O Apollo

O Apollo,
Why must you confuse me for a nymph?
You chase after me,
Lust in your eyes,
But you turn into a narcissus flower when I cut my hair.
I'm only a reflection in the pond that you chase after.
You're pride.
You're vanity.
Even Artemis was better at the hunt and knew better than to let love in. 
What must I do so you don't drown? 
Must I disappear? 
Must I show you that it's your reflection?
Stop the chase.
I'll never cave and break the glass.
O Apollo, 
See me not as a nymph 
But as a nymph and satyr. 

2022 Goals

Writing Goals

  • Reach 100K words in Deathchasers
  • Start writing Following The White Tale
  • Start planning out Gaitha

Blog Goals

  • Have 3 people on the team
  • Write more poems
  • Write more book reviews
  • Write more reviews in general
  • Make my own writing tips
  • Post more excerpts

Being a Better Writer: Showing Small Character Details — Unusual Things

Hello readers! And welcome back to another installment of Being a Better Writer! A unique installment. For several reasons, in fact! And yes, it has to do with why there was only one post last week on the site. But first, just a forewarning that today’s post is the last installment of BaBW for the […]

Being a Better Writer: Showing Small Character Details — Unusual Things

I found this article very interesting and helpful. If you’re a writer, maybe this will be useful.

Furthermore, I’m excited to announce that I will be posting some good things I find. And in addition, I’m looking for people to join the Shakespearian1 team. Please comment if interested.


Loki: Review

Picking up from a scene in Avengers: Endgame, Loki follows the consequences of the God of Mischief’s mistake of picking up the tesseract but brings him on the adventure to learn what it means to be Loki.

To be honest, I watched the show because I am a fan of the character Loki. But that does not make me biased to the content. Right off bat, I will admit there were a few plot holes in my opinion.

For example, how Loki came to be an alligator is a huge plot hole. Even though the alligator provided comic relief in the penultimate episode, and is my favorite thing about the series, I feel like it could’ve been expanded upon.

Alligator Loki


Sylvie ended the season as my least favorite character. By now, I’m hoping you Marvel fans are able to handle this fact: in the end, Sylvie betrays Loki and kills He Who Remains. Now, I would’ve been fine with this happening had she not kissed Loki. Loki had a spectacular arc and almost found love, yet she didn’t trust his word and damaged the multiverse.

Sylvie is just as evil as He Who Remains. She’s bent on revenge against the Time Variance Authority (TVA). In the season finale, she finds He Who Remains, who is a lawful evil (at best).

Sure, Sylvie’s backstory was justified, but I kept rooting for her to have a change of heart. Thus, when she kissed Loki and pushed him into a portal, she became my least favorite character.


from Pinterest

Ahh. We’ve come to one of my favorite characters. Mobius. Loyal to the TVA, but also rebelling and doing things his own way. If there’s a good/slightly morally-gray character I love, it’s him.

Not a lot is known about him other than the fact that he works for the TVA and is friends with the judge of the TVA. But this is justified because he doesn’t know his backstory, or how he came into the hands of the TVA. As shown with other characters, his memories of his prior life are so deeply hidden.

Ravonna Renslayer

Ravonna Renslayer

If there is a character that I can’t determine whether I like or not, it has to be her. She’s unpredictable. I can never tell if she’s good or bad. But I do like that in the end, she abandons the TVA for freedom.

Only one person gets free will. The one in charge.

Loki, “For All Time, Always”

Well, this has taken me months to concoct. I hope you enjoyed this review.


NaNoWriMo 2021: Announcement

At the beginning of the month, I decided to make it my goal to write a total of 50K words for Deathchasers. I forgot to announce this last week due to business. Now, I hope you will support me as I try NaNoWriMo this year.

As of today, my word count is 20,289 words. I’ll keep you posted.


Meet Alice Redd

For my upcoming novel, once I finish Deathchasers, I’m going to write an Alice in Wonderland retelling. This novel will be Following the White Tale. More info to come by the end of the year.

This is my protagonist Alice.


Halloween Special: The Haunted House – Part 1

I stared at the vines of ivy wrapping around the columns of the so-called Haunted House of Horrors in the dead of night. The brochure hadn’t said anything about ivy creeping through the crevices of the columns when we made plans.

My leather-clad hand wrapped around my friend Jasiri’s hand. “Are you sure about this?” I asked Jasiri. Her thick, ebony hair whipped in the wild wind. Mine, meanwhile, was covered in a headdress for Halloween. “I mean, it looks like the brochure hasn’t been updated for years.”

“Are you chickening out on us?” asked another one of my friends. The herculean Tarkan. He scoffed. “Typical Aria. So superstitious. I mean, you make a salt circle in front of your bedroom door.”

