying to be really focused on it. 

Inside Thoughts



The words are bubbling. They are brewing. I once danced with them on the beach with the setting sun. Now the moon reigns and the words are a mush of over cooked strew. They are just bubbling and brewing no longer dancing in my mind.

The beautiful melody of fantastic descriptions and deep pondering has left my side. I now sit wishing and wanting for the words I needed to say to arise again. I wait for them to dance out of the sludge like stew that is now taking over my mind.

Tiredness slows down my thoughts and the need for sleep mixes all of them together. At sunset with the cool breeze whispering words to me, my mind was perfectly poetic as it pondered a pure poem.  Now only random ramblings can be rattled off as the stew thickens and traps the dancing melody of the pure poem inside.

Bury Deep (A Poem)


I battle with you
as if the war was needed;
as if I had no feet to stand on.

You tear me down
and I let you,
and I feel defeated.

You whisper awful thing
like I’m not really loved;
like I cannot stand on my own

My heart and happiness is real
but you tell me to ignore it;
but you tell I’m ignorant.

You know my every weakness
and you use it for my harm,
and you use it to keep me down.

But I am strong,
stronger than the war you wage
the defeat you push
the hateful whispers
and stronger than your lies.

I know if you were anyone else
I would push you away
spit in your face
or just turn my back.

If you were anyone else
I would be stronger,
but you are the little voice
the one the is buried deep
trying for weakness to keep.

I can not spit in your face
or turn my back.
I can not push you down
or choke you out.

Yet, there is this little box
it has a lock.
You little voice can go in that
and be buried very deep.

Where you say I’m a fatty
I choice to see a beauty.
Where you see hurt
I see my healing.
You see struggle as failure
I see it as a lesson.
Where you see loneliness
I see self-love.

So go in your little box
and I lock you up.
I will bury you deep
because your lies I don’t want to keep.

Letter to my future


Dear Future,

I find myself asking, “Have I met you yet?” “Is my partner close by or is everything still up in the air?” “Are you close by, waiting for my eyes to open?”

I hope I have met you. My ideas of you would thrill me and dreams wider than I dared to dream seem to be dancing in my mind. Songs of could-be’s are being sung louder than the past whispered.

I can see how my steps and journey could lead me to the you I have in my mind. I can see my work and struggle finally paying off to bringing me to my favorite version of you.

A smile stretches my face when I think of the possibilities that tap their invisible fingers on my mind.

Partner or no partner, you future, will be mine and I will dream about you until you are here by my side.


A Dreamer.

If I see you (A Poem)


If you read this
I hope you know who you are.
If you know who you are
I hope you believe this.
If you believe this
I hope you read this through.

I want to tell you
my mind can get filled
with images of you,
hopes of the future,
fears kept by the past,
and memories of a different life.

My mind tells me things
about you
about me.
It shouts that when I see you,
if I see you,
when we are face to face
I will shout at you
yell hateful things
let you know where you stand
where my heart is.
My mind tells me
I hate you
I am angry towards you
you never deserved me.
Rage builds up so easily
like a red hot fire
that burns my soul.

My mind tells me things,
but I am not just a mind.
My heart also speaks.
She whispers, no.
I will hug you
and tell you you are my friend.
I have forgiven you
and I have forgiven me.
The hurt is only a memory.
My rage does not burn,
not in my heart.
I will pick up the pieces
of the friendship once lost
and show you that I see
how good friends we can be.

You see I have my life
and you have yours.
I once told you friends we’ll be
and I promise you in my heart
friends we will always be.
No matter what happens
or what the time may bring.
I promised you friends we are
and I really believe
we will be friends
now and forever.

So, if we meet again,
please know,
you are my friend
even if you have long let me go.

Timed (A Poem)



Time me as I tell a tale.
One that takes travelers
to towns untold of
or towers that torn down.
I will tell you timed tales
or tackle a tangled tango of words.
Only using ten tiny minutes of time
my timed tales or tangled tangos
should tell you of terrific feelings
or twist your tongue
till it is its own tangled tango.
Yes, I will tackle and taken down
this twisted tangled tango
and leave the telling of tall tales
to one with more time,
since I only will take ten to write.
Ten minutes to tangle up
Ten minutes to tear down the tango
and leave only a trace of the tale
of travelers taken to a town
or was it that they tackled down tall tower?
Tell me which tale did I tell
in the time before now?
Either way, we and tackling this twisted tango
at least our talented tongues can tackle
the twists and turns taken
with this tangled mess of twisted words
that would turn daytime into twilight
if you took the time to analyze.
For you see you would need
tons of twine to tie logic into this tango.
Simply put this is all but a timed tango
only to see how talented a twisted mind can be
when timed to write a tall tale using mostly T’s.

