New Laptop, New Age, New Reason To Write

My birthday was last week. All I asked from my parents this year was money to buy myself a new laptop. Taylor was a good laptop, but she had to go to Dell heaven. The old girl was dying on me and had given me too many viruses to care for it any longer. I have a new reason to write more though. Lately I’ve been thinking; I shouldn’t allow myself to only focus on poetry. It would be like telling Leonardo De Vinci that he could only concentrate on making beautiful art and nothing more.  I want to expand what I’m capable of and write short stories and essays that will inspire people, question their understanding of the world, and appreciate the words laid out in front of them. A few months ago, I wrote out a long list of ideas that would make even Lena Dunham blush. I typed out three pages on my parents desktop because, like I said, Taylor was being dysfunctional on every level. They are mainly events that happened to me in college with some of the closest people I know so far.

Why would I said ‘so far’? Because frankly,  people change.  And people often don’t realize this phenomenon until something shifts in the dynamics of the relationship, even in the smallest way. People do change; every day, every time something terrible happens,  when someone lets you down, or doesn’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Even I have changes in the past year since I started this beautiful part of my life. Here’s a list for ya,

  • I graduated college in 4.5 years with an English degree (never thought that would ever happen)
  • I lost my first job (It happens to everyone. You live with it and move to something better)
  • I purchased my first car (holy adult stuff Batman)
  • My first car accident (that was a real bummer)
  • I worked for a company longer than six months (wowzza!)
  • I sent out my first chapbook to some publishers (pooping in my pants)
  • I had more than two jobs at one time (again, never saw myself doing that)
  • Going to my first therapy session (It was a turning point for me mentally)
  • Lost and gain some friendships (It happens)

But those stories, the adventures you shared with those fine collages, will always stay in your heart. I guess I want to preserve those memories and allow other people to find out what living is really all about. I’m really excited about what’s to come. 24 has been really good to me thus far and it’s only been a week. I found myself already having a job promotion at a job I just started where I make more money and have more hours. So, that’s quite splendid. I also just want to surround myself with the friends that I’ve known and cherished the most over these past several years. Who knows, this year might be the last time I see everyone together all at once.

Above everything else, my mission has always been to write creatively and not stopping until I have found my purpose.


My Motto, not “The” Motto

Fresh Off The Presses

So I wrote this poem a few days ago. It’s relevant to where I am in this time of my life. All of my life, I had my life planned out in stepped out bullet points on a sheet of paper for where my life was going to go. Then I went to college. Going to college blew all of my expectations away; yet, the most important lesson I learned was that you can never go about life with a plan. All you have to do is live your life. So long as you live the kind of life that challenges and excites you, you’ll get everything you’re hoping for.

Sometimes in life, the best answer to any question is simple…

The Motto

I’ll put it simply this,

to those who are

between adult and real world;

I don’t know what’s going on.


It’s become a staple phrase,

a security blanket, or sorts,

to not admit the tough

questions about life.


Where is this all going?

What are my future plans?

When will I move forward?

How am I suppose to know?

Why am I so tired already?


The internal struggle is real,

no matter how much I hide it.

Not knowing which direction

can’t consider me, no longer.




Heading back to the mothership

I wrote this last September, in one moment where I was thinking about all of the great memories I made at Bradley. All of the places, friends, and activities; all of them made me realize who I am as an individual. I’ve edited this a few times and I’m pretty happy with it for the most part. Enjoy!


I stand alone, on Big Red’s porch,

Waiting for the sun to rise again,

As I stare at the night that was,

And still continues to be.


More people start to come outside,

They wonder where I have run off to,

As I look down at my half smoked pipe;

My eyes are as glazed over as a doughnut.


The words that escape are, “I’m waiting for the sunrise.”

And everyone left standing from the night joins me,

For the night is young and so are we,

But it’s not the sun I am waiting for.


I am waiting for you to come back,

Back into my life and my hopes,

Where our old selves could have stayed young,

Oh, but why did you have to go?


