Thursday, December 31, 2015

Long Distance

The distance between us seems insurmountable
When all I do is want to hold you close.
What you mean to me, can't be explained,
When we've touched deeper, on the levels of the soul.
So tonight, I'll pop the top off of a bottle,
So tonight, I'll play pretend.
Even though you're not near me,
You're nearer still, to my soul.
So tonight, I'll play some sweet song,
I'll find all the little ways to let you know.
No New Year's kiss in physical form, true,
But I know you well with my soul.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

What Used to Be

Like smoke and dust and remains of once were,
The fire is out, the embers burn no more,
Still lingers an image, a fragment, a soul,
To one to the other and to pay the toll.

The darkness is damning, the light is too sweet,
It seems all that's left is to compete and compete,
And though we should have enough, there is no whole;
Repairing a soul is more than burning coal.

The past is past, what's done is done,
And it is the same in moon or in sun;
Consequences pass over like they are the all,
Never once recognizing the real and true goal.

The candle is melted to useless wax,
And the barrels and bags are now useless sacks.
Yet time and time again, a new order calls,
The tears collected in the useless bowl.

Like smoke and dust and remains of once was,
Still lingers an image, giving pause;
Not all is lost, not as long as there's soul,
Even broken, it's as good as a whole.

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Never Quite Safe

Safety in numbers is the phrase.
But it is in numbers that I never feel safe.
Instead, I feel scared, frightened, and afraid;
The pretense of being someone who doesn't pretend is too much to take.

When I find lonely hollows and run,
My mind spirals and changes social action
Into a harrowing experience of nightmares and faux pass
That, despite my hallowed heart, I cannot quite escape.

Solitude and softness free my mind,
The trap is anxiety and pressure,
A million hands, a million directions,
To go this way or that way.

But in isolation, the voices sound,
The misery shivers its way up my spine,
And vices wrap around my soul like vines,
I am the error, the glitch, and the fool.

Safety in numbers is the phrase,
But lonely hollows better suit this goal,
With solititude and softness to wear away the stress,
However, isolation brings up the dark.

So I write terrible poetry that pales
In comparison to the emotional fate
Of a faithful, aching soul,
Who is lost along the waves.

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

have poem, will travel (untitled poem)

For me, writing is a drug.
A cathartic experience.
It is like nothing else.
When I write, I create.
What I create is up to me,
but so often I let myself lose control,
let myself pour words onto paper,
words onto screen,
carry myself and my thoughts away.
I write, and I learn.
My passion drives me to research,
and like many writers,
someone who saw my search history
would accuse me of murder.
Writing is a need for me,
as much as shelter or food or water,
a necessity for my survival.
Writing is how I feel God.
It's also how I dive into the world
and breathe in all the many different people
and become more than myself.
I feel calm, and at peace,
when I write, because finally
I am doing the one thing
that I can, with reasonable assurance,
say makes me whole.
I am passionate for it,
I am in love with it,
and because of that
when I find the words coming,
in whatever form they take,
I feel utter bliss,
something dangerously close
to what I'd say
might just be nirvana.

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Because I Love to Write

the world spins.
slow, steady.
air fills, air collapses.

i have something to say
so i write
i have nothing to do
so i write
i am very very afraid
so i write
i hope for a better tomorrow
so i write

everything tumbles
sometimes i am confused
the blurs are mountains in my mind,
molehills blown out of proportion
yet the eponymous ephemeral moment
of these words, these letters,
the writer's codex,
the poet's spinning tornado

i do not know what else to do
so i write
i have too much to do
so i write
i am lonely
so i write
i have many friends
so i write

casting out my net into a sea
filled with people who maybe
will be drawn by the right letters
in the right order

i write because it is my everything
because it is how i contain my soul
when my soul is screaming, flying,
running away from me with melodious intent

i write because i must
i write, most importantly,
because i love to write

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

The Slow Improvement

I have come to the realization that I am not mentally healthy enough to live alone.

There will be times and dark days when I need the expectations of those around me to make me move.  There will be times and dark days when I need someone to squeeze my hands unbearably tight and remind me how to breath normally instead of the frantic in-and-out of panic.

I may never be healthy enough to live by myself.

But I'll manage because that's what you do.

I am healthy enough to recognize my issues, to talk about them even when I'm dark.  I'm healthy enough to take deep breaths and fight past my brain screaming epithets at me and speak up.  I'm healthy enough to take care of myself.

But taking care of myself means that I need people there to catch me.

I am beginning to learn, slowly but surely, that no matter your issues you can be a good mother.  That no matter your issues you can be a good friend, a good wife, a good daughter.

But I have also realized that I will always have dark days.  I will be able to fight my way out of the dark days, but I need help.  I can hold on for a long time on my own but climbing requires a hand.

And that's okay.  That's me, and what I need to do to take care of myself.  I'll take care of myself.  I know what makes me happy, I know the little ways to calm myself down.  Sometimes I need other people to do that.  But - and here's the important part - I can do that.

I'm brilliantly alive.  Slowly but surely, I am realizing that I am capable.  I am in the dark - this morning I woke up thinking that I wanted to die - but now I am taking deep breaths and saying I am capable even though my inner thoughts are telling me how pathetic I am.

I'm improving.

I may not achieve everything I want, but I'll find my own way and my own path and I'll do that with my friends and loved ones.  I'm not alone and I don't have to force isolation upon myself.

There's a fact that still leaves me whirling.
People want to help me.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015


Love is packed lunches.
Love is breakfast in bed.
Love is hugs.
Love is the willingness to cry
In front of someone
When you put on a front for the rest of the world.
Love is support.
Love is compassion.
Love is that careful, measured way you talk
When you know you have to say hard truths.
Love is those hard truths.
Love is a myriad of little things
That  add up into one big thing.
The biggest thing.
Love is steady, true, unfailing.
When everything else is broken
There's love in the shadows and the ashes.
Love from God. From family. From friends.
When all else fails, remember.
There's still love. And love?
Love is powerful.
Love is memorable.
Love is the one true, best thing.

Love is packed lunches.
Love is breakfast in bed.
Love is hugs.
Love is unconditional.