Sale (creative rant)



I am not for sale but you can by small pieces  of me. My body, heart, and soul are only mine. You can not buy or bid on them. Yet, I will bleed for you. I will bleed out all my creativity. I will happily give you all of my mind as long as I know where to find it at the end of the night.

Yes, I will give my all to give my art, but you will never buy my heart. I will bleed for you because my love will never end. Still no money and no treasure will be set to claim my very self. I will give you every piece of me and some times those pieces will be free. However, those pieces are the things I can spare, those bits are what needs to come out.

So thank you for collecting the things that I shed, but please know I am not for sale.


What do you artistic people think? Is that how you see selling your art? It was a random creative rant, so I don’t even know what I think.

A Creative Writing Experiment About Nothing


I will write about nothing. Nothing is what I will write about, but what is nothing except the lack of what you want to be. Perhaps I will write about everything instead of the nothingness that I run from.  The nothing that is dark and cold from lack of heat and light. Why would I write about the things that could be considered nothing. Nothing is in fact nothing that I want to write. I will not write about nothing. Nothing is not what I will write about, but I will write about everything instead.

Yes, I will write about everything in my mind. I will jot down notes about  my phone turning off, if only for the night, about conversations with groups of friends, and about people being bagels in a tired mind’s dreams.  I will think about what I write as the words are typed, not wishing to edit the words on the screen. I will only write and write I will. Yes, I will write about everything in my mind.

Let me fly away on the great big plane that is called my mine, so that I can dream about all the lovely things that come from the nothing being left behind. Who left this nothing, this hole for me to find and can I fill it up again with all the things that it lacks. I will shine the light of consciousness in the dark corners to go exploring into the depths of the unknown, like caves in a familiar mountain that was always left alone. I will fill the holes up with my thoughts, with ideas of love and of what I believe about being home.

I will write about nothing. Yes, I will write about everything in my mind, so let me fly away on the great big plane that is called my mind.

Play on (A Poem for musicians)


Let the music play on,
sing your song out,
make the notes dance
out the throat
through your mouth.
Let your words paint music
with your instrument in hand.

You music is a beautiful painting,
so paint on the air.
You songs are a sweet aroma
to my mind,
or like a light shining into my soul.

So play on,
sing on,
and keep on creating.
Keep on sharing.
Let my life be filled
with the music within
your mind,
your heart
and your soul.
Play on
and let me hear
that sweet melody,
your beautiful rhythm
and that soul that shines from the deep.

Let the music play on,
You music is a beautiful painting,
So play on.

Stop (A Poem)



Dear mind,
dear dreaming self,
please stop.
You are walking
at it’s a dangerous path.
I see the briers.
I see the holes,
pit falls,
stumbling blocks
and thorns.
I can tell
where all this thinking,
where all this dreams,
and wishing will lead.
It is clear as a day
without a cloud in the sky
and I am wearing new, clean glasses.
The briers are crisp
and the thorns are bright.
The holes contrast the beauty of the light
the pit falls are almost shouting
with their daunting blackness.

The warning signs are hung
and they are direct,
so mind please stop,
dreaming self wake up.
I know where this is going.
I have been down this road,
journeying around this area,
too many times before.
I have walked to the end of the road
nearly falling off the edge,
so mind please sleep
and dreaming self turn off.

You need to stop,
before you fall into the hole.
Desist unless you trip
into the dark pit falls that are around.
Resist even thinking about the flowers
their steams are thorns.
Turn around before the briers get you.
Mind, please I have had enough.
Dreaming self it is all a dream
one which you control.

Please, self, turn around,
in your mind,
walk down another path.
Do not journey down
the path meant for two.
Do not go on the road
when you are alone.

Thank you.

Who I Am (A Poem)


Ask me who I am
and I may tell you
I do not know.
Ask me what I am
and I will tell you
I am a puzzle not to be known.
Ask me how I am
and I will smile
saying that should already be known.

Who am I?
Today you ask me,
and I will answer
with this moment’s answer.
I am me.
I write my heart,
not knowing all of it.
I speak my mind
still hoping to grow it.
I share my soul
praying that you won’t break it.

I may not know everything
not even about who I am,
but I know
I am stronger than I have been tested,
smarter than I seem,
and more loving than I let on to be.
My heart is deeper than any ocean,
and how deep it goes scares me at times,
because the deeper the chasm
the easier to fall,
the easier to be broken,
so my heart may be deep,
but I do not venture
as deep as it goes.

Who am I?
I do not know,
an artist at heart,
but with an organizer part.
I am a nerd to start,
who loves all things about art.

I do not know fully who I am,
because I have not fully lived.
My life is not over,
so I will still be changing,
still be growing,
and I will still be learning.

Who am I?
I can only answer
quite simply,
I am me.