For that, I may never know the answer,

But for now, I have this, this moment, and myself,

To get me through until I see that sun peeking into the new day,

To remind me that life goes on and so will I.

Father knows best, right?

This post is dedicated to my father, who thinks that I should write happier, less depressing poems (something I need to focus more on). I wrote this little number in December and I think it’s pretty good for a short poem. Enjoy!

The Lioness


Hear women yelling, “I’m a quaintrelle.”

Passion on top of desire,


 I am woman


hear me roar yellow orange

reacting to



flame, don’t fade away, new and true across the broad,


sights foreseen cannot be touched,


Cultivated by pastimes pleasures,

charm sweeter than a prince,

Lit up to the tone of

a million lightening bugs.


 She is wild.


With no lion standing next to,

the brown dusty plains and

Evergreen valleys are in reach,


her whole life, passion inhaled by dreamers,




—those who vision anything is possible.  

I dislike going to late movies

Not every late movie or midnight premiere that I have been looking forward to for weeks. Harry Potter and Star Trek don’t apply to what I’m talking about (they’re amazing movies). Rather what comes after seeing the movie; you’re hyped up from the movie and the amount of popcorn and soda that has been in your body for the past three hours and driving home, thinking everyone is still awake! But they’re not and you’re left alone with your thoughts…all of your thoughts.

I understand that graduating college is wonderful and it sucks at the same time and living with your parents is not an ideal situation for an early 20’s female. But those were my thoughts after the midnight showing of The Hobbit: Part 2. Maybe it was the hobbit’s journey, Gandalf’s drinking, or Smaug himself but something was keeping me up pass 4 a.m. I just don’t want to end up alone with nothing but my thoughts and cats. Ugh…I hope the struggle doesn’t last forever.

So, I wrote this after the movie and it made me ten times better, laying my thoughts on paper and finally releasing my insecurities I’ve held on to for so long.

I dislike going to late movies


Is scared and alone.

Always scared and lonely.

Is it normal to hate

The thought of death

Without ever knowing

What it is.


Nothing to compare it,

Not even a drop of memory

Would help. Is it something

To be afraid of rather than

Some type of celebratory

Swan song?


Feeling so unnatural and hallow,

A corpse inside an Egyptian tomb,

Without a brain to remember

His life, time, people of an

Important era.


Just as the Black Dalia,

Minus body parts all over.

When it’s there, in a blink, it’s gone

Over and buried to the ground;




Coming and going every way,

People die every day but no one

Hears about baby being born

Or 10th grade graduation.

Who has the time to stop and look?


For now, life is a marathon

Racing thoughts and events

All over the place without

Thinking… is it

Death that’s coming in first.

75 down, so many more to go

Tonight, I finally completed a personal project I have been working on since June 18th 2013. Mostly consisting of poems because it was challenging for me. Personal memoirs, essays, and opinion blurds are my specialty but I never became interested in poetry. I tried to enjoy and read poetry when I was much younger. Even wrote some songs with my Fender guitar when I was still able to play. I remember taking my first creative writing class, my nerves were excited, in my senior year of high school. The poems that my teacher had to assign to us to write were as if the teacher didn’t understand the different techniques and forms exist in English language. We weren’t even writing works that we ordinarily thought of first, just steaming from the teacher’s ideas and nothing else. I was so disappointed in poetry that I wanted to give up on it forever. Until I became an extra semester senior at Bradley University. I felt like I only had one more shot to get it right; I figured, I’m an English major at a fine respected school, what’s the worst thing that could happen. Three different and unique professors diagnosed my problem over the course of 4 months, although it felt like it was overnight. I was finally realizing to turn away from writing sappy poems about lost love and wondering when everything in life went wrong and started to write the truth about myself in different styles and fresh ideas were popping into my head. It’s important to be well educated in your field, especially if it challenges your writing ability. I couldn’t be more grateful for that and for the people in college who properly showed me the way to be a well rounded writer.

