Poetry visual image for poem

I Believed (A Poem)

“I Believed” is a poem about my relationship with theater and my beliefs. They have changed over the year, but one thing remains true the stage is part of me.

I don't think I ever truly believed;
not in what was given to me,
not in what I once chose.
No I don't think I ever truly believed
in Wicca, in paganism.

No I didn't believe
in the magic of nature;
not fully,
not until I saw a creator.

What I truly believe in was the stage.
The lights and sound.
I truly and fully believed
in the magic of theatre,
the constructed fantasies.

I truly believed in 
standing tall and giving it my all,
shedding reality showing my soul
with words written, but not my own.

Yes,I believed in the stage,
but confusion of a new life,
in the growing to be an adult.
I forgot.
I turned from my first love
as though a choice had to be made,
as though it was the Creator or the stage.
Not realizing the creator made me for the stage.
Not realzing that all of me deserves to breathe.

Now I believe
There is a Creator up above,
who smiles and loves
when I take the stage and am all of me.
Now I believe
in all of me.
Want More?

If you would like to read more of my poetry please take a look at my portfolio. You can also watch a few of my poetry readings.

DreamWard Bound series

Good-Bye To The Dreamward Bound Series

Dreamward Bound was one of the first series started on here and it is the longest series. I have 90 posts in this series that range from 2014 to last month. Over the years it has morphed and grown along side me. The series has been filled with life updates, struggles, and insights to my creative life.

Dreamward Bound will always have a place in my heart. It is part of my life’s journey, but it has reached its end.

I am on Instagram and Twitter more often now. You can follow me those social media platforms and stay informed about my life there. I am also starting a monthly newsletter, which will be most like the early days of Dreamward Bound. The newsletter will have life updates and creative work updates, also.

In the coming months you will also see a few different blog series on this site. Each of the new series will have their own specific topic. They will be shorter series with the average being about a year long. The blog series will also be aimed towards helping the audience I am attempting to grow.

With this more focused and structured approach to my writing and art life I should gain more traction in my journey towards my dreams.

To Those Who Struggle Visual poetry picture

To Those Who Struggle (A Poem)

 

I see the beauty that you call ugly,
The scars of the past
healed by your own actions,
the love for self
that you think needs to hide.
In your eyes
I see the stories
ashamed to be told;
the climb from rock bottom
conquering the ugly side of self
cleaning your soul.
I see your struggles staring back at me
and all I can say,
“You are loved.”
You can connect with me.
I see the pain behind your eyes,
but you are courageous and strong.
You have survived this long.
Now with serenity
You can attempt to thrive
and beyond your beauty
beyond your strength,
I plead you to know
You are loved.

 

Photo by Anton Darius | @theSollers on Unsplash

Want More?

If you would like to read more of my poetry please take a look at my portfolio or watch a few of my poetry readings.

among the garden visual poem

Among The Garden (A Poem)

 

Do not stay too long
among the flowers of the field.
Do not linger at the garden’s rose.
My heart waits for you,
but not there.

I am not a rose,
not a flower.
Although pretty and fragrant
their beauty wilts and withers too soon.
Vanity won’t nourish your soul
or calm your nerves.
Charm is a Venus flytrap
alluring but harmful

So do not stay among the garden
while your love awaits your arrival.

Want More?

If you would like to read more of my poetry please take a look at my portfolio or watch a few of my poetry readings.

Chapters of Life – DreamWard Bound

Every few years my life changes. Each change is the start of a new chapter and a new part of my epic story. Most of the time it also comes with a change in location, but not always.

I try to prepare for each change in my life the best I can. I look at it like almost like a new story. What will the plot be? What new characters may I encounter? What will the theme or message be for this chapter of my life? Each time my life changes I think I answer these questions, but God or life always has at least one different answer. The changes are never fully what I expected.

This chapter in my life is like the others. It is not what I expected.