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

It Doesn't Have to be Fancy

So I just played Krillbite Studio's game The Plan.

It's free.  It took me five minutes.

And now I am kind of spinning and whirling and falling.

You don't have to create an epic piece of work.  You don't need a game that will take hours, you don't need a novel, you don't need a 200-yard artwork.

All you need is five minutes and a thought.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Haven Bearers

Story time! x3

When I was a little girl, I always wanted to hold my mother's piece of the Haven.  She had two, and I thought her the luckiest woman in all the world.
Sure, the two pieces of Haven - volatile when together without their wholeness - scarred her hands, but she had two.  Two items of the precious object, the saving grace of Earth.
She would let me hold one precious piece for a few minutes every so often, before taking it.  I was eager for my sixteenth birthday when I would be an official holder of the Haven.

I did not understand until I took my oath what being a Haven Bearer truly meant.  It meant loyalty to the Haven Keepers, those wise high council members who monitored the Haven itself, waiting for when it would be time to combine the Haven pieces.  It meant a Haven Guard for me to one way marry.
I thought it meant other girls and women I could call 'sister', other Haven Bearers.  They called me 'traitor', something an ancestor a thousand years did or caused.  I never knew the details.

The scars on my mother's hands started to become my scars.  The Haven pieces hurt, I discovered when I held them.  I was one of five total girls who had two Haven pieces.  Like me, their fathers were the last of their Haven Bearer line.  Men were not allowed to hold the Haven.  Like me, they were called 'traitors' for something done long removed from them.

Once I turned sixteen and became a Haven Bearer officially, I could start sensing the other Bearers.  I used this ability to my advantage.

I snuck into the library forbidden to all but the highest two of the Haven Keepers, and there I looked and peered.
I was alone in my ability, as no other seemed to be able to sense Haven Bearers.  Otherwise, no-one would talk to me with my gloved hands; the scars or the gloves a sure sign of my traitor line and my two Haven pieces.

During my eighteenth year, the five of us with two Haven pieces were taken into a room with the Heaven Keepers.  We were informed that it was time to restore the Haven from its pieces.  So, willingly, we gave our pieces up.
The five of us, the five 'traitors', watched as others - the non-traitors - came and made the Haven: a round orb of light.
And then we were cast out.

I am the last of the Haven Bearers.  I am the only one who does not have healing scars.  For in the library, I read a book.  The Haven's true nature is not good; the Haven is meant to destroy Earth.  My planet and my home.
I bear the last small fractional piece of Haven, so small.  I broke the Haven piece, and it burns more terribly than two separate pieces.  I have broken every rule I had when I took the oath.

But I do not regret my duty.  I protect the Haven.  I took the oath when I turned sixteen, and it is an oath I will follow.

My Brain Would Happily Turn Around and Stab Me in the Back

"To illustrate how horrible it was, being in jail in a wheelchair with four broken limbs after the car accident that prompted me to get sober eight years ago was much, much easier and less painful."

Depression is the most debilitating, destructive, and draining illness you could ever possibly come across.  It is painful.  It starts in the soul and mind and spreads outward to body.

Happiness cannot fight it.  Wanting happiness, wanting to be at peace, wanting to be happy - it does not make it disappear.

Sure, faith can help.  God will help you.  Jesus will carry you.

But prayer cannot make depression disappear.  All the well-wishing in the world cannot fix it.

Because you say:

I am worthless.  I do not deserve to be loved.  I am terrible.

So we say things to comfort.

Suicide is neither a choice nor not a choice.  It is something in gray.

I need suicide, for me, to not be a choice.  To be something that happens when I am despairing, so that the guilt - that never leaving guilt - doesn't drown me.

Depression is hard, harder than anything.  Fill your life with love.  Don't judge someone who hurts, or someone who is dying inside - dead inside.  An empty endlessness.  A wasteland of the soul.

Stop yelling, and listen.

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Uncrossed Lines

I would never.
There are some things I know -
I would not.
Some things I know,
I could not.
The things I could not do
Mostly involve me doing bad things
To other people.
I've done these things -
Hurt, abused, broken -
To myself.
Perhaps I broke, with words, another.
Never intentionally.
I hope not.
If these are the lines
I will not cross,
Why do I so easily cross them,
To ruin myself?
Why do I leave these lines uncrossed,
Yet when it comes to me,
I would hurt myself irrevocably.
I hear the words
Other people have said.
They became mine, and in doing so,
Sometimes they became crueler, meant
With love originally, turned into
Eldritch facsimiles of what they once were.
If I would never do it do another,
If I could not do it to another,
Why do I do it to me?

Monday, September 14, 2015

Why Write?

Write for you.
Write because you are passionate about it.
Write because it intrigues you, because it must be written, because you love it.
Write because you want to.

If you're not writing because you love it, because you're passionate about it, then why write?

Why write if you don't love it?

Why write if it doesn't burn within you?

Why write if not for you?

You will not find a good essay if the person writing it did not want to write it.  It will be subpar, and bland, and lesser.

You will find a good essay if the person felt compelled, if they were passionate, if they wanted to.

Why write?
Why write, if not for yourself?

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Always All About You

I'm the rock, the land in stormy seas,
The immobile certainty, the guarantee.
You complain and you cry and I shut up and listen,
But you never do the same for me.
I nudge my problems at you, with caution,
In case you turn around and leave.
You never listen to my worries,
But you expect me to care about yours.

And maybe I've enabled a habit,
With my martyr's tendency for pain,
But honestly I think it should click,
That I'm in need of some honest promise listen to me.

You've always got your problems
So they overshadow mine.
You've always got your issues
But hey, I am not fine.
I'd appreciate if you'd slow your mouth,
And look directly at me, at me!
Instead of the solid stone you wanna see.

Sunday, September 6, 2015

My Best Friend Owns a Pit Bull

This is about discrimination.  It's a poem.  Trigger warning, possibly?  I'm not sure.  whataretriggerwarningseven

My best friend owns a pit bull,
My 'big brother' is trans.
My friend happens to have autism,
My boyfriend happens to have anxiety,
And I have a friend or two with tattoos.

Honestly, I swear I'm more violent than all of the above,
Because every time I hear the judgement,
I want to punch someone in their face.

