Every word that I write is the beginning of a letter to no one
A letter that I do not want anyone to see

All of the things that I feel are spewed onto a page
Dressed up with pretty lines and nice words
I’m not always sure what they mean but they sound like art
They roll off of your tongue and look pretty on paper

These letters are full of cheap imagery
They’re made up of broken crystal balls
Of frost bitten days and sunny nights
They full of blood and skin and bones

These letters are not intended for anyone
Yet, I’m sending them out to everyone



It’s late at night,
The Big Dipper shines above me,
The only constellation I can pick out.
My fingers tap the slow rhythm,
Of the cicadas song, and 
I am alive 

The guitar sings out over the crowd, 
As the drum beats into the concrete floor,
Locking me in a capsule of vibration. 
I am dancing between the waves of sound,
I am sweating and free, and 
I am alive 

I am driving late at night, 
And the world passes by around me,
People, and places, and entire lifetimes go by in a blur. 
The streetlights lead me home and 
The cool night air combs it’s way through my hair, and 
I am alive 

Goosebumps rise up on my legs, 
And I squirm in my seat,
My body revolting against the too cold air surrounding it. 
My eyes keep wandering to the clock, 
As I wait in heavy anticipation for that final bell to ring, and 
I am alive 

I am lying on the grass, 
Staring at the sky stretching above me, 
Letting the afternoon air lull me to sleep. 
I am drunk on happiness and sunshine, 
My eyelids begin to droop with the weight of the warm air, and 
I am alive 

Writing Exercise 4: The Storm 

This was not the type of storm that so many find peace in. There was no gentle roll of thunder, or light pitter patter of rain. This storm looked like it was trying to end the world. The lightning almost ripped the whole sky in half, exploding through the atmosphere with such a violent boom. I could feel that thunder reverberate deep within in my chest, shaking me to my very core. The rain was relentless. I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling like each drop of rain was trying to break through the roof above to get to me. There was no peace, but it matched the violent whirlwind I felt inside, so it felt comfortable. It felt like the world was trying to tell me that not everything I was feeling was inside my head. That sometimes the world really was trying to end itself around me. That night, I found peace.  

Writing Exercise 3

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
I look up at my mother, but I don’t meet her eyes. Instead I focus on her mouth. It’s flattened into a severe line. If I didn’t already know from her tone, I know now how angry with me she is. I look back down at her arms crossed over her chest. A few moments pass, and with each second I feel smaller. I can see the ends of her hair sway back and forth as she finally shakes her head.
“Just go out to the car, you’re going to be late for school.”
I rush out to the car and sit in the front seat, fixing my eyes on the dashboard. The ride to school is silent and tense. I stare out the window, carefully avoiding looking at my mom. She talks about a lot of things and a lot of people, but not about me. Eventually we get to school and I slip out of the car, mumbling my goodbye. Before I have a chance to shut the door my mom interjects one last thing.
“Talk to someone today, honey.”
I nod, looking at my feet, and head into the school building. People don’t notice me as I move through the halls. I slip between them like water. Most of the day goes by in the same grey blur as every other day. I sit in the middle of every class, so that I do not have to participate and I do not have to talk to people in the back. At some point one of my teachers yells at me because I don’t participate enough. She thinks I’m simply being stubborn. Her figure towers over my desk.
“I’m not asking a lot of you, really, but everyone has to participate.”
I look at her hands as she says this. Her peach nail polish is slightly chipped, and the tendons in her wrist are taunt. That only happens when she’s really frustrated by someone or something. They never get like that when she talks to any of the other students. She sighs heavily, and I bring my eyes all the way up to her chin.
“I need to talk to you after class.”
I’m frozen with fear for the rest of the class. I don’t think I can handle a confrontation with her, one on one, but my fears are put to rest when she simply hands me an envelope and tells me to give it to my mom when I get home. The tendons in her hand aren’t tight anymore.
I practically run out of the room and into the quickly emptying hallway. I start to head toward the cafeteria, but I’m suddenly pushed to the side, my shoulder painfully crashing into the wall. I begin to look up at the girl who pushed me, but stop when I realize that my eyes only come level with her chest. I try to slip past her, but she roughly shoves me back into the wall.
“You’re so pathetic.” She practically spits the words at me. “You’ll never be anything other than the spineless brat you are.”
All of the sudden I’m shaking, but not from fear. My mind focuses on the venom in her voice, and the frustration in my teacher’s, and the disappointment in my mom’s. All the blood seems to rush to my head at once, and I clench my hands so that my nails dig into my palms. Millimeter by millimeter, I lift my head up, and my eyes lock onto hers. I can feel the fire behind my gaze, and see the surprise in hers. That’s when I realize that she is not so much bigger than me after all, and her words do not matter anymore than mine do.
“You don’t scare me,” I say, and it seems like those are the first words I have ever really spoken.

