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. …

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.

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…

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.

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?
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.
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, 

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.

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
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.



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



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

Born from ember,That’s what I am. Born by crystallized blood, Born with the heartOf 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 heartYou will feel the glowOf my strength. Your words, Your stick and stones, Your will to strike me downIt ignites the fire,The…


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 hornsMy raven wingsMy feathery dress;It’s all black. But I have a heart;My lips are red as blood In the mist…



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…

You should see me in a crown.

Billie Eilish, you should see me in a crown

Chapter 1: Part 1

Maybe I should’ve taken some time to admire the world around me. Maybe I would’ve fallen for the facade: there were large poplar trees with an array of blue leaves, and the grass, which went on for miles even in the fog, was white. White as snow. The sky was pale. And light gray clouds whizzed over me.  Of course,…


Recently, Marysa Writes has joined the Shakespearian1 blog. Everyone, give her a warm welcome.


What is this feeling? My heart is reeling. It’s fast as a drum;I’m hearing it come. But, what’s done is done.I’m caught by surprise.I’m left to capsize. I can’t help thinkingThat I went astray. What happens next? ‘Cause I’m so confused. Yeah, I’m so confused. And I can’t eludeFrom what just happened. Even though I’m bruised, You just cornered me;…

The low hum of a minor key
Sings in my brain
Dark in color,
But more free than me.

Confined to the chains of tears and mirrors,
Warped into a mirage that hungers for solitude.
Wallowing in the pit of tangled fears,
Convinced of an endless interlude.

Alack, the tears are stained to rust,
and a soul of emancipation pounds in its numb cage.
Alack, the minor key is lust,
And the chime of the clock says it's time to pay.

For the melody of the drums must go on,
So now, here I am,
And I sing this song.

I never belonged in the Fiery Haven. I don’t belong in Enchancia. I’ll never belong in Miami.

Disney Rebels


So, maybe I’m a Queen of Hearts, destroying love with heavy darts. But who are you, o Fool that clings? Everything you do, it just stings. Or maybe you’re the King, And I’m just a puppet on a string. But I broke free, you saw me fly. You’re on one knee, but don’t dare try. I ain’t no fool you…