“At least she’s smarter than you two fools,” Jasiri retorted, placing her hand on her hips. “If this place is haunted, at least she knows what to do before she chickens out.” Oh, yeah … I forgot about Jared, Tarkan’s go-to man when he made a so-called “sick” burn. Jared wasn’t many for words. He just agreed with everything Tarkan said and laughed at everything in general.

“Heh,” Jared let out between laughs. “She called us fools.” I rolled my eyes. Why had we agreed to bring Jared along? He was dull as a fool. If Jasiri was right about one thing, it was that we had invited a fool to spend Halloween with us.

“Fine. I’ll go in.” I threw my hands in the air in defeat. I made my way past the columns and approached the door with two boards crossing each other next to the handle. “I am not a chicken.”

The three of them bawked like chickens. So, I kicked open the door, which was barely on its hinges. I turned to my friends.

“There!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. Anger seared across my face. At the same time, a shiver spiraled down my spine. “Happy?”

“‘Go inside,” they all demanded. So, just to prove my friends wrong about me, I squeezed inside, cobwebs smearing across my face.

I looked around. Old stations glowed in melancholy. Candles flickered in dull orange flames. But something seemed unsettling. Something wasn’t right about the atmosphere.

Before I could glance over my shoulder, a pair of teeth sank into my neck. My ears began to ring. And the world faded to black before my eyes.

Stay tuned for Part 2 tomorrow.
Happy Halloween!


Meet Tulia

Tulia is the protagonist of the first part of my series called The Deathchasers Chronicles. As the lead, she goes through many phases of arcs, and she is very powerful. You wouldn’t want to cross her for loyalty is what she values most in people.

Beware of your opinions on her.


My mother drove me four hours to upstate New York, where a prestigious drama academy known as the Hamilton Institute of the Fine Arts awaited me to step foot through the door. On the East Coast of the United States of America, Hamilton promised a path to fame and glory by making its passing students the most eligible applicants to Juilliard. 

Heck, just thinking about it made me squeal with excitement as blurs of colors flashed past me. The people I would meet. The network of connections I would make. I was one step closer to fulfilling my purpose.

I could see my name popping against the general populace’s eyes: Tulia Gardner. Famous. Signed to a record label. Sold-out concerts. Everything I could ever imagine was just a brushstroke away. There was nothing that could stand in my way.

I was Tulia freaking Gardner.


Deathchasers Preview

During intermission, I searched the dressing room for Bakula and Ari. The heavy weight of my chest assured me I had seen Cronos. Sure, it was my destiny to bring peace to nature, but I couldn’t do it without these two.

People and overlapping noise crowded the dressing room. They all scattered throughout the space, making the room a labyrinth. At the same time, a cacophonous symphony filled my ears. It all came back to how the first act went. Majority thought it went well.

“You did well.” At the sound of Ombline’s voice, I whipped around to see her smirking. I stumbled backward into Hunter, stammering with incoherent sounds.

Hunter let out a grunt. “Watch it.” When I glanced over my shoulder at him, he crossed his arms over his black polo. His twitching eyes looked like he was a timebomb. It wasn’t the pleasant eyes gave everyone. No, he showed the sin of humanity for a moment. Hatred. However, he flickered to his boyfriend and back to me: his ugly expression now disappeared. Instead, he had the the demeanor of a tideless sea.

“Sorry,” I said to him, my lips in a tight smile. When he nodded, I returned to Ombline. Her two-toned wig covered one of her eyes. She dragged her foot in an arc. To top it off, she looked at me with rain-stained eyes, both laced with the pain of almost being victim to Cronos. So, I wondered if there anything I could do. Rgus came through my words to her,.

“Ombline, I’m here for you.” At this moment, I completely forgot that I was in search of Bakula and Ari. Heck, I even effaced seeing Cronos from my mind. All that consumed me was an urge of selflessness.

Sure, Ombline bullied me several time, but after being hugged by Ombline this week, something told me that perhaps she had a change of heart. Maybe she did. Maybe not.

Read Deathchasers on Wattpad.


Behind the Book: Deathchasers

In the beginning, Deathchasers was basically a series written like the Warriors. I planned on having multiple volumes in the series. But that didn’t work out, so I combined the character Avalynne from fantasy novel of the same name. It was called Deathchasers: Avalynne. Unfortunately, I gave up on that too. The idea came back to me a third time when I combined it with Letters from an Angel. I was going for a vibe similar to The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver except more fantasy. It held similar traits to Deathchasers: Avalynne, such as the fantasy world where the Deathchasers resided. Like before, I never went through with it.