Fresh Off the Presses

I graduated college on Saturday, something I never thought would happen. Let alone in 4.5 years. I’m blessed, happy, and grateful for my parents for saving their money and caring enough about my brother and I to get us through college DEBT FREE. Tears fill my eyes as I post that because I know where things could have gone horribly wrong in my time at college but it didn’t. Someone out there thought I deserved a chance to become better than I was at 18 years old. Thank you, thank you, thank YOU my parents, for allowing me the experiences, people, and memories I will never forget that make me who I really am right now.

The nerve to graduate


Funny how everything change,

now that all is wanted,

nothing is ever the same.

Physical diploma awaits

For those who earned it,

achieved something great,

rare, exciting, the end of things,

things coming at the ends of

party dresses and winter coats,

red cheeks and butter lips

walking down the University,

not looking for any trouble,

something to snip while

time walks right through


It never gets easier, does it?

About a week ago, my friend Melissa kept asking the same question to all of us. “Do you think men and women can be just friends? Even if that person were naked, you wouldn’t want to sleep with your friend?” At first, I didn’t know how to respond to such a vague question.

Sure some women have guy friends to talk to and they might even life some weighs at the gym every now and then or grab a cup of joe. Those might be the same people that know there isn’t a chance in hell they will ever hook up beyond the friendship level. Take my brother for example; I don’t know a single girl in his life because none of those girls are his friends. I have the feeling he might have some prospects but for now, nothing too exciting coming from his end. He’ll never be the guy to only have a girl as a friend, only girlfriends. I don’t see that’s his style, anyhow. See the point?

Now, there are only two sides to this; the other being that you’re definitely hooking up and are going to be in a relationship (whether it’s Facebook official or not). Everyone can tell, even when it’s not mentioned, it’s there. Sometimes, the relationship gets complicated between the two sexes. One person sees the relationship differently than the other, one person isn’t as committed as the other would like, one person thought you two were an item but really, it’s all in your head. In the end, someone always get hurt. I should know, this has happened to me one too many times.

Bottom line to all of this is that, relationships between men and women must be a one way street, never both ways. If the lines were blurred, the two of you would hate each other for similar or different reasons. I appreciate my guy friends for putting up with my crazy self and I wouldn’t want to do anything to mess up that chemistry.

Fresh off the Presses

A poem inspired by this post. I hope it’s not too obvious but it’s been on my mind lately and I hope it’s good. Critique and as always please send me feedback.

Men and Women Can Never Be Equal

I understand that you wish we never did it,

but the facts are in the air and whether you agree or not–

we were horny and I know you wanted all of it. This is

the reason why men can’t be friends with women.

Call it shallow, worse than the well from The Ring,

I won’t disagree with that reaction, but the women

reading this should knowledge this little known trivia.

Look up to the first guy you notice,

does he see you? Staring at your eyes

before quickly darting them away from you?

That distinct look is a sign that he’s interested and

wants to sleep with anyone with a big of tits as her glasses.

If that particular gentleman had the facial features

of a kick-in donkey, the chances of a romantic gesture

would be more likely than a zombie apocalypse.

So those are the basic responses from each opposing side.

Now, what it these actions turned into reactions towards that person

the transpiration going on is so quint and simple,

why not go for it?

The air of facts is foggy, smacking you in the face

what’s been in front of you,

women are crazy,

men are confusing.

Three times is the charm


Things we do in private

Shut the door and do your business

the type of business no one needs to know

dirty business that is difficult to scrub after a while.


The wall is cool and sticky, pressed up against it.

This is the first time ever being drunk.

head is spinning, cannot make

clear thoughts, as blue skies would sing to the sun.


Keep spinning over and over on the floor to the ceiling,

continuing to keep the door close, no one can get in

right now—we have an emergency,

the needle won’t come out and there aren’t

any words coming out, as the black chair turns again.


The pull finally comes and the white noise stops

people are there to make sure you’re more than alrighty.

We all worried and knew the endless spell of addiction

casted by melancholies’ over the lifely festive parade.

Don’t say that this first haze

had anything to do with this one life–

the drink never turned into a self-torture device.


