weathered things

The way the humid summer nights Clings to your skin, To your breath, To your soul, Capturing you and instilling magic Held by millions of fireflies Into your being. The way waves lap the shore, And the smooth rock slips from your hand, Slapping the water, Darting out to the deep, Giving you hope for a new day, Giving you love for this life. The way bonfires snap in the dark, Sending shadows and light across faces, Displaying the truth behind eyes, A light for secrets to be shared and kept In the small glowing circle. The way the night sky changes you, Making you curious, Making you calm, Bringing out the excited child, Bringing out the content adult, Mixing all aspects of your being Into the true version of you. The way your friend laughs, On a day when you don't feel 100%, And brings joy back into your heart, And reminds you there is good in this life. The way mist forms on a cloudy morning, Swirling and tw...

When is it enough? When should we do something? When the boys that follow her to her classes Move from standing three inches away To shoving her against the wall? When the girl who claims A boy has been stalking her Ends up with a black eye Because he was sick Of her saying "no"? When is it enough? Isn't that enough? Isn't the brokenness of the victims, The mental harassment, The physical fear, enough? What people write off as flirting Sends a girl into a panic, Because one time She had accepted the flirting And was manipulated, And has that lesson Burned into her brain. When is it enough? What people consider as "boys being boys" Scars an eleven year old girl Who has been hit Because a male classmate Wanted to kiss her And she said no. And it's not just women. When is it enough? When does the boy who likes art And has been saying His classmates attacked him Ge...

Before I begin, I'm going to warn that this post does talk about death and I delve deep into my mind. It's really a rambling way for me to express something and share my thoughts as they develop. My mind is quite a place, so if you are easily upset by the talk of death and such I suggest you don't read this. Ode To Death I was so content You, always there. Me, always accepting. My constant companion since childhood. I met you with confusion With the wonder and fear of a child Looking at a cobra Equally fascinated and terrified By the long fangs that dripped venom. I grew up alongside you. Be it the birds outside, My failed attempts at pet fish, Or my great-grandfather. You became a constant appearance, And I became content with that. People are confused Once they learn of my familiarity, Of my content, With death. I never noticed the unusual relationship that we shared. Until you struck my school. A clas...

What do we do when the well runs dry? When the rain stops falling, When the brook ceases it's chatter, When the ocean dissipates, What do we do then? Do we dig deeper wells, hoping that some small amount of water will be there? Do we force ourselves to give up and accept the drought? The choice varies for each: Social standing, Personality, Motive, All influence one's decision. But the one common thread is Choice. I've lately been finding that I have been running out of ideas. One of my favorie things to do is come up with story prompts. I have a word document filled with them, filled with ideas and stories that I've only got the first parts to and that I know I'll write one day. Same with blogging. But as time goes by I find myself struggling to come up with new ideas. New prompts don't interest me, I can't think about what to blog... my creative well has run dry. And me, being the person who needs to be working on something a...

This is a poem that I wrote for two of my characters in my series. They are technically the villains, but I loved them too much to not share this. Originally, I wrote it for my creative writing class, but it will appear in the third book of my series. Upon a rocky ocean cliff, A black wolf was chained That lifted her large black muzzle To drink while it rained On the sandy shores far below Her anguished cries were heard By a troubled, dangerous snake Who her pained cries had stirred He slithered up that steep, sharp cliff Till he wished to fall off But when he made it to the top He saw the black beast cough She was sickly and broken down Her ribs showed through her skin And scars marred that lovely face That was now so very thin She could not fight or run or howl For those who had chained her Had left her defenseless Bound in chains that tore her fur She was not dangerous to him And the little snake saw So he untied the t...

No one knew why That sweet girl at the diner Ran into the surf. It seemed like she had seen Something worth chasing. An appealing dream, A deadly fantasy. To her, they were the same - A way out of her Regular Boring Everyday life ~Olivia Ann