My goal for this chapter is to pursue my ideal life, my passions, and God’s will for my life.

At the moment I am being torn down in negative areas of my personality, struggling with my motivation, and I’m learning to be more flexible in multiple areas of my life. It is a trying point in my life. I do not want to face the areas of myself that I don’t like and should change. It is not easy to let things go that annoy me or frustrate me.

I do know that the reward for going through all this will be worth it. I will hopefully rid myself of the parts of me I do not like and become more flexible with things that don’t actually matter in the long run of things. I’ll be a better version of myself and living a better version of my life.

Also, although it is tough I am still less stressed and not emotionally drained each night. It is a better life for myself already.

Plus, I can actually have a full day to rest, which is a new thing and one I’m still relearning how to do. It is strange that stopping and relaxing is hard for someone. It seems like it should be easy to do, but I’ve spent years only really stopping on vacations. If I was not on vacation I had something to do; I had something to create or a to-do list item to check off. Now I have a day for that stuff and a day to stop and take care of myself. I still want to keep going and going, but I know we all have to take a break now and again, so that is what I’m doing. I will learn how to do it well eventually.

 

An Ordinary Life? (Journey To Me)

an ordinary life Journey to me

I’m reading a book that has brought up living an ordinary life. In the book, an ordinary life is a bad thing. The author views it as boring and as if the person living that life is asleep. They’re not really living. For me, an ordinary life would feel the same way. I fell into a somewhat ordinary life and it suffocated me. I lost part of me.

Unlike the other author, I can see that an ordinary, quiet life that is similar to those on television may be ideal. I can see how certain people can be happy settling down, working a stable job, and simply living life.

Ordinary does not fit who I am at my core. Even when my life is primarily ordinary I look for the extraordinary. I need to keep my eyes open to the uncommon and I am grateful for those times.

Living A Unique life

Living an unique life isn’t all about traveling the world, going on strange adventures late at night, and meeting one of a kind characters. More often than not it is little stories that are not forced or expected and one of a kind routines that are all your own.

My life strays from ordinary every Saturday I spend writing my novel and the nights I spend on my visual art pieces. It becomes unique when I have to test my church’s worship leader that I will be late to serving as the sound board operator, because my landlord’s pop-belly pig is loose and trying to find non-extant treats in my bag. Also, most people don’t drive slowly calling for the same pig that found her way out of her  pen a second time, so that the pig would get back to the house.

I do travel cross country often and meet one of a kind characters even more frequently. When your eyes are open though, you’ll see everyone is a one of a kind character and we all travel, even if most of the time it’s in your mind.

My life is not for everyone, but it is perfect for me. I am grateful for my uncommon life and hope you are grateful for whatever type of life you’re living.

Want More?

If you would like to read more about my Journey To Me there is a full series on the topic. I also have more portfolio writing available too. If you want to get to know me better you can do so on Instagram , Twitter, or Facebook.

Musical Romance (Short Story)

Musical Romance short story

Your best friend, Beth, invites you to an open mic night at a local coffeehouse. It the first time Beth will sing one of her original songs in front of people, besides you and her cat, Meowers.

It thrills you to support your friend.

After you finish your shift at the call center for a tech company, you rush home to get ready. Your clothes are changed and you redo your hair. This is in record time and you meet Beth at the cozy coffeehouse.

At The Coffee House

You can smell the beans roasting and the coffee brewing from outside the door. As you enter the coffeehouse, you look around the warmly decorated room. It has two large couches facing a makeshift stage area and wood tables that are only large enough to seat four people each. 

Beth finds you and greets you with a great enormous hug, the way she does when she is nervous. As she is still squeezing you Beth stated, “You made it.” When the hug is released she tells you, “The first person is about to start. I’m fifth in line.” She straightens her red and brown floral dress that flows over her slender body.

“Of course, I made it. I wouldn’t miss this.” You look at your friend and ask, “How are you doing? Nervous?”