Writing Exercise 2

The warm afternoon sunlight was dancing through the canopy of leaves overhead as I expertly wove my way between the tall trees around me. I let my body take over as my mind wandered, not bothering to focus on each of my footsteps. Eventually I came to my tree and I swung onto the makeshift ladder. My hands and feet fell into place on each worn wooden rung until I got to the top. When I was barely three my father had made this little room for me, thinking that I wouldn’t be able to use it for a couple of years. It still makes me smile to remember his complete shock when I was able to climb up the tree like a squirrel since almost the day it was finished.

The room at the top is small, barely big enough for me to comfortably lay down in, but I manage. When the house was first built I mostly kept my drawings and writing up here. I used to think of myself as a spy for the wood sprites that I imagined in the trees. It was my job to know all of the inner-workings of the forest, and I would leave any reports I had to give here, so that they could find them. Now it functions more as my reading space. Though the walls are still covered in drawings, old and new, the floors are covered in worn pillows and blankets. I hung up makeshift curtains over the two small windows in an attempt to keep the warmth in during the winter. Most days I find myself wandering to what I’ve come to think of as my haven to just read or write or relax. This day was no exception.

I was practically bursting with excited energy as I settled into my nest of pillows and blankets. I could feel all of my muscles and bones relaxing as I opened my book and flipped to the page I was on. As my mind found its spot between the lines of the book, I felt a jolt of nervous energy spike through me. My consciousness was ripped away from that of the characters’ and my head whipped around to scan the room. Everything was just as still and familiar as it as a moment before, and the soft, comfortable rustle of the leaves outside hadn’t stopped. As suddenly as it had come upon me, the nervous energy drained out and I was able to release the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

I drifted into the book again, this time able to lose myself for hours. The world slipped away around me. After a while I felt my eye lids go heavy and my hands grow limp. I let the peaceful drowsiness wash over me, almost like a spell. I just barely caught the faintest hint of honey and vanilla in the air before my mind drifted into a peaceful, comfortable, darkness.

I woke with a start, my eyes practically bulging out of my head. The warm darkness of my dreams had been replaced with a colder, hostile darkness. I felt that familiar jolt of nervousness and fear run through me as I pushed the blankets away from me and scrambled to the ladder at the end of the room. I blindly searched with my foot for the nearest rung. After a few seconds of frantic reaching, my foot landed on something solid and I shifted my weight onto the wooden bar. I began to make a quick descent when my foot slipped and the ground came flying at me, knocking all of the wind out of me. I lay on the ground for a minute, trying to get my panicked mind under control.

After a few deep breaths, I was up again, this time moving slowly and carefully. I could feel something watching me, just out of my line of sight. I forced myself to look only straight ahead. My whole body was shaking as I tried desperately to control my movements. Each leaf under my feet seemed to scream into the darkness and silence around me. I tried my hardest to keep my breaths low and shallow, praying that whatever was following me couldn’t hear me.

I paused for just a moment, and felt a hot breath on my neck. The air froze in my lungs as I listened to the heavy, ragged breath behind me. My blood turned to shards of ice and cold fear seeped all the way to my bones. I could feel the beasts claws lifting, being careful to avoid touching me, all the way up to my neck, it’s fingers curling, one claw just a hair away from touching me….

My body exploded. I sprinted through the woods, almost tripping over every tree root that seemed to grow suddenly in front of my feet. My clothes were drenched in sweat, but I pushed myself faster and faster. No matter how my feet flew across the forest floor, the beast always seemed to be right behind me. Suddenly I burst out of the woods, and into a clearing lit by the white light of the moon. Shards of memory began to fall into place as I took in the quiet farmhouse where I lived and the small garden to the side of the house. I felt relief wash over me and I let out a small laugh, reminding myself to not let my imagination to get the best of me. I took slow, casual steps back to my home, not once feeling any malicious presence behind me.

So I haven’t posted anything I’ve written in a really long time, but this is just a little writing prompt I did a while ago that I really liked.

This is bliss.

I’m curled up on my bed, my blankets and pillows surrounding me in a soft nest. I have a book in my lap, and a familiar song blaring from my radio. My hair is all in tangles around me, I haven’t bothered to put it up today, and my stress has all melted away. My old tee shirt still fits me perfectly, and my sweatshirt is just a little too big and still smells like the smoke of a campfire. Despite the fact that my shorts are a little shorter than usual, I’m completely comfortable with the way I look. I feel beautiful, and happy. My insecurities have all melted away. These are the times I wish I could bottle up and keep with me forever.