This year, I got inspiration to rewrite the Deathchasers series as a superhero saga. The story follows 17-year-old Tulia Gardner as she navigates the world of Greek mythology, theater, and magic as she tries to defeat the titan Cronus, who has escaped from his underworld prison, and it’s up to Tulia and the Deathchasers to find and capture him.

I love this version because it’s dark and takes all of my energy to try and make it the best thing possible. Prepare for superheros, theater, and music like never before.


Cover Reveal: Deathchasers

Isn’t it beautiful? Prepare for more coming this weekend. Thank you Manya for making this cover. You’re a great cover artist. I love how it captures the dark essence of the story.


Enchanted Kingdoms: We’re All Mad Here

Written by duo J.A. Armitage and J.A. Cullican, We’re All Mad Here is an Alice and Wonderland retelling that kicks off the Enchanted Kingdoms anthology, paying homage to this quirky classic with several twists.


Together, Armitage and Cullican write in realistic narrative style that is similar to the narrative style to the book The Duff. The two aren’t afraid to throw some slang into the proses, and use witty ellipsis (for example: “…sorry dead lady’s house.”) The descriptions, however, relate to pop culture that anyone with knowledge of the classic and the live-action Disney version of the tale. The setting is well-developed but also left to the reader’s imagination. One setting description that stands out to me is “croquet garden;” it’s the most poetic description of them all.

The authors’ dialogue is interesting. It pays respect to the original characters of the classic and each is unique to the characters.

The authors pay attention to the thoughts of the narrator and the dialogue between the characters.


There are several characters in this book. The main character is Alice, who goes to help her mom clear an old house for antiques on her eighteenth birthday. The one rule is don’t disturb the mirror on the second floor. However, her mom causes the mirror on the second floor to fall on Alice, transporting Alice back 1852 England. She joins forces with Albus Rabbit, Kit, Kit’s grandmother, and the Mad Hatter to get back to her own time while she helps out in a political campaign against Mrs. Heart.

The Mad Hatter, ironically, is described as having Johnny Depp looks from his Edward Scissorhands era. He’s brightly complex and moody, and has something in common with Alice that forms a romantic bond between the two while external forces (the citizens of the town in 1852, and Mrs. Heart) try to keep them apart.

The mirror qualifies as a character or at least an entity that has powers that are meant to be hidden and not disturbed. But together, Hatter and Alice try to defeat Mrs. Heart.


If you’re looking for something witty and quirky and unexpected twists, please, read We’re All Mad Here and support the Enchanted Kingdoms anthology.


Enchanted Kingdoms – The Ruin of Snow

In this anthology of fairy tale retellings called Enchanted Kingdoms, there’s one of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. It’s called The Ruin of Snow by up-and-coming fantasy author Lacy Sheridan. It’s one of my favorite retellings and creates an empowering, complex female protagonist as opposed to the classic telling in which Snow White is a damsel in distress.

The Style

Sheridan writes descriptions intricately to the point you can envision the world she has created and the emotions coursing through the narrator’s veins. There is clever word choice and the proses are realistic to a human.


In The Ruin of Snow, Sheridan creates realistic characters that fit into their alignment and makes clever changes to make an appealing twist on this fairy tale. In addition, most characters are written complexly, but if they aren’t there alignment is justified.

The protagonist is a witch named Nevya who was raised to use magic to kill and hide her magic. She has two older sisters named Serafina and Tulia, who are full witches. As siblings, they were raised to compete against each other for their mother’s approval.

In this complex world, things go wrong in Neyva’s world after she kills her suitor. Nevya eventually finds out what she has to do in order to become a full witch and decides to flee her situation after one of her sisters tries to kill her.

In a hefty turn of events, Neyva stumbles upon seven people cursed into shapeshifters, a good twist instead of them being dwarves. In exchange for shelter and safety, she offers to break their curse.

Character wise, there’s an appeal to the LGBT+ audience with one of the characters named Kye, who is also one of the seven shapeshifters. Overall, this is exciting because not a lot of fairy tales rewrite history to allow the LGBT community into the lore.


For those who are looking for something different and uniquely-written, I suggest The Ruin of Snow to you.


O Venus

O Venus,
As the somber drums echo my heavy feet
During the plight of wilted roses
To which gray fog lingers against my skin,
I pray to you,
O Venus,
Let your red arrows strike
Softer than lightning;
Let the silky white doves fly
High in the blue heavens. 
O Venus, 
I wither away from gaiety;
Into moiety, I become. 
As petals crumble,
And the thunder rolls, 
O Venus, 
I know not what might come,
For the clouds defeat the sun,
The night eats the moon,
And the waters rise before noon. 
O Venus,
Take pity on me.
I may not all be the Helen of Troy,
But grant solace on me, a Hestia,
A quiet voice and not by choice,
O Venus. 



