At the End of the Day

[UPDATE 12/05/2013: This poem was published in the University of Mary Washington’s literary magazine, Aubade!]

At the End of the Day 

The sky was on fire with dying stars

and she had shimmied her way

to insanity

looking up at the sky her neck

was crooked and sore

but she didn’t want to

tear her gaze from their light

and she giggled as she realized

it was like looking at the gas rising

from long dead bodies

at the morgue

where they kept

her mom

but not anymore

she was a star

rising into the dusk-ridden

sky at the end of the day

when there was nothing left to do

but float off into oblivion

with the rest of the bodies

of stars that made up the Milky Way

in a flash of silver and red

and a bang.

A Pinch of Me

Cooking is a great way to make friends, who doesn’t love getting brownies from their new neighbors? I’ve put together a ” recipe for all the bits and pieces and quirks and foibles and loves that make me me.” I want to get to know all my readers so feel free to leave your own recipe in the comments or hit me up on twitter or tumblr!

Entrée :

1 part fangirl screams

2 dashes introversion

a sprinkle of romance

10 bananagram tiles

3 part warrior spirit

½ a handful humor (dark)

4 library books

a stubborn streak

5 cups of nutella



1 tattoo

4 piercings

Hair that can’t be tamed



Whisk ingredients in large bowl until fluffy, separate into 1 tablespoon sized balls and cook at 350 degrees until golden brown. Serve with ice cream.




Here you are, down on your knees again,
your hands clutching at green stems
that are crushed
too easily between your fingertips,
their hollow screams
of yesterdays dreams and empty fields
fall as whispers on the August wind
that winds its hands through your hair.
Looking up, the white stag’s mouth is ripe
with berries,
a heart between gnashing teeth,
dripping red and swollen in the sun
and you swear he smiles a wolfish grin
before bounding into the underbrush,
into the silence.
And when you scream the forest doesn’t care,
you’re just another dying thing on the ground,
panting in the heat, longing for salvation;
but you never get it.
No, you stay on your knees,
day after day,
touching stems that always break,
too focused on their screams
to feel the wind’s hands clutching at your hair,
pulling chunks out by the root,
trying to get you to look at the stars,
because it’s not daytime anymore,
and all that’s left is the earth between your fingertips.
[NOTE: All of the poetry I post has yet to be peer-edited, so I would LOVE any suggestions or ideas in the comments, but remember, if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.]

Classic First Blog Post

Hey there! Just testing out the waters of my new blog–I like to think it’s cool on my toes, not too warm, and there’s a tire swing on the left bank with some dorky friends laying out in the sun. Obviously it’s summer break and we’ve got a while before real life starts up again. But then again, maybe we’ve only got two weeks. 

In any event, I plan on using this space to spin out some poetry, perhaps mix in some self-reflection, and possibly type out those drunk texts so I don’t actually send them because we all know that’s dumb.  

So stay if you like, pull up a wicker chair, throw on a comfy sweater and I’ll make you a warm beverage.  

Just a summer baby trying to survive the winter

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