Waking up to the delicious thought of cream cheese-filled, sesame-sprinkled bagels a block away.
Walking beneath colorful slates of brilliance at night’s old age.
The gasps of pleasure when dreams come true.
And the silent features of reluctant disappointment when dreams don’t come true.
Fighting daily for attention and the laughter of others.
Brushing shoulder against shoulder as weary bodies shuffle down the dirty streets in pairs; the fear of being alone hanging over everyone’s bare head.

The pains of inner icicles during the evening and turning from one form of entertainment to the next.

New York…
The land in my dreams and in my memories evermore. This was truly a dream come true.

Phantom of the Opera


Quiet, Caring, Unsure, and Understanding
Lover of Christ, beauty, and health
Who feels alone, often doubtful, and possibly every other feeling the world has to offer her
Who fears misunderstanding, rejection, and boredom
Who needs true, honest friends, other people, and a break from her thoughts
Who would like to see her older brother soon, all of her globally scattered friends, and a satisfied smile staring back at her in the mirror
Who will someday travel the world and learn the art of moderation.

Let’s Talk

Let’s talk a bit, shall we? Let’s listen to the sounds bouncing around the air and plug them into our brains like the answer to some algebra equation. Slowly, we pick out the words world, leaders, love, peace...

A lot of people say that the world needs peace. That if only innocent people weren’t dying, then maybe we would stand a better chance against reality. They say the world needs a break from hunger and poverty and that things would be better if more people had more food and money.

Education, safety.

The words float above our heads and some die trying to reach them. A little girl reaches, just to clasp one trembling small hand around a chance at survival, a chance at thriving so that mommy doesn’t have to live in a cadboard box anymore surrounded by the stink of her own filth.
Yes, I believe the world needs many things. I know that there are suffering families and suffering people without families. And I realize that I don’t know half of what pain really is.

Yet still there lies life and this spherical mass of water and sand we call home.
Our home needs many things, but I think one thing we need most– the one thing that will change the world inside out, little by little, is people who care.

People who take things seriously and are not afraid to show how much love they have– how much desire they have. My community is in dire need of those who have not yet learned to be ashamed of how much light they hold in their hands. Or better yet, those who have realized all the light they hold but choose to not quietly fold their hands in their lap.

We need people who don’t nonchalantly turn everything into a joke just so they can laugh at it. No, we need people who are not afraid to go deep. Not afraid to put in the scuba mask and delve down into the murky depths of the unknown. It’s dark and it’s lonely, but that’s exactly why we need those who will hold their breath and jump in anyway. It’s uncharted land, but that’s why we need those explorers.
They are the unsung heroes who give attention to the little smatterings in life. People who take good care of things, live deliberately, take time to be thorough, but overall, have respect for every possibility.
Minds that are open and fine-tuned to picking out the greatest priorities… the ones who are not afraid of “talking about it” are the ones who end up making the most noticeable impact.

And I realize I may not know exactly what I’m talking about, but at least I’m willing to talk about it. And I hope that maybe you are too.

Folds of Laughter

One corner up then one corner down.
Snip, cut, tape, fold.
We’re making paper fly.
A cockpit and wings and a tiny tailgate.
Little by little a picture emerges,
A process that is easy for some and hard for others.
Hands helping hands and twisting colors.
Our lopsided creations make faces turn upward and think of flying machines.


Sonnet 18…

Isn’t it funny how mankind studies itself?

And looks to olden texts with a pickaxe in hand,
Cherishing the poet’s words like rare, fragile pearls.
What is it that makes them so?
Why does mankind preserve itself this way?
They essentially dealt with the same problem we do today:


What makes their opinion worth being kept safe for centuries?


It’s what brings all races together and reminds us to remember.

When It Isn’t Working Out

It gets hard to think when you don’t know
the story of a person you wish you’d known,
It’s hard to be a part of a history that started a whole lifetime ago.

It’s easy to think that they don’t really care
and were perfectly fine before you were there.
It gets easy to notice the discrepancies
In every single moment you share.

But you can’t rewrite history into something it’s not,
so the best you can do is keep makin’ it and don’t give up givin’ it your best shot.

I think I’m dying.
Funny thing for a teen to say

But my thoughts…

Oh my thoughts

Like to ruin all the tenderness I see.

I think I’m dying the Thinker’s Death.
Woe to those who hold their breath
and destroy a situation by the thoughts they forget to reign in
they are left to fight the imaginary BATTLES resulting from the cave-in..

The stink of overthinking permeates their very being.
until the morning you’ve found them, taken by the suffocation at the hands of their own thoughts’ thoughts.

It’s a vicious cycle we all struggle with daily.

Or maybe it’s just me…