Beth tried to smile. “Nah, no, no. I’m fine.”

You look blankly at her and her face drops, fully revealing her nerves. “Yes, I am. I shouldn’t be, the crowd isn’t that big, but it’s my song. What if they hate it? I could mess up. What if I can’t really sing?”

“Don’t be silly. You’ll do great. Meowers and I love the song. Plus you’ve sung in front of bigger crowds than this.”

Confused, Beth asked, “When?”

“Our middle school recitals and karaoke.”

Beth shakes her head as she states, “Those don’t count. Karaoke isn’t performing and middle school ended like half a lifetime ago.”

“Still, you’ll do great.”

The Open Mic Starts

Just then the first performer takes the stage and taps on the mic. It is a sizeable round man with little hair on the top of his head, but plenty of white hair coming from his chin. He sings an old blues song as he strums on a guitar. This musician is talented and the crowd applauds him when he finishes. The next performer is a woman with pigtails and a banjo. She can’t seem to play and sing together, but struggles through the full song, anyway. The following two performers get progressively worse and the audience hardly even claps for the last man, who leaves almost in tears. His nerves won.

Beth’s Turn

It is Beth’s turn. She is nervous and starts by fumbling the first notes on her simple acoustic guitar.

You mouth, “Breathe,” to her. She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. She starts again and plays her song perfectly. It is beautiful. The crowd cheers for her at the end. They are very thankful that she was a wonderful singer and the song was beautiful.

Beth makes her way back to the table where you are sitting with a giant smile on her face.

As she sits, the next act gets on stage. It is a male musician who has perfectly curly brown hair and sits on the stool, but keeps one leg on the ground. He smiles a nervous yet cute smile as he places his guitar on his lap. Once he clears his throat he says, “This is my first time here too, and I also have an original song.”

Another New Musician Sings

He sings and your eyes meet his sparkling hazel eyes. You hold eye contact with him and smile. It feels as though the room melts away and he is singing only to you. Towards the end of his song, he looks down to make sure he is playing the right notes, but is grinning widely.

At the end of the song he thanks the audience, but is looking at you when he does so. The crowd applauds him as he leaves the little platform that makes up the stage.

He walks directly to you. “Hi, I’m Matt.” He says with his hand out.

You shake his hand as you tell him, “Hi Matt, I’m Lucy. You were great.”

“Thanks. I don’t mean to be too forward, but can I join you two lovely ladies?”

Before you can answer, Beth does. “Of course, we would love that.”

The conversation quickly dies down as the last performer takes the stage. She resembles a jazz singer with her hair pinned in curls and a black fit and flare dress on. She sings a slow and soft song. It is a very loving, sweet jazz song. After she finishes, the audience claps, but starts to leave.

Matt, Beth, and you continue to talk. After half an hour Matt buys both of you cups of tea and you help him carry them over to the table.

You do not realize the time passing. As the coffee house closes, Matt asks for your number. Smiling, you give him your phone number and he sends you a quick smiley text, so you have his.

When The Coffeehouse Closes

This is the start of something new, but after a long day at work you are ready for bed.

You say goodnight to Matt at the coffee house and walk with Beth to your car, which is outside of Beth’s apartment. You say goodnight to your best friend and get in your car.

When you get home, you see that you have an unread text message from Matt. It says, “I’m glad I went to the open mic night, tonight.”

You smile as you respond with, “Me too. Goodnight.”

As you get ready for bed, another text from Matt pops up on your phone. “Goodnight.”

Want More?

If you would like to read more short stories please check out my Portfolio or perhaps you would enjoy watching readings of my work on YouTube.

Heart Journey, Journey to me blog series image

Why I Hate Birds: My Swan Attack Story

swan attack journey to me

It should be known that I hate birds. It is partly out of fear and partly is because I think at least fowl and larger birds are evil. I can handle smaller birds and can stand pet birds, like cockatiels. Roosters, swans, and geese are not okay in my book.