Your fake facts and ignorant fear
Make me burn cold.
I am tired of you valuing some life more than others -
I am tired of a world that judges
Based on some small fact of a person,
Or another living thing.

My best friend owns a pit bull,
My friend happens to be black,
My cousin happens to be gay,
And all of these? are good, wonderful facts.

Yell all you want,
Spread the lies,
We'll whisper much more quietly,
And slowly we will rise.

You think you're so smart,
You think you're so good,
But you hate for no reason,
And that is no good.

My best friend owns a pit bull,
Some days I want to die.
We're not bad people,
No animal is inherently cruel,
It's your ignorance that does it in -
It's you, and you, and you.

Friday, August 28, 2015


you don't let me feel anything
for heaven's sake, rach, calm down
because of your temper fit you have to do all of them now
even a retard can do it
it's so simple

pressing down, words she says,
as if they're supposed to brush off,
as if i'm supposed to be okay,
but how can i be?

i'm supposed to be so strong
the one who comforts all the rest
if i killed myself,
she'd let herself die;
he'd have nothing to hold on to.

i'm 18 years old
i shouldn't be responsible for anyone
no-one but me.

so i've made half-assed promises,
and these are the only ones i regret
that i won't go out seeking scars
that i won't play with my life.
i wish i never made them.

it seems i get the bad deal.
every single time.
i'm the one to apologize.
i'm the sturdy rock,
i don't let them fall.

i wrap myself in layers,
and then i crack and feel.
and at the sadness everyone runs away from me.

how hard is it to let myself open up
at the only times i can
2 people in the entire world
who actually care about
and miles away, miles away,
so far i can't touch them once.

i get that she has to be a mom
she has to raise me up
but i'm 18 now and i'm trying so hard
to be everything an "adult" needs to be
plus all the bits and pieces that are me.

it never matters, does it?
i can try so much optimism,
but from other people come the negativity.

all i can find in me
is hatred of myself
and pure misery.

they have it so much worse than me
and here i am, wallowing in self-pity.
i will never achieve anything.

i'll die young, and stop wasting space.
i'll die young, and stop being worthless.

but death scares me,
because i'd have to deal with afterlife.

i wish i could be nothigness.
never feel, never know.
just gone, poof, and in the only way to be okay.

i'll die young, and break hearts.
i wish i wasn't responsible
for other people's happiness
for other people's life.

i'll die young, and this anxiety
and hatred
will all go away.

no more worries, no more stress,
no chance of it getting better -
but then, if i'm dead, it can't get worse.

i'm useless.
i'm worthless.
i don't help anyone.
i'm broken.
i'm hateful.
i'll say my good-byes.

no more responsibility.
no more freedom.
no more fears
no more hope
that's my paradise.
that's my heaven.

so please, god, let me feel nothing.

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

I Would Hate Atheists Too If I Didn't Meet Decent Ones First

G. Erwin:
"It's not about People 'not wanting' believe in Religion. Nor do Atheists "believe there's no God". That's like ' A belief there's no Easter bunny or Atlantis" or "Believing there's is not a Thor, Odin, or Baal". I'm sure many want to believe in supernatural spirits and some religion's promise of an afterlife. But cannot due to their critical thinking skills, logic, Scientific knowledge. Or even from understanding and historical and archaeological evidence that conflicts with many of the myths.
Again, It's the religious that are trying to erode the Separation of Church and State by teaching Creationism as science in public school or using tax $$ to erect 10 commandments and other religious monuments in government buildings. Atheists trying to stop these by is not 'forcing their beliefs' on anyone. Bible stories belong in literature, theology, or philosophy class. NOT taught as Science."

"I am not going to address your second part because meh.
"I'm sure many want to believe in supernatural spirits and some religion's promise of an afterlife. But cannot due to their critical thinking skills, logic, Scientific knowledge."
Not okay.
Plenty of scientists are religious.  Plenty of people, from all walks off life, who have critically thought through these things and ended up with belief in whatever they want.
Also polytheist religions, such as Norse, still exist (albeit a lot smaller than the 7 main religions and even atheism).  So you need to NOT diss people by claiming atheism is the stance of the thinker and the intelligent person.  It's not.
Because I guarantee you there are religious people far more intelligent than you.  Also more tolerant and kinder.
Not okay, dude.  You are the atheist in this video.  Don't be that atheist.  Be the atheist who is "this is what I believe.  I think you should believe it too.  Oh, you're happy in your beliefs?  Okay!  We can still hang out."
Because honestly, that's how everyone should be.  Chill and kind and okay with other people's beliefs."

G. Erwin:
""That Atheist in the video..." was an ACTOR. You're wrong. Very few Scientists are religious. Even so, most of those are secular. Again, Atheism IS NOT A BELIEF! As I was explaining, but you got your panties in a wad and started with the insults. I was not being intolerant by responding to a "Atheists don't wanna believe..." comment. I'm using actual reasons that most atheists claim for losing their faith and/or rejecting religion. You are 'dissin' Atheism with that silly 'belief' nonsense. Rejecting Faith & Religion is not a Belief. Learn to READ. Speaking of intelligence, part of being intelligent is the ability to COMPREHEND WHAT ONE READS. Also, when someone bashes another's religion, that does not automatically make them an Atheist. Most are very good and informed people that do not want to see a second Dark Age due to Scientific illiteracy and religious fundamentalism in our education systems. So go on and listen to music and fantasize about punching those with whom you disagree. The adults are having a debate."

"I have friends who are atheists.  They are tolerant of my beliefs and don't insult it by saying "atheism is the only logical choice".  They respect my beliefs as I respect theirs.
And yes, atheism is a BELIEF.  There is no proof FOR nor AGAINST a God or multiple gods or whatever.  It's just non-existent.  In a general sense, as plenty of believers find proof for God's existence.  If you can't prove one direction or the other then everything is just a belief or a theory.
And how did I start insulting you?  I explained how you were coming across - albeit, I could have been nicer about it - and was a little upset by you in fact tossing other people's emotions and feelings out the window like they didn't matter.  By claiming God is like the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus.

