Wednesday, May 19, 2021
Saturday, May 15, 2021
Wednesday, May 12, 2021
March 10th
A broken fence reminds me of a 16-year-old boy getting his first car. But then again, getting it taken away when he turns 18 and goes to jail.
I remember handprints on plexiglass trying to connect.I thought that was what love was.
A barrier to stand against, a wall to protect, all because wrong choices lead us to desperation.
I was desperate for you.
Only you, I assumed, could love me, see me, accept me, even though your affection was isolated with conditions.
Rules you didn't follow because you grew lazy.
And I grew comfortable with second place haze.
February 13th
I did this without you.
Without the slaps on the back.Your wide eyes and pursed lips.
You were so scared to believe in me because you knew if I did if I believed in myself. I would never be happy without that freedom.
You were so scared to trust my imagination because you feared yours.
January 18th. Big Backyard Trees
When I was a little girl, we had these giant trees in my backyard, behind a red brick house. If you climbed high enough, some of the branches would intertwine, and you could lay down. Sturdy enough to hold your weight.
Sometimes I think about that fantasy. Where you close your eyes and belong to the sky. You become attached to moments where the birds sing and the bees buzz—a simple satisfaction of purely existing. Maybe that's all we wish to find; a place to belong.Saturday, May 1, 2021
Forgive Me: Charvi
I've had this idea roaming around since before I wrote Mum's the Word Series. Before Harper and Zailey came into the picture. Hell, before Choice was created. Forgive Me was an essential part of heartbreak falling in love. It was so pure, the memories and daydreams about these two.
They were opposites, they had no business being together and yet, they become the realm of true love, true expectations and deep forgiveness touching the bone.
Here is a sample of one of my early introductions to their love story.
She's nervous.
She waits not saying a word. Waiting for me to take her angsts away.
But, I don't.
I fumble with my thoughts, they are desperate to have their stories told.
I do my best to punish away that opportunity. She is quiet but her expression is loud.
The loudest one today, I turn around expecting her to stand there, tapping her shoes, biting her bottom lip. Hoping it is time, that she becomes alive.
The fact is I feel her, like she is a real being, only to be shared on paper.
I feel like a powerful influencer, given control to tell stories of each character given to me. The sad honest truth is, I do my best to push them away. It's like an audience of people waiting for me to perform.
But I have my back to them, with a mic in my hand. I am facing a black curtain waiting to accept my victory. When it is all behind me, I can't seem to turn around and face the reality. To accept the success of them giving me their stories. Handing over themselves so that I may be a part to share.
Sometimes I can quiet her cries, other times she runs rapid, hysterical. Calm, I tell her, relax and she knows I am the only one to save her to heal.
She's ready, her screams turned silent. Now she is ready, now she is able to face the light and walk through the open door. Facing her intimate bright future.