There’s a tide in your eyes, and several hundred reasons why

I should simply say goodbye as I look into the tide in your eyes.

But there’s in the tide in your eyes that I can never deny,

so I give it a try …


I’m falling


Catch me,

I’m falling.


There’s a song from your lips, romantic like a kiss.

I know ignorance is bliss, so I don’t let you miss

the song on my lips, calling for your kiss,

filling me with bliss.


I’m falling.


Catch me,

I’m falling.


I think I’m on cloud nine, ’cause this is so divine,

something so sublime, I can hear the bells chime.

There’s a tide in your eyes, and several hundred reasons why

I should simply say goodbye as I look into the tide in your eyes.

But there’s in the tide in your eyes that I can never deny,

so I give it a try …


I give it a try.


So, catch me,

I’m falling


I’m falling.




I think I’m in love with you again.



Light fades through the room, drones out the sound, uncertainty looms to the past to which we’re bound.

I can’t feel your heart, but I know that it’s slow, unable to grow, lost in the wind that blow, so …

You fade into a shadow.

You don’t recognize the tears on my face.

Everything we had will

fade away into the empty black space.

I don’t wanna be a shadow,

But you don’t a choice if you do.

I try, and I try. All do is try.

I try to get you as a shadow out of my mind.

I don’t even know why, yeah, even why,

why the end was nigh.

My thoughts intertwine, and the music gets too loud.

I stumble in line, and I fear you’re not proud.

And it’s like,

You fade into a shadow.

You don’t recognize the tears on my face.

Everything we had will

fade away into the empty black space.

I don’t wanna be a shadow,

But you don’t a choice if you do.


Bad News

Don’t bother to get too close.

I won’t be your ideal host.

I’m the fire, the burn, the ember, the spark, the flame, the smoke that’s making you nervous.

You see me around, watching me drown, gray in the frown, walking in town, like I ain’t worth it.

But you’ve heard it.

I’m bad news.

I’m just a rouse

In a game you’re gonna lose.

Yeah, I’m bad news.

I’m the ghost that’s lurking around, don’t make a sound, lost and not found, so aren’t you proud?

I’m the poison inside, escaping my mind, so out of time, small as a dime, claiming what’s mine.

But it’s time you know:

I’m bad news.

I’m just a rouse

In a game you’re gonna lose.

Yeah, I’m bad news.



Look at the stitches across my skin.

Each is one a different pattern:

The teddy bears of infancy and innocence;

The bubbles of childhood and optimism;

The clouds of adolescent darkness;

And the wind of the future.

Look at me.

Am I not proud?



Flares could cave in on my skin.

Hot red flares burning my skin.

Why did partake in such sin?

To touch the amber gloss of her skin,

hot red flares burning my skin,

how could you not know what might’ve been?

Sleep in the hollow night,

you and your manly might.

Do you you not know you’re such a sore sight?

You brought on this sinful fight.

Now, I hope you never see the light,

but rather wallow in the freight.

I hope you fall from a height,

sleep in the hollow night,

you and your manly might.

When you burn,

having never learned

you brought fire at every turn,

and the last thing you see are my eyes so stern

when you you burn.

Flares could cave in on my skin.

Hot red flares burning my skin.

Sleep in the hollow night,

you and your manly might

when you burn,

having never learned.

Flares cave in on your skin.

Hot red flares burn you in your sin.

You sleep in the hollow night

Being such a pathetic sight.




I watch love burn.



Where the water is dry,

Where the fire is wet,

A river of tears stream from my eyes.

Where the sun is dark and gray,

and the sky is mucky blue,

I wander with no place to stay.

Where lips curl downwards,

where the only noise is a spark of hatred,

I climb outwards.

To the west of despair,

To the east of endless flares,

To the south of gloom,

To the north of wilted instead of bloomed.



Why does the sea call me

like the rolling tide

that pulls me in?

Why does the tide need me 

like thunder needs lightning

to create the perfect storm?

Why does the storm intrigue me 

like a million little dots in a

collage of abstract art?

I am the sea.

I am the tide.

I am the thunder.

I am the lightning.

I am the perfect storm.

And I am a piece of abstract 



When we fade into the darkness, who remembers us? 
Are we nothing more than the dust we return to when our time is up?
I remember when I was young, I dreamed about fame. 
I always wanted the whole world to know my name. 
Now, my dreams, my visions, my colors are tame.
I think about a legacy, and these words come to mind:

                                           "Legacy. What is a legacy? 
 It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see."

If this is all I am,
If I'm meant to be a lamb among wolves,
then I shall turn these wolves into sheep.

This poem is inspired by Hamilton, specifically this quote.

Theodosia will soon be able to be previewed on WordPress.