"I'm sure many want to believe in supernatural spirits and some religion's promise of an afterlife. But cannot due to their critical thinking skills, logic, Scientific knowledge." <-- that, there, right there, insults anyone who is religious.  You're saying they DON'T have critical thinking skills, that those who have a religion DON'T have logic, that those who have a religion DON'T have scientific knowledge.

And yes, the atheist in the video was an actor... portraying something that real atheists do in real life, to not just Christians but other religions.  Similar to - GASP - what you're doing right now.

Also, re-reading my post, I never insulted you or called you names.  I told you what you're doing was not okay.  Maybe not in the politest most nicey-nice way, but in a decent, considerate manner.  Which is more than you're giving me =/

As for my comments to +Dai Qibao - he's kind of acting like a child.  You know those people you don't want to argue with?  Yeah, yeah.  He's being one of THOSE people.
No offense to Dai, of course.  We all act like that sometimes.  It's okay. (:"

G. Erwin:
"Really? Uhh Saying that 'believing' there is no God is like 'believing' there's no tooth fairy or Thor is not comparing the two. And you were insulting and name calling. BTW the burden of proof is on those making outrageous claims (like Noah's Ark). One does not 'believe' in rejecting those claims without proof. Atheism is not a belief. You're wrong. Typing 200 more lines of saying otherwise will not make it so. I'm done with you. Go away!"

"Still no name-calling.  You're not being very nice.  You were dismissing and belittling.  Also being butthurt.  Lol, did I get to you? ;)  I did say something about Dai's behavior that can resemble name-calling but I did not directly call him "childish"; simply his behavior was childish.  Which happens to everyone.  Also that "go away" was rude.

How old are you, 12?  I'm 18 years old and acting more mature than you.  You need to calm down and stop being a giant prick.


I would let you have the last word, but I'm a bit stubborn in that I don't want it to seem like you chased me off (:"

G. Erwin:
"18? Act more like 14 with special needs. Explains the ignorance and hippie-like naivete. Look Faith, by definition, is essentially the ability to suspend logic and reason for a belief. Example one who understands(not believes in) gravity but believes that Jesus walked on water, rose from the dead, moved the large boulder from his tomb, and accent into Heaven. Pointing out that when one is unable to continue doing so, usually begins one's path to Atheism is a legitimate argument. Your ignorance of simple terms deserves dismissing and belittling.  If you want to argue or debate an issue, KNOW WHAT YOUR TALKING ABOUT! Especially if you are going to insult. Act Stupid, you'll be called out. Lesson here. Not all ideologies are equal, nor deserve equal treatment. Now back to the kiddie table with you! you are not ready to sit with the adults."
[1:02:27 AM] Kunabee Tiger: Kunabee:
"Okay, seriously, science for me is totally valid and has in some cases even proved my religion.  And how have I acted stupid?  I've been polite-ish, though somewhat frustrated - obviously, because of your childish behavior.
Childish behavior that the 3 friends I sent our conversation too definitely agreed you have.
And how do I have ignorance of simple terms?  Faith, dictionary definition, right here: .

How have I been ignorant?  How have I been naive?  I have name-called once.  I have been kind overall.
You have dismissed religions, called me a child and said I don't belong with the adults, called me ignorant, said that I have my panties in a twist when I clearly do not, yelled "GO AWAY!" like a petulant teenager, claimed I have special needs (which, by the way, is extremely rude to people that might actually have special needs and never, ever okay), and basically have acted and retaliated like a giant bully.

You need to go to the kiddie table.

Not to mention, I have given rebuttals and responses to what you've said, usually avoiding any name-calling, while you call me names and give these half-hearted explanations.

One of my friends pointed out that you might think I'm claiming that belief in science and belief in religion is the same thing.  I am by no means of the word claiming that it is it the same thing.  I never have stated that.

I have simply told you that you should not belittle anyone else's beliefs, which you have been doing.  Believe in God or not, but don't be rude about religion."

G. Erwin:
"Yawn..ya still there? I'm not reading past the 'read more' on your post . It's more cliche & waste of time. Hahahahaha! Science 'proved my religion" Ok nutbag. How 's this for rude. Fuck off weirdo!"

"You're an idiot.  At first I thought there was hope for you to being tolerant and kind, but now I realize you are either a troll or too self-centered to ever consider other people's feelings.  Have fun dying alone."

^ - also reporting G. Erwin for harassment and not going to respond to any more threads of his.  So glad I discovered G+'s report feature.

"Why do you pretend in gods"

I made a comment about wanting to punch him in the face.  And then I said "but I'll go listen to music instead" and he respond "and what will you pretend?"



This is beyond annoying.  I am alternating between "lol are these people really that stupid???" and "OH MY GOD WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU IGNORANT BIGOTS".

Like, honestly.

I get why people have these horrid stereotypes about religions and stuff.  Because I know it's not just atheists who do a complete "HERP A DURP I'MMA STUPID BEEEGOT".

I just.



Be a nice person.

I just.


At this point he is name-calling me to high heaven and being this complete pissed off jerk and I'm just semi-calm.  Not perfect, of course.

And this sort of shit has been going on for a while, this is just where I finally cut in the conversation.

I just.
Be nice.

Do not dismiss and belittle people because their beliefs are different from yours.


Fine, call science and say it's not, there's lots of proof and crap and observations we can make.









So frustrated, so done.

So kids:
Be nice, be decent, be kind.
That's the overall lesson to take from this.

Tolerance and love and compassion and all that jazz.  That makes people happy and like you and you're happy too and everything is okay and all sunshine and butterflies!

Though apparently some people hate me for my positive attitude, I discovered that recently.  Go to 4chan if you want darkness you noob.

...Yeah I'm in a really weird tangential mood right now and it's like past 1 AM and I don't know what is life.

*deep breath*

*publishes this*

Thursday, July 30, 2015

We Are Dollar Signs and Lies

Who is next in your parade?
What human will you place upon display?
Why stop with these, the least of us;
Why not go to the ones who scream?

Who is next, in your parade?
What human will you place upon display?
When will you stop, or do you keep going;
Let them know, without them knowing?

Who is next in your parade?
What human will you place upon display?
How does one comprehend
The consequences of current actions?