I have had a few negative run-ins with birds in my life. The first one I remember is the swan that attacked me and my now step-sister.

Until I was 10 I lived across the street from my uncles’ pig farm. They also had goats and chickens. I would always go over there and one day I went with my step-sister.

We went into the goat’s area. It was a fenced in patch of land that was a bit rocky, but grass still grew.

I did not realize that a swan made a nest and laid eggs in the grass, until I got too close. The swan chased my step-sister and me. We scrambled up some rocks, since we could not get back to the gate. There was a thorny bush on the other side of the fence. There was a short argument about leaping the fence, since we would be jumping into the thorns. The evil swan was ready to attack, but no major injuries occurred. I believe we jumped the fence or one of my uncles came to chase the bird away.

I want to say my uncle chased away the massive bird with a shovel in hand, but I can only remember the terror of the swan’s attack with its flapping wings and the feeling of being trapped.

Want More?

If you would like to read more short stories please check out my Portfolio or perhaps you would enjoy watching readings of my work on YouTube. You can also read more of Journey To Me, which is the series this is from.

Guarding The Ladder.

guarding the ladder short story

Do not let the picture above fool you. Otis is not an ordinary cat.  He is a fierce feline focused on protecting the one who feeds him. He is like a soldier and takes on this role every night. What is this hero of a cat protecting me from? Well, I am not sure, but it may be from falling off my bed, or it could be the window. Whatever the danger, he protects me from it every single night.

Let me explain how he protects me. His heroism entails walking the perimeter of my bed, making sure that the only exit from the loft bed is still the ladder. He then makes sure that I am safe by sniffing my face. Finally, he is ready to buckle down in his post. He stretches out as he lies down right at the opening for the ladder. With courage, he will stay at his post, keeping watch unless he falls asleep until my morning alarm goes off. Most days he will even stay pass the alarm going off and it will take me nearly throwing him down the ladder for him to move.

Now, since I am the one being protected, I cannot be the first one out of the bed. He cannot and will not simply move aside. This cat needs to clear the area, or at least the ladder. He makes his safety check by climbing down part way, stopping at the window for a moment, and going out the window onto the roof.

His reward for protecting me all night is his breakfast that I pour him, while I am still asleep.

At least, that is what I am telling myself. In all honesty, he most likely is just being a butt and blocking the ladder, because he knows it annoys me. I will keep trying to convince myself that he is protecting me because murdering a cat is frowned upon.

Want More?

If you would like to read more short stories please check out my Portfolio or perhaps you would enjoy watching readings of my work on YouTube.

My Bad Morning (a Short Story)

My Bad Morning short story

Based on a true story.

I woke up today, not wanting to get out of bed. The reason was nothing big. I just wanted the weekend to come a day early.

My adult self woke up, and I got out of bed. I got ready and took part in my work’s fancy Friday. When you work in a company of hackers, who also have nerd tendencies, casual dress is more common than not. Most days people dress in jeans and t-shirts, but not on Friday. Friday people dress up. There is one person who appreciates fancy Fridays the most and who I believe started the tradition. It was this person’s birthday, so took part in what she enjoyed. I found my dress pants and my favorite button-up shirt. I put on my makeup and did my hair. Then I put my heels on and went out the door.

I got a latte from my favorite cafe. My day had a later than normal start, but it was going fine. It wasn’t until I got on the highway that everything stopped being fine. A loud noise erupted as if my car was driving on something. Maybe there was something stuck under my car. I got off the highway, and the sound changed a bit to more of a thud-thud sound, as if my tire was flat. It was strange since when I was on the highway it was just loud. I pulled into a grocery store’s parking lot and got out of my car. Something blew my tire with holes in all of it.

The Start Of The Tire Change

It was still okay. I was going to change a tire. How hard could it be? I had it all under control. I started by taking the spare tire out. This should be the easiest part, right? I just needed to undo the bolt and slide it out from under my car. It sounds simple, but when you are in fancy Friday attire you get determined to stay clean, and need to pull something out from under your car, things get difficult.