Stay tuned



"Lose yourself in the art of selflessness," they say.

Lose yourself in the art of forgetting yourself by dedicating your heart to the meek, the poor, the hungry, the homeless, the thirsty, the naked, and the oppressed, for what is better than a life of poverty and self-service?

No personality. No flavor. Just gray.

Selfless, abnegation gray. 


Her eyes are a festival of warm tears; 
her ears are a melody of cold fears,
for the aria she once heard has turned black—
black as a tire that has hit a flat.
The world is a void of endless solitude,
for the world she knew is quietude.
Vibrations rise through her feet;
now, she won't accept defeat,
for if she is the mighty dragon,
she will wave the flag and
sing her battle song:

I can hear,
I can hear
but in a different way.

I can speak,
I can speak
but only with my hands.

Deny me or don't;
tie me with rope;
I certainly won't
give up my hope
to be seen as someone
who can hear
and speak.


the past complex

Creamy-walled rooms bare the marks of each year.
Another year passes;
another year is gone.
An influx of new and old faces smacks me with tears;
once the wound has healed, another mural bleeds into dull palettes.
Another year passes;
another year is gone.
New voices. Old ones fade to oblivion.
Each face shreds like paper into the garbage of darkness.
Another year passes;
another year is gone.

Intertwined with the watery mural of the pane,
mounds of bricks pass by my eyes.
Each one holds a story. Each is different.
It's funny how the bricks seem to be the stronghold of history, of stories when everything comes and goes with the fast life of the clock.
The rooms never hold the same people.
The bricks never hold just one story.
The air is never the same.

But time rushes and rushes and rushes;
time, a rush of autumne that start anew when eyes blink.
And in the end, life comes down to one question:
Will they remember?

the carnival

In the night, stars dance across the ceiling as a neon parade swarms the circle. 
Vibrant diversity rings in each color, in each promenade.
A mass of euphoria, of ecstasy, takes over each swing, each dance, each act as they contort themselves, risk themselves, outcast themselves all for the sake of twinkling under the stars.

Me? I'm the ringleader.
I stand high on the tightropes with my hula hoop and flags, signaling for each animal to pass through in their stampede of dissonance.
While everyone else in the audience is a smear of gray, of mob mentality awe, I stand out like a checkered array of black and white.
Ballerinas plie across the wires and ropes;
Contortionists stretch their limbs in mistrewn directions;
Daredevils eat fire and exhale it as if it were nothing but air —
for all the crowd knows, it is.

A parade of misfits, of diversity warps the audience's minds with awe and reaction.
Dazzled in the starry praise for such a moonlight occasion, I, the ringleader twist into a bow:

This life is no carnival,
although things do appear larger than life sometimes;
it's quite the opposite in fact:
Life is a masquerade.

First Heartbreak

Thank you for being first heartbreak. 
Thank you for putting all at stake.
Thank you for making my heart ache.
Thank you for breaking my heart.

You pushed until I saw red.
You pushed until the last straw.
I saw it. I broke it. I know it.
Me. You. Not us.
Me. You. Not us.

I threw my mind away;
I abandoned common sense.
Now, I've been free ever since.

Thank you for being the one to lower the bar.
Thank you for making it clear what goes too far.
Thank you for making me as mad as a hatter.
Thank you for making it easy to put no much flatter.
Thank you for being my first heartbreak.



You're a kaleidoscope of color in my eyes. 
Much like a rainbow palette toned into the dull hues of a storm,
You drain the world.
You bleed through light until the page is sodden and weeping.
Something unremitting—
something that swells against your very soul is a toxin.
Nothing neon. Nothing pastel. Nothing lightening the woe.
You're a network of red wine, pouring through my very veins,
intoxicating me with a callous kiss.

Such is enough to render me comatose:
when the darkness breaks, all that is left is callous cowardice.
You bled through the pages with your flames;
You intertwined me on a high of vileness through the prick of my skin against a spindle.
Your words were poison to the network of thoughts.
You ripped my wings from my body.
All that is left is red.

Now, in the agony of naivety,
of idiotic obstinacy,

my youth is a dull kaleidoscope of rainy hues,
seeping through the ivy of hope.



The world, much like the human race, is stitched together into a clock; 
at some point, the hour hand, the minute hand, and the tiny second hand will stop at its permanent midnight.
Life was meant to be Paradise, but the juice of the fruit created a mechanic toxin of complexity: somethings are black and white; others are gray.
Above all things we learned, this be the worst: fear.
While human curiosity expands by the minute, vanity itself is the lord of nature.
Why pause in the influx of time to have stopped vanity and fear from reigning when the elements can be bent to our very will?
Why must there be plain patterns in the human race when we can be a patchwork quilt of diversity?
Stand up with pride.
There's no shame in being a diverse hue.
There's no shame in human identity.
But treat your pride with a humble mind: let not fear reign; cure fear with the ability to fathom another diverse hue.