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." - George Santayana

Martin Niemöller:
"First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—
and there was no one left to speak for me."

It began and has never stopped.
Hatred that burns, that flies.
The only option:
To take away rights,
To take away personhood,
To deny those who are different
Love, respect, shelter.

Do not allow this cycle to continue.
It is here, it is loud.

One day you'll be different:
The one on display,
And one day: nobody will speak out for you.

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

All Lives Matter or (same video, two different places)

All lives matter.

Autistic lives matter.
Young lives matter.
Old lives matter.
Black lives matter.
Every life, in every place; it all matters.

Speak more in caring.

Screw the political agenda.

All lives matter.

We all deserve life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Every. Last. One.

Regardless of inner or outer workings.

The one exception is if we rape or murder.


All lives matter.

There's my mantra.


But so does every other life.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Differences in a Brain

Number one rule: People.

You are writing, first and foremost, people.  Not plot, not romance, not anything else - people.

People who have different views, beliefs, and even differently wired brains.

Talk to people with these different views and beliefs and neurotypes.  Keep an open mind.  Learn from your mistakes.

I've recently made an autistic character, Analise.  She's 18, lives with her mom, and fixates on glass and color.  To her, rainbow arrangements of color - the way the light moves through colored glass - that is something so unbelievably amazing and fascinating.  It'd be like me being able to see a glory of unicorns or group of dragons.

I've taken this from reading a crapton of autism blogs, regularly getting advice from a fellow roleplayer who also happens to be autistic, and from finding Analise.  My goal may have been to create an autistic character, but I'd still have an "Analise" if I took away her autism.  An Analise who might have less trouble getting words out and won't have her fascination with blown glass, but still an Analise interested in learning.

When you're writing a character with a different world view than you, you need to realize that.  When you don't have depression, you need to make a person that can be separated from their depression: a different person, but still the same.

This might sound contradictory, but life's experiences are what makes us.  If I wasn't anxious and depressed, I would be less empathetic and emotionally invested in others.  I would be more outgoing.  But I would still be me.

Or we can go deeper.
If Analise wasn't autistic/didn't have autism (whichever you prefer), she would have been bullied for different reasons (because, let's be real here, everyone gets bullied at least a little), she would never find her love and fascination she finds in glass decorations and with prisms and light, she would be a different Analise.
If I didn't have depression I would be a lot more outgoing.  I wouldn't see or recognize people that didn't have as many friends.  I would sit at busy tables and never have my times alone in quiet introspection.  In short, I would be entirely different.

That is the precarious balance you must maintain: people.  Make people.  People who are the way they are because of their experiences in life.  People who are people because of their hopes and dreams and experiences.

Don't make the disease or different neurotype or whatever.  Make a person who has it.  Who could have that particular thing taken away and be themselves, but would also have lost experiences that make them who they are.

So many people would be different.

Oh, yes.

You wanna know the most important thing?  When you're trying to make someone different?  Who maybe has stigma because of what they were born with, what life gave them?


Don't make a violent schizophrenic or a depressed person who is actively depressed in a social situation surrounded by veritable strangers or an autistic way into coding and programming or something off the wall.
Go away.
You embarrass me.

Make a schizophrenic who forgets to turn off the oven because they think someone else has got it, or a depressed person who confides in their closest friend, or an autistic person infatuated with writing.  Make someone who has one or more of these issues and is a famous doctor or a famous scientist or even a politician.
That's the thing.
You can overcome whatever life throws at you.  Nobody is a stereotype.

Saturday, June 20, 2015


I've been told so many conflicting things,
And my mind fills to the brim with words.
I tip it over, I learn
Every time someone speaks.
Every time, including me.

I've been told
To never let it bother me
I've been told
My problems aren't as real as they seem.
I've been told
To stand up for what I believe in.
I've been told
My problems count too.
I've been told
these opposites
And I've learned to stay true.

Oh, you say, don't take my color away,
That's fine.
To see you as you, then, well,
I won't be blind.

Cuz love takes a lot of sacrifice
And broken hearts.
Yes love takes a lot of selflessness
And renewing starts.

You say
don't go, just stay.

Well I'll stay up 'til 3 AM to cure a broken heart.
And if I have to find a way to cross a thousand miles,
I will.

Oh I say.
Let it be there.
Let it be real.
Let your heart beat.
You never know what you'll feel.

Yes love with all your heart.
Never let it go.
Hate will sink you but
With love you'll soar.

I know I'm not perfect,
And I have a lot of flaws,
And I'm scared of smiling,
I'm scared to be a cause.
But one day -
Far away, one day -
I will soar farther than before.

What I do is take moments
Hold them in my hands.
And love each person
Whoever crosses my path.

And you can hurt me,
Stab me in the back,
But I'll still smile.
I'll still smile,
And give you my heart.

Thursday, June 11, 2015

My Roleplaying Timeline

Insomnia two nights in a row.  Oh joy T_T

Anyway, I was thinking... I've had twelve years as a roleplayer.  Why not write down all that I remember and sketch it out?