On top of staying clean, I did not want to get my clothes wet. It had rained the night before, and as soon as I tried to get the spare tire out, it started sprinkling. I ended up in yoga positions and weird poses just to figure out what I could do to get the tire out from under my car. After a fight and a struggle, I freed the dirty rescue tire from its cage.

Now, it was time to get the jack in place. Again, this should be easy, right? Don’t you just put it under your car and crank it up? Apparently, the answer to both those questions was ‘no.’ After the wheel did not move, but the car frame moved, I looked at my manual. It was inside in my glove compartment.

Once The Jack Was On

I went to the front of my car and saw my delicious latte sitting abandoned. I thought it best to show it some love by taking a sip. It thought it best to spill all over my car. Thankfully I did not get burned, because it was lukewarm by now. Yes, I got to enjoy one, maybe two sips of hot coffee before my tire blew and now the fight over the spare tire caused my coffee to be lukewarm.

I sighed a heavy sigh and flipped through the manual to figure out what to do with the jack. It had now started to full-out rain. Once I thought I had everything in control, people asked me if I needed help. My Pride and my confident wouldn’t let them help. I would finish this task. I know I am a woman who is looking fancy, but I can do it. Everyone should be able to change a tire.

I got the jack in place and was ready to remove the tire. Now, I just needed to get the nuts off. In the movies, they make it seem pretty easy. Plus, this is harder than it should have been already, so now the easy part should happen. I am almost done. I just need to get the tire off.

Finally Changing the Tire

Well, after a few minutes of trying to getting them off with increasing force a nice older man came over to should be a trick. He got on the wrench thing and jumped. Yes, he stood, full weight on the thing, and jumped. Awesome I know how to do it now. I thanked him, thinking that was all I needed. I just needed a tip from a stranger. He accepted the gratitude and went on his way.

In my heels, I hopped with both feet on the wrench thing. Nothing happened. I had a thought of, “Hey, I’m light.” My next thought was, “Oh my goodness, I am so weak I can’t even get this nut to loosen.” After a minute of hopping on the wrench thing, another man came and helped me. He told me to lower the jack and loosened the nuts for me.

After I finished taking the nuts off the wheel was easy to get off. My little detour was close to completion. I just needed to get the spare tire on and then drive less than a mile to the tire store. By now, though, I knew that stupid tire would not be easy. I picked it up and waited until finding the issue. The struggle was aligning the holes with the bolts. This task felt like I was trying to line up an ancient key with its keyhole. It took longer than it should have. Of course, the entire process took longer than it should have. Finally, after one more person asked to help me, which I refused on the fact that it was only the spare tire now, I could get it on.

The Ending Of The Story

I got up with my outfit still clean and one more friendly person stopped to help. It was amazing to me how many people wanted to help me. I told the guy I replaced the tire already, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt for him to make sure they were tight enough. He did and could tighten them a bit more.

I was now off to the tire store, where I was told that I need four new tires. While they were pricing the tires, I cleaned my hands and arms, which were the only things to get dirty. It was then when I decided I never wanted to change a tire again, so got all four new tires, hoping it would at least postpone the tire-changing nightmare.

It was an hour’s wait before I could go to work. I got to work. After an hour, I made myself peanut butter on toast. I was still proud of myself that I did not get any dirt on my clothes. I tell you this because after I finished with my snack, I looked down and saw that some peanut butter had dropped on my shirt along with my pants. The only thing I could do was laugh. I can change a tire while staying clean, but I can not eat and stay clean.

I hope you enjoyed reading about my morning.

Want More?

If you would like to read more short stories please check out my Portfolio or perhaps you would enjoy watching readings of my work on YouTube. Also, I post snippets of my short stories and other writings on my Instagram account and Facebook page.