I'm the girl under a cloud of gray.
I'm the one who never understands
How conflict a world it is in which we live.
Time goes right and left until it collides.
Good and bad intertwine in the middle of the clouds.
Apparently, it's human to live in the leeway.

I'm the girl who measures life in sunshine,
A complete contriatidiction,
I know.
Yet, I live in the gray darkness until I fathom
what it means.
I live in a world where left is right, and right is left, up is down, and down is up.
Still, I live my life with fleeting luck.

I'm the girl who can't stand listening to her voice—
for some reason, I always have to be perfect.
If it's not, it's not worth it.
And for some reason I'm gold by choice—
Not the best word,
But you heard.

I'm the girl who questions every turn in life;
I wait for fate and destiny to intervene.
I'm that idealiste of paranoia.
I'm selfish.
I'm brave.
I'm weak.
I'm humble.
I'm hopeless.
I'm a romantic.
I'm a cloud of thunder.
I'm me.


Dear Soulmate

Dear soulmate, 

The crimson rays of the sun tantalize the sand of mourning,
and yet, as the sun brushes down on the squelching moans,
I see everything, and nothing, so clearly as if the sun were white —
Tears make kaleidoscopes of hovering hearts.
It clings to this wasted game; yes, it smears the innocent ...
It smears the innocent until the light is as desolate as Sodom.
Clouds settle on the youth, draining them till they fade into shadows.
I, too, find among the shards of another broken mirror.
Wine stains the carpet, but not as much as it sears my soul.

Soulmate, when shall our darkness intertwine?
When shall we meet and declare, "Checkmate?"
Another day caresses the hopeless, the reckless, the unsatisfied.
I wither away every stroke of dusk;
at dawn, I pour into the ditch,
another dissatisfaction,
bitter like unripened cherries.

Time is slow;
Youth is pleasure;
Love is a waste
unless you find your

How shall I find you,

Until we meet ...

- another hopeless romantic.


the ballerina

A melody pirouettes in the darkness of my brain; 
a haze of color, ignites me, fight me, until I am tamed.
Toes pointed.
Body fluent in untold grace.
Stomach tucked in.
Legs long.
Breath, a song.
"Here the cheers," they say behind the curtains,
a drapery of velvet tears,
an elegy of youthful years.
"Here the chears," they say.
Who can hear cheers
If all they hear is their heart
in their chest,
crying in its emptiness?
"They will fuel you."
A swirl of air billows around my hollow shell,
but what do they see?
A mannequin of bottled tears,
scars of shame,
a wiry brain warped in every misdirection?
They see fire beyond compare,
A heart to control,
A skinny girl blind to their ambitions.
But no,
They won't get what they see.
They get me,
An emberish ballerina
ready to be free.



Tangled in the shadows of my dreams, 
trapping me in a web of wires,
tapping into the pulse you require,
there you are.
No words that replace time—
it was the best; it was the worst;
it was a blessing; it was a curse.
The sun would shine; thunder would roar.
It was the light of youth; it was crippled gray that unfolded before
time ran out—
But I fear your eyes—
it's hue,
the fire,
the words,
yet I tire.
Seeing you,
tangled in my dreams,
trapping me in a web of wires,
tapping into the pulse you require.
You, my hamartia,
my fatalistic ghost,
let go of me.
set me free.



Through the shadows of the hallways, 
She walks, surrounded by whispers:
"Glitch," is the her name, they say,
but her heat, her soul, never turns crisper.

Wires strung under her skin like veins,
Brain, electrodes of green code.
They say she doesn't understand pain.
Her youth is on a permanent hold.

Heart of copper.
Blood of potassium.
Brain of extraterrestrial material.

Seeing her mechanical code,
They say,
"Demean her;
She'll fall in so easily,
That alien."

And water,
Stab her,
Burn her,
Poke her,
Break her,
And rust her machinery to no point of return.

Look at that girl,
The one who sits alone,
The one you call weird.
She is not a glitch.
She is not an alien.



A heart of gold. 
Too young,
A soul is sold
For sun.

A heart of gold.
No sun,
You see as old
As fun.

A heart of gold,
As time is told

A heart of gold,
Papers grow cold.
If I was told
I would grow old.


Little snowflakes—
The fuzzy embroidery of heaven on my windows;
Yet, when I touch the watery solid with the warm flesh of my fingers, it's not heaven at all I'm seeing.
It's purgatory on Earth: not quite heaven, but at least not hell.
The climatic pests of sweat and back-breaking labor,
The swarm of heat that pulses against the brain screaming,
As the consequences of winter unfold:
Doors erode into placement with their rust,
Engines sucked of their life as the moisture devours their battery.