1st Grade.
Find a game called "Puzzle Pirates" for 13+.  Lie about my age, have fun.  Discover roleplay; have this shadow-person-character.  She's my first character as far as I can remember.  Actually I'm pretty impressed with myself; she was decent.
...Seriously at 6 I had no qualms about lying about my age and joining 13+ sites.  Though I avoided adult sites still.  Yay?
2nd Grade.
Puzzle Pirates friends leave me :( Find game called 'Furcadia'.  Start playing Furcadia.  Find out it has roleplay after accidently going into a dream that OH CRAP THIS LOOKS NOTHING LIKE THE MAIN SCREEN.  Figure out what dreams are, find new dream, ohhey it's an adoption thing LET'S BE A BABEH.
3rd Grade.
Furcadia is my life.  Roleplay constantly.  BaHs in home.
4th Grade.
Get whispered by someone who has a name that my mom claims means 'pedophile'.  Am confused; neither she nor I can clearly remember it.  Probably they just made it up, let's be real here.  Find out I had a Neopets account and reopen it, quit Guild I had made with 1 member (how?).  End up joining Warriors roleplay guild because WARRIORS.
5th Grade.
Warriors roleplay guild dies.  Create new guild called Lanial Kimboria and have fun.
6th Grade.
Look for a new Warriors roleplay through Google; I miss it.  Stumble on a place called 'Broken Truths' oh this must be Warriors - wait no it's big cats.
Find a home.
7th Grade.
Lanial Kimboria gets upgraded to a Proboards forum off of Neopets due to the prompting of yours truly.  Have a lot of fun.  LK dies :(
Rediscover Furcadia.  Roleplay like crazy.  Get the most complicated plot in the world with a consistent partner.
8th Grade.
ISSUES AND PROBLEMS.  My rocks are my best friend and Broken Truths.  Roleplay is my life.
9th Grade.
EVERYTHING IS CHANGING and most of it is for the better? yeah this is pretty nice I find new forums start joining things... Find a place called 'Translucence' and hocrap that's cool o.o
10th Grade.
Quit Broken Truths.  Find the joys of Pokemon roleplay.  Try and find a forum to replace what became my home; none of them fit.  Start talking to Boyfriend on gchat.
11th Grade.
Also find the world of the adult roleplayers when I'm used to teens and college students.  There's moms and stuff rping too??? wut.  It's pretty cool.
12th Grade.
Join a bunch of forums.  THEY KEEP DYING WTF.  Finally find some non-dying forums: current count is 4 (and a half: Academy of Forgotten Arts becomes The Tower of Babel and it's in transferring stages and I'm not sure if I'm even gonna continue it).

So there you have it.
12 years of roleplay history in short nutshell form :P

Friday, June 5, 2015

Suddenly: Ads?!

Yes.  My blog has ads now.  I want teh monies.

Google has this adsense thing that I signed up for.  By allowing for ads on my blog, I actually get money.  I am not allowed to click my ads however, even if I'm interested in them :P

Anyway I made them to be the least intrusive possible so they shouldn't be a bother.  Just seen.


Thursday, June 4, 2015

Love Always Wins

Every day I learn a little more of what love is.
Love is distance.
Love given and love received is the best thing in the world.
Love is not soulmates.
It's not easy.
Love is time.
Love is eternal.
Once you've loved, you don't stop loving.
The person you've given your heart to
Will always have your heart,
Even if you both grow so far apart your differences can no longer be reconciled.
There is nothing else like love.
Nothing else like the ache in your body because it's so strong.
Nothing else like the brain twisting words together,
Reading into every move,
And concluding that love is the only answer.
A wise teacher who I greatly admire told us,
"Love is the best selfish illusion."
It is not the best (nor the worst).
Love is selfless.
And it's not an illusion.
What's the strongest memory?
When we dream, our stories are overcome
By love of friends, love of family, love of lover.
I see your flaws.
I love you.
Not in spite of, but because of.
That is true love:
You complement each other,
You love even the flaws.
I embrace every bit of you,
Freckles and acne, anger and pain.
I would lighten your problems and take them for my own, if I could.
Love is giving.
I will not provide the partial love,
The "I love your shoes" love is not enough.
I will only love with a charitable love,
A sacrificing love.
I will not give the selfish love but the selfless love.
The only love worth talking about it.
The true love I have for you.
Stranger or friend, God loves you.
And to truly be like Jesus, I can only walk in His path.
I love you unconditionally.
Anger and pain are a part of me,
And sometimes - rare as it is - I will hate.
But the love I feel I won't let fade.
So at the end of the day,
As the wisest always know,
Love wins.

I love you, love of mine, man of my heart.

Thursday, May 28, 2015


Late at night, I think about hands.
Hands mean a lot.
They are shaped, perfectly tailored for each individual;
Fingerprints that are unique,
No two exactly alike!
Lines stretching across a palm,
A unique fold.
Hands can tell you about a person,
About their mood, from a glance.
Softly held, resting gently on thighs: confidence.
Held together, tense, bursting: nervousness.
Pressed flat against skin, shaking: worry.
Open wide, held up, embracing life: delight.
Hands can create
(Hands can destroy)
Give a pencil to a writer, a paintbrush to an artist
(Give anyone the kerosene and the match)
You'll have a masterpiece
(Ashes are left behind).
Hands can fold clay into new shapes,
Bring down new ideas,
Bring inventions.
Hands that get away from you,
When all of a sudden you have no idea what you made,
When your planning departs and what is left
Is absolutely beautiful
(The aftermaths of horror).
My mom does not realize how beautiful her hands are.
They are wrinkled now, and lined with blue,
The knuckles are knobby;
She laughs off her "old lady hands",
But all I see is a hand model,
Like Gramma used to say she was,
Her dancing hands that heal, that create.
Only humans have hands in quite our unique way.
Dogs and cats have paws, that serve their purpose;
And gorillas and monkeys have similar hands -
But only humans have these hands.
Use your hands wisely.
God gave you unique hands.
They are a gift.


When it doubt, I run to words.
They are my shield and my weapon.
I use them to breathe when my voice and breath are taken from me,
When I am empty and shaking and scared,
Convinced I am unworthy, I am broken.
I fill my head up with words.
I settle them on shelves around me,
Symbolizing the abstract with words;
The black and the white, the comfort,
The only safety I have.
So when I run from my problems,
My body stays in the room.
My mind flies away,
My hands write;
When I've had nothing, I've had words.
Some days,
I only keep going
Because I can write.


I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't breathe I can't breathe I can't I can't I can't I can't I am too irresponsible I am too much of a mess I am not ready for this I can't do it I can't do it I can't do it I can't do it I can't I can't I can't --

Don't give me some bullshit about "if you think you can you will, if you think you can't you won't" I have heard it all before and I...

When you are so scared you are contemplating death, your heart is breaking because you know if you die you'll hurt people but you are too much of a mess and time is spinning out of control and you are anxious and caught up and ---

I can't do this.

How. Do people. Do this?

Sunday, May 3, 2015

Creative Writing Final

So for my creative writing final, ten pages of metaphor.  I DID IT IN LITERALLY AN HOUR AND FORTY-FIVE MINUTES.  I feel pretty beast mode.  Enjoy.

Also: I finish it.  The song that starts playing?  Natasha Bedingfield's Unwritten.  Perfect.  Timing.