Even if it went there, never would I stoop beyond

the lowest point of exclusion, not caring to be saved

forget the soul that was once drumming with excitement.

Shutting the door on yourself.

When did airplanes go from exciting to exhausting?

Song that I am currently obsessed with:

Now, I can’t exactly remember the first time I rode on the silver bird but I felt excited; as if I was going to the tops of the earth and everything was going to look so different while slowly floating our way up. After researching with my father, the first flight was to Disney World with my family, including Granny when I was about seven or eight. I remember the trip–  how The Tower of Terror terrified my brother so badly, he made up an excuse to not ride it and how adventurous my Granny was when riding those rides with me, us acting like two eight year olds. The air compared to the ground was breaking– where most of my first memories of vacation happened in my mom’s ’98 Toyota beige mini van, playing hand held Yahtzee and card games like War and Go Fish with my brother. The minivan acted like a rocket ship and every destination had foreign and alien elements to the hotels and activities involved with the vacation. Tennessee, Arizona, Illinois, Michigan, Ohio. Just some of the many states I have the fondest moments with my family. So many inside jokes, arguments and battles, dines that shined like diamonds, and of course the sight seeing. All of that use to be so fun and easy, a new experience to add to the collection.

Now, the collection of trips seems to be getting tired and sometimes, it takes up more time and work because of the way airports are functioned these days. When I was younger, I never noticed the amount of time it took from waiting in so many lines for security, then to be on the plane, having everyone seated and the plane ready to take off. And I always made sure I had my book and music in order to keep the peace among the somewhat rude passengers. Nowadays, I have a routine and opinion about airports and flying on planes. This isn’t a bad thing, just something people do after flying for so long after understanding the new laws and rules around security checks. It amazes me that some people’s jobs have to include traveling from China to Philadelphia in two days and that’s their life. While I want to travel the world someday, those moments will be special because they will be my own memories, not family related. Hopefully they will lighten up the rules a bit, but I don’t think that kind of luck will ever exist again.

One final note: I will always love my dad for playing the ‘bird game’ with me and my brother. So right when the plane gets extremely fast, just before it leaves the ground, we would flap our arms that we pretend are our wings and we flap them “really really hard” before the plane went into the air, so no one would be left behind and we would be able to make it there together. That is still one of the sweetest moments I can remember as a child.

Fresh off the presses: I wanted to create different forms and apply it to this poem but also having a story in each stanza. Please tell me your critique and opinion, I greatly appreciate it. Enjoy what I have come up with!


Innovative, slick, machine to the sky,

Jefferson Airplane! I’m trapped and I’m enclosed,

but I won’t complain, I’ll open all the windows!

We rode on it together for the very first time


Arriving in Thailand at one o’clock in the morning,

their time of course, as two birds land

tired, coursed, and not in the mood to talk,

there were buddhist monks blessing our sins


My mother, brother, and I are somewhere in Texas;

she is frustrated because she’s drunk, or at least

I am to expect that she is over a pointless conversation

as the nice old lady asks us what we would like to drink


10 a.m., art class in the 4th grade at Green Trails,

an announcement is being made through the big brown box,

‘Something terrible has happened to our country.’

Lifeless children understanding what a terrorist threat is


Los Angles is known to be la-la land and I was in that state,

flying back home from the last vacation of my youth, the skies—

they were calling out my thoughts, don’t desert us, stay here,

wish my toes were in the sand, not cramped in someone’s seat.


Coming for Seconds?

This is a poem I wrote over the summer when I was taking an accounting course. I hope you all enjoy it!

I hate Accounting

I’m currently in a definite state of confusion,

Not Confucius, but something along those lines,

that makes me forget about time and space–

Get away from my face.

You’re bothering me, even worrying me,

about your debits and credits

that won’t matter in the future,

so, what’s the matter?

The problem is that I should be studying,

but instead the right side of my brain,

wants to flourish and go insane,

for a while longer.

But alas, I have a test tomorrow.

And these accounts won’t balance themselves,

Or the terms that I need to use for them are waiting for me.

Oh well, back to the graveyard of notes.