From afar, winter appeals to those of a warmer climate who flock to the cold like the geese return north when winter ends;
Yet, real life smacks you in the face:
Noses red as strawberries,
Necks bundled in layer after layer after layer of scarves,
Hats wrapping around your face,
Your body surrendering to the cold.
No matter how many pairs of gloves that compress against your hands,
No matter how many sweaters you pack underneath your coat,
It's never enough.

Winter is a demon
Disguised as an angel.


Come December, 
One year since you spoke,
I won't remember
How I first broke.
Come December,
When everything changed,
I first remember
How free my soul remained.
Come December,
Ready to move on
From the November
Where it all went wrong.
It's December;
I've let go of September;
I'll ignite my ember
Into the words I remember

Last Summer

The world seemed to slow down
like the endless crimson sunset
we seemed to admire.
Your name—
Soft as a feather.
My name—
Sharp on he face.
Yet, the details fade;
Your face, I evade.
The choices I made
Last summer.
Never under the strobe lights,
did we dance;
Never by the firelight,
did we kiss.
Last summer,
a memory of mere words
and a waltz of quick eyes before
our own worlds returned.
Last summer,
a fantasy.
You and me.
Last summer.


Drown them out;
The tender ballads,
The operatic arias,
Crescendo against
My brain.

Drown them out;
The sounds of the world,
They've become too loud:
Even the whispers
Graze my nerves.

Drown them out;
The synthetic world—
The blips,
The instrumentals that hide
In an unfocused background of shadows—
of melodious emotion
Is better than silence:
Thoughts subside when
The melody explodes into
A forte;
And a sizzling
Piano chains around
My brain.

Never too loud the world might be;
But, its synthetic counterpart is silence
To me.

Announcement III

In addition to posting Wilhelm’s Rose, I want to give you, the audience the chance to shed some light on your tips and techniques for writing. I will be posting excerpts for feedback.

What does that mean? It means, I hope you are all kind enough to share your ideas on things I can improve on. If we can help each other, then the goal of this blog is on par.

Are you ready?




Once upon a time,
a dark fairy
chose a heart of gold.

Once upon a time,
the prince's heart
She earned,
Rising from the cuts
And burns.

Once upon a time,
she loved him
For his heart
Not his crown.
Once upon a time,
she turned the world

Once upon a time,
She became fire,
Igniting from the her soul of ember.

Once upon a time,
Once upon a lilac symphony,
She burned,
She learned
Her heart
Is ember.
And she is


Announcement II

Even though the approval was few, I’m still willing to write a novel on here, so here’s the good news:

coming soon
Wilhelm’s Rose




Red as a ruby apple. 
Black dazzling with crystals.
Cast off like misfit;
Magic was my strength,
So I used it
Like a puppet.

Red as the magic
In my veins.
Crystal like
The glass
I look into
In vain.
I am bad.

Eat my apple,
My forbidden fruit.
If you sleep,
You're like me.
You're Eve.

Black is my color!

Regina Mills


The Phoenix

The Phoenix

Born from ember,
That's what I am.
Born by crystallized blood,
Born with the heart
Of the phoenix.

Iron pierces my heart
When tears hit my chest,
But my pain
It's green.
You cannot hurt me.
When your bullets
Ricochet off my heart
You will feel the glow
Of my strength.

Your words,
Your stick and stones,
Your will to strike me down
It ignites the fire,
The will to be ember
The will to be more than possible.
I am more than bulletproof
From your hate.
I'm more than diamond
From your iron.
I'm more than titanium
To your power.
I'm unprecedented,
I'm ubiquitous.
I'm more than human.
I am the phoenix.

As you can tell, I have seen Maleficent: Mistress of Evil this week. For this reason, I will be making odes to my favorite Disney Villains.



Crystals reflect in my eyes. 
The color is so clear, so sharp,
It's like light blaring in my eyes:
My eyes begin to cry.
No dye,
And the reflection,
It tells no lies.

In the transparent crystals,
I see the misty black.
My horns
My raven wings
My feathery dress;
It's all black.

But I have a heart;
My lips are red as blood
In the mist of the crystals.

But some bubbling liquid,
Something that makes a fizzing sound
Makes every color fainter.
It's faint version of the hue
Of my lips.
Engulfing the crystal.
Little bubbles,
Little round crystals
For the cylindrical

My soul,
My colorful yellow-green eyes
Are what reflect.
They're all that's left.


I have great news. I’m going to be writing a book on here, but for this to happen, I need your input.