Then I take another 15 minutes to edit it.  Derp.

On the first day of class, I am given a green crayon.  My mind swirls with green.  All I can think of is what green means, of what green is, the possibilities of green.  I Google it, applying my fingers to an eager search.  It stings, it dances on the tongue, and I am thinking of green is life, green is trees and grass, green is healing but the world spins with green is money, green is greed and ambition, green is jealousy and even then I can’t touch the metaphor I am searching for.  Green is not my voice, my words.
I think of green being healing.  A broken damaged soul; I am healing it bit by bit and little by little.  Bandages, tape, and glue.  I turned away from the bandage for the soul, the representation of Self that it was.  No, this is not what I needed or wanted.  Healing is not my metaphor, not this turn around.
But trees, trees are things that provide oxygen.  They are shelter, safety, beauty, strength.  This is my metaphor.  My life into becoming a tree, from mere mortal to transcendence.
My journey isn’t over yet, but this sapling is learning how to grow.  This is my metaphor, then.  Deep breath, become the tree.  Start from the beginning, write anew.
Shall I turn this into a cycle?  A cycle about the green crayon, about the writing.  Green, like healing and life and trees and grass and beautiful.  Not like greed, not like mainstream world.  The way society paints it, its ugly peuce and puke suffocating out the peace of mind air that is a healing green.  I will cross my fingers, I will hold out the green crayon, I will time myself as I do this essay last minute.  Procrastination, laziness, and forgetfulness is the worst combination of traits.  This story has begun.
Fields of Flowers
What better place to start than the beginning?  You take it from the middle to catch someone’s attention, then you bring it back to the beginning.  In stories, at least.  It’s an infantile trick, but just because it’s basic doesn’t mean it’s bad.  In fact, it’s very good.  It works, no matter how many times it’s predictably used.
So I am born.  I remember nothing.  Poetry swirls and comes off in my fingers like dust, falling to pieces as I try and collect memories too far deep for me to find.  I am a tree - but no, back then, I wasn’t even an acorn.  My seeds were not the seeds of bark and wood as hard as stone.  My seeds were flowers.  A rainbow field of them.  Easily destroyed, but then they always regrew.
I was flowers as I played House and was forced, yet again, to be the mother because I was the tallest.  I was a field as I played Animals, pretending to be a lion, a wolf, a beautiful and brilliant creature.  I was a field of flowers as Animals became too little for my imagination and soon Fantasy Games were the games of choice.
I would be trampled on and dirtied.  No fire raged to kill the roots, but the petals would be plucked one by one as a girl (She Who Shall Not Be Named) bullied me through those years.  Plucked one by one as I began my life as an outcast, plucked one by one as I felt myself fill to the brim with loneliness I fought so hard against but I wasn’t quite successful enough.
When was I ever successful at the battle I couldn’t win?  Flowers are not strong; they are delicate.  Beautiful, fragrant, worthwhile: yes.  But strength is not a flower’s duty.  A field of flowers is no stronger than a lone wildflower.  Perhaps roses have strength with the bite they contain in their thorns, but these flowers were not roses, nor was thorny nettles sprinkled in their midst.
The fire raged.  Destruction of the field as my life at Sagebrush Elementary was left behind.  Middle school is hell and the heat created a fire.  No flowers were left.  The soul was gone.  All that was left was an empty shell.  Worthless, over and over again, and with no green crayon to remind me I’m not.
When there is nothing left, anything can be planted.  I was lucky enough that love was planted in me.  The heart of memory.  I wasn’t rescued immediately after the fire.  Long-term emptiness, and you begin to collapse in on yourself.
But a seed was planted.  A strong acorn, a seed bursting with love.  Love is the strongest sort of plant.  If it were hate, nothing of life would be planted in me; no, I would be left with dust and infertile dirt.
Instead I was lucky enough to find help.  A watering can of steady and sturdy, a wall of protection.  Beams placed upon my collapsing cave, band-aids made of blood and a knife.  I’ve cut three times for a relief.  I put my own toxins into my own soil.  But I was protected from that, saved from the fate of 3-2-1 self-destruct.  I’m pretty sure God saved me, as He protects the seed before it finds a safe place on solid Earth.
Therapy was my watering can.  It gave me rain when I thirsted; hope when I doubted.  I found a therapist who I thought was right for me.  Later, I’d find out she wasn’t, but for now she was exactly what I needed.
The cave slowly began to be cleared away, and sunlight was let into my soul again.  I had good friends to support me.  They weren’t the ones that I could truly trust, but they were good enough to save me from that dark place.
The shoot began to grow.  And it would be damaged, over time, but it was beginning to find its way to the light.
Oh, the true magic of life; how it rescued me, how it saved me, how I did a redux as finally I struggled out from that bitter cave.
Love’s The Key
Trees need the same things as people do.  They need support, company, water, and sunshine.  They need fresh air.  And they need love.
You don’t see it, but everything needs love, whether living or dead.  When positivity is provided, things can grow and be healthy.  I found love in scraping fragments.  My mother, who always has, always does, and always will love me without condition.  She gave me her diary to read, and it turned my life around.
The little tree was shoots at the time, just an unsteady green thing poking its head up into the big wide world.  The little tree remembers, even now, the fire that destroyed what it was in a past life.  But the little tree has never been alone.
My father found his way out of the black pit of hate.  He made it back into love and life and healing and green (crayons).
That let me grow.  It was love, and in a world of positivity I found myself able to bloom.  There was just one thing holding me back.
Self-hate.  I wonder if trees can feel doubt and anger at themselves.  With the wonders of the world, I wouldn’t put it past them.  It’s strange how much we learn, every day, how the so-called necessity of the brain isn’t even essential for intelligence, sentience, instinct.
Today, as I write this, I love myself and hate myself.  That was a difficult journey, to come this far.  But I’ve gained back some confidence and some respect for myself.  I do not completely wish I was someone else, and that is quite a strange feeling.
A good feeling.  To not wish for my death, to not feel like a constant burden, to not sing to myself worthless worthless worthless every day.  It happens, sometimes.  It happens because I am on a difficult journey and difficult path.  But I’ll manage.  I always do.
I am happy to say I am a sapling.  I am  maybe a foot, at most two (but not more than that!) and well on my way to success.  I’m not fully grown yet, and I won’t be an adult for a while.  Much longer than society claims adulthood should begin.
That’s okay, though.  This sapling has friends.  Besides me other trees are growing.  It’s here that I realize I’m no oak - as I thought at first - but a redwood.  My size will be massive, and  my roots will tangle with my friends and family.
I look towards the sky, where my future is written.  I am ready to go there.  I am ready for this.
And also completely and utterly terrified and totally unprepared.  But I’ll make it.  I’ll find a way.  I have a green crayon in my purse to represent the lessons of Life Class - the lessons of Creative Writing - the lessons taught not by a teacher but by my peers.
I have a green crayon in my heart to tell me who I am.  I am a healer, a supporter, a lover.  I am a tree, a sapling that is growing with my friends, all the ones I love.  I’ve been down, broken, and wilted.  I’ve come out of a fire, reborn as better than ever.
Metaphor, Take Two
Green crayon.  I was always a big fan of markers, always loved coloring with them.  When I grew out of markers I turned to colored pencils.  I never was a “crayon” sort of kid.  But a green crayon is a chance to start again.
I write poetry.  I can’t escape my poetic nature, the way I want to flow and dance with the words.  I can’t deny my inner self, can’t fight against my very being.  So even as my words flow as prose, they arrange themselves in poetry.
I am scared.  That’s why I hide in the corner, be my anti-social self.  I reciprocate any attempts to talk to me, but I’d rather not.  The things I appreciate.  That she understood.  She probably feels it to - the outcast.  And embraces it.
I am a tree with deep roots.  No fire will destroy me, only scar me a little.  And yes, some of my limbs have fallen.  That’s the way it goes as a tree.  You’re a bit damaged, and that’s okay.
We gather a little group.  Three of us who talk and laugh and tilt towards each other.  I don’t understand our dynamic, or how it works.  But it does work.  It’s everything I needed.  And when I’m sad, I look to the girl in front of me.  She understood, and I want to understand her.  I hope it’s not too late.
I am weak, by all definitions.  I cry easily.  I run, as much as I can, from my problems.  I am no hero, I am not brave or bold or strong.  But I’m loving.  I’m caring.  I’m on the unsteady road to healing. And when I falter I just need to look next to me to find another tree growing, another friend to pick me up and rescue me.
I color with the crayon.  Not much, just a bit.  A rough draft of a final, filled with lofty dreams that will never come to be.  As usual, I am doing it last minute, groaning at all the things that are late.  I’ll have no 100%, and I’m not okay with that.  But I can’t fix the past.
I am more than just this redwood tree.  Within me, a spirit flies.  It is wolf, sandhill crane, Canadian goose, prairie vole, some sort of lifelong mating creature both socially and sexually monogamous (I may do too much research...).  I want it to be romantic, beautiful, but beauty does not always coincide with what nature throws at us.
I will graduate, and walk down the hall.  I’ll have family there, and I’ll be ending 6, 7 years of destruction and pain.  I’ve come out of it stronger.  I’ve fought past the flames, been reborn like a phoenix from the ashes, and am stronger than before.  That’s part of life and growing up, you see.  You get stronger.
Deep breaths, in and out.  I’m at page 7.  It’s time to take it from prose to poetry.  Poetry I’ve already written, but the poem that is me.  The poem that is my bark, my skin, and all my dreams and hopes of the future.  It lingers in me, as me, and I know now what I didn’t know then: the character of this poem, she IS me.
Cold and hot lingers in ridges and valleys within.  A lion’s breath, a lion’s roar, the self-created talent - the thing you made from the ground up - is always to be found.  Don’t forget that most important thing.