Comment below, please, with a yes or no: do you want to see a full-on novel exclusively on WordPress?

Thank you.


Chapter 1: Part 3

With no conversation lingering between us, she pries her eyes away from me and shuffles over to the marble desk. She slides into the swivel chair with astonishing grace as one of those mythical ballerinas one of my partners mentioned. Her pale hands spread across the marble tabletop, and a spell is curt against her lips: Veiled from plain sight, bring this screen to light.

There’s a chime in the air. As I gather my breath, a thin, glass screen curves atop the desk. In its fog, I have to squint to get a clear view of the undulating, black letters at the top of the screen. AMITY JANE GOTHEL. Under my name, blurry words spread out in perfect rows like a file. 

Scrolling past my picture, the doctor stops and glances at me with a gasp. “Oh, where are my manners?” In the silence, her eyes pierce my soul as if she expects me to answer. “Welcome to Enchancia.” 

Le monde dans les nuages,” I mutter under my breath. While meant to go unheard, Doctor Kingsley seems to have heard; she cocks her head to the side and folds her arms over her plump chest. “World in the clouds. Kids in the Fiery Haven mention it.” 

“Well,” Doctor Kingsley says, “c’est un monde dans les nuages, but we call it Enchancia; it’s a dimension where the new generation can find redemption.” I grab my lip with my teeth at these words. It sounds like reciting a mandated mantra than truly believing what leaves her mouth. Suddenly, this Doctor Kingsley—if it’s even her name—becomes shrouded in mystery. 

Our eyes bulge against one another until Doctor Kingsley returns to the thin screen. Her eyes flicker against the gauzy words before returning to me. With her hands folded primly in her lap, she clears her throat. “Who is your father?” 


Doctor Kingsley cuts me off before I can answer. “I can’t find him in your file.” There is some darkness in her eyes that sends a militia of chills crawling down my spine. 

Hail Caylee screeches against my skull. I bite my lower lip to keep the sigh inside my body before saying in unison with the doctor, “Hail Caylee.” 

My eyes waver against Doctor Kingsley’s firm stare. “My father, I don’t know who he is. My mother clams up whenever I inquire such.”

The doctor, now out of her swivel chair, takes a step in my direction. “Do you know why she clams up?” she asks. Her piercing voice has my heart echoing loudly against my chest.

“No.” A quick and faint no. That’s what leaves my lips. 

With another step towards me, her feet made echoing clicks against the linoleum. “Do you know why there’s no mention of a father in your files?” 

Again. “No.” This time, however, the word grits against my teeth as a heat sears my cheeks, and my fingers ball into fists.

“And oh—” Doctor Kingsley glances down at the black mark tracing down my forearm “—do you know why you have that mark?” 

A malediction begins to form in the fog that fills my brain. “No!” This answer shoots out of my mouth like a ball of fire being thrown. Hmm, maybe a ball of fire will suffice for her punishment. 

Pissed me off, so, right here, this stops

In a second, I’m yanked to the wall. Thick vines encase me against the plaster. I grunt and struggle until Doctor Kingsley is right in front of me. Her glassy eyes reflect my fear. I bite down on my lip and compose myself into the image of someone who can survive in the Fiery Haven. Someone without fear. 


Quote of the Day

You should see me in a crown.

Billie Eilish, you should see me in a crown

Halloween Special: The Haunted House – Part II

My eyes flickered open with a thirst for blood. It burned in my throat like something that couldn’t be satiated.

“Welcome,” said a British voice, growing louder and louder. “Welcome to my great ploy to turn you all into vampires.” Soon, I could feel a cold, icy breath against my neck.” You’re the first.”

“What’s your name?” I seized the vampire’s wrist, though he pulled back. Contrary to what the Internet said about vampires, he was pretty intense. I turned around to see glowing crimson eyes sifting through my soul for any sign of weakness.

“Reese.” What a strange name for a vampire. Even stranger: he yanked me to his frame and breathed into my face, “Don’t ever try to beat me again.” Without a second thought, he leaned into my lips, no permission. His fangs dragged my lower lips between his mouth.

It wasn’t a pleasant kiss. After all, I was seized, and I didn’t know how to respond. It felt like I didn’t have a choice but to sip Reese’s lips, which tasted like blood.

Betimes his tongue tried to slip into my maw, I pushed Reese away, saying, “Leave me alone,” as I raced for the door. Unfortunately, another vampire blocked the door.

“Leaving so soon?” asked the female vampire in a French accent, lifting the side of her lip into a curled smirk. She wore her hair in ginger spikes and hovered in front of me in a heavy black dress. Like Reese, she had glowing crimson eyes. “I’m Chloe.”


Before I could plan my attack, my friends barged open with wooden stakes, demanding my whereabouts.