Cold and hot at the same time
The still pool of water stretches
It spirals and curls through hills and ridges all within
It runs through her heart and mind and soul
To her hands, where it bleeds
And it comes, crashing like thunder
Roaring like a lion
As it breathes.

The life came from her ageless piece
An overzealous force
Then it stills again and quiets
Stopping the wild pulse
It draws away, slowly, scared,
The monsters in the light,
It runs from them, the noise,
Unable to return.

So she draws the curtains
And she draws the sword.
She cuts down the ugly piece
Of people taking joy.
They had laughed as they drunk every last bit.
Now she runs, ready,
She shall claim her property back.
She stands her ground.

The old courage of the lion
Returns and she cheers
They were brutal and merciless as they took it from her
But she shows kindness and mercy dear
She brings them down to steal it back,
She grew too strong and broke from chains,
Broke down their determined miserable hate,
And ran to find that of hers.

She discovered it, laying still,
On a bed of fine silk,
It was unmoving, she thought it just missed her,
She shook it then drunk it all up,
Nothing did happen.
Then she realized the truth and sobbed,
Bitter in losing her friend,
Her victory suddenly lost.

So she crawled on home,
Trailing dead hopes and dreams,
She was like the rest,
Another broken clone.
Home was the only thing driving her.
She prayed she was still loved.
The tears were wet and cold
And she felt a heat inside.

She made it home and grabbed a paper.
She stared until it burned.
Word upon word her hand created,
Telling of her loss.
It was beautiful, a masterpiece,
The best she had ever made,
And she felt it stirring inside her,
Once again she was brave.

She stood upon the highest mountain
And yelled it to the world,
“I am not yours to own, I’ve claimed it back,
Now get up and stop being clones!
I am my own fantastic person,
And you are just the same.
The control you let them have over you,
Well, you should be ashamed!”

The world bowed at the force of her will,
And people trembled in their shoes,
Everyone felt the power,
As hot and cold traveled over hills and ridges and valleys all within,
Through minds and hearts and souls,
And dancers danced, painters painted,
The beauty had new feet,
All because of she.

Her work was done, she was tired,
So she slowly traipsed on home,
Nobody said thank you,
Nobody said hello.
She had saved the world and they couldn’t see,
For she was merely she,
And heaven knows a little girl could do nothing grand as that.

But she smiled and still walked,
At the very least she knew,
And she discovered something nobody else remembered,
Miles could drive them apart,
Years could keep them away,
But this self-created thing was not lost,
For the talent is in you.