Dead Drooping Daisies —

Pressed Flower Bookmarks

This board is the things that are full of unsaid words and beautiful experiences not shared. Each experience has a time to live in our beautiful mind. Our mind is a garden full of flowers and daisies I would always give you to make you smile. However, my experience would soon die like the crumpled flower that now bookmarks nights and days we did not talk. I have a lot of pressed daisies bookmarks in this book of life that symbolize the death of our friendship but I still smile when I see a daisy.

External link

Small Details —

Autumn Leaves 🍁

How can I not be inspired by the red leaves falling graceful onto my path. How can a smile not meet the edges of my lips when I finger a daisy, I twist impatiently. I am not detail oriented so the smallest details make my heart soar when I notice one. Compassion cracks from the wrinkles on my hands. I smile in response to this beautiful world, I get to live in. Details, the I love you(s) from a loving father. So yes, snowflakes and tea make me inspired to thrive and not survive.

External link

Fabric —

Blurry Reflection

Clothes the fabric and designs that are supose to mirror who we wish we were or who we are. Each piece of clothing has a story whether worn or not. Clothes are a visual blurry reflection of who we are or who we are hiding. After all, clothes are an image we attempt to paint. For example, light colors might remind us of springs when we would go to the park and everything slowed when we would swing on the swing. A jacket in the midst of the winter could symbolize the secrets we hide under.

External link


Growing Tomatoes December 20th

You are too busy. I refuse to water this tomato plant if I don’t even know if it will last until spring. Why would I coo kind words at the tomato plant which gush out of your mouth easily. I look at that ugly little shoot of stem with those green leaves soft between my fingers. I wish I could move that tomato pot out of my sight so when I did not have a pause or mindlessy hear the hum of the bees. The plant seeming to always in my vision. I cannot look anywhere without seeing it or thinking of you. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Well, my soft gaze and warm green eyes the perfect eye to foster that plant. That softness is my eyes is vunerablilty. Please don’t say kind words to that plant because it gives me the impression you care and that maybe juicy bright tomatoes can grow from that plant.
I should have thrown that plant out when you forced me to pick and make up my mind. You had been hinting at wanting a tomato plant and having a tomato plant with the inscription ‘hannah banana’
I should have thrown out that plant
Now. I look at that plant not daring to touch it and wanting to keep my eyes closed.
I look at my phone hoping you will text me but you don’t. The ping of a bird making me think that you texted me. I look for those birds but birds fly west for the winter.
After all, Christmas is just around the corner maybe you will get your snow. Let it Snow. I’ll let you go. Let it go. Let you go.

I cannot stop the rain that has been pouring down lately from nourishing my tomato. I want to claw it out with my own hands but that means getting dirty. I don’t mind the mess or complication if it did not mean saying goodbye. Setting fire and I don’t have the heart so I don’t think the flame would even light.
It’s raining what happens when it freezes over. It hurts, I am sad and asking for change. What happens when the rain turns cold and it’s snow. That tomato plant won’t last or at least it will hibernate if it survives the winter.
Why do you keep me warm in this winter. Warm not like how my heart skips a beat when I see you and heat spreads Freon the tips of my fingers of the hand you are caressing to my cheeks warm to the touch now.
I should have thrown out that stupid plant. I held onto now the concrete dried and I committed too soon.
I am trying not to remember my days as a survivor living in that lonely island Angela left me at. Trying not to remember the flashes of bare hands ripping apart the boat, I spent years building we spent years building.
Your warmth brings flashes of bright suns and fire. So much fire. Burning alive. I have to remind myself that I am not burning alive. It’s just a candle. The worse that happens is a bit of wax on my fingers.
I am not burning alive. He is not trying to manipulate me. He likes you. You are not on fire. Breathe.
Shhhhh it’s raining. A pool is starting to form outside your house and now you are scared at the sound of doors unlocking and keys in locks.
Yes it might be a bit lonely and the rain is keeping him away. Now, you are scared for his homecoming. The rain keeps away which both is a blessing and why you hurt. His warmth giving hope and allowing your tomato to grow but also reminding you of what you have lost and survived.
It takes both rain and the sun to grow a tomato. I am just scared that I will grow too accustomed to one or I will vacate the house leaving that tomato plant for some other kind eye to care for it.
I am standing up against the gun that I handed you and am daring you not to pull the trigger but your eyes are wandering everywhere but me. I should—- have throw out that tomato plant.

Should I publish a poetry book?


Growing A Tomato Plant December 23 rd

I am done waiting. There is no point in texting me. You have been out of sight and out of mind. Don’t visit that tomato plant because I have made plans to move houses already so no need to maintain the plant. Someone else will have to sink her teeth into juicy tomatoes. I will find something else to grow. It has been lonely without your visits but starting afresh. Slowly pulling apart the gloves I started to sew thread by thread. The light baby blue coming unraveled. I let go. I care but I am no longer holding on. Finding my words to say goodbye and strength the hide that I am done. Gone. Left. Finished. Should be walking away. Maybe baby blue and roses won’t make me think of you by the time I come back from winter break.

Day Old Soda

I am scared you might leave or things will fizzle out like hour old soda.


Perfect Room

Buttercream walls surround me. 
The hum of the air filter and the fuser releasing essentials oils sand wood, orange peel, lemon and white desert rose throughout the well lit room. Sunlight beams chasing lost dreams across wood floors. The ocean crashing on rocks. Foaming white bubbles floating on the surface carrying bottles full of love and creased slips of paper. From the wood beams of the  porch green vines full of cherry red tomatoes hung in the salty air. White roses blooming at the edge of the stones cut by the sandy beach. The water lapsing on the beach stealing moments but always the ocean ran back to the salty sea. The fishes running away from the shadows cast by the colorful umbrellas providing shade to the masses. Cherubic children running with pails and shovels. Castles claiming the edge of the shore and seashells lining the shore with treasure. Teens playing volleyball and sodas in hand shooting the breeze.

External link


Tell the world what you’re made of

The Joy of a Thousand suns
The pull of a current
The moment where you are suspended in the air on the swing
The adrenaline pumping to the
thump, thump, thump 
Tears brimmed like tea drank too fast
Dizzying bright stage lights 
The curtain is now open
Hundreds of curious eyes 
Breaths caught.
The applause. 
Smiles and laughter.
My smile was so bright I could have lit up the whole country

Spider Webs in a Field of Lillies

Flower Woes

Fields of lillies and spider webs
My heart goes out to fly, stuck in the spiders web. I have to remind myself that I am not an insect. You will not shrink me into you web of lies.
You cannot trap me.

Oceans and Forests

Flower Chronicles

I cannot tell if your eyes are the color. Are your eyes the color of the crashing sea. The crashing sea my heart when I set my eyes on you. Or maybe your eyes are the color of the Forest just like how I get lost in your eyes. Staring into those gorgeous eyes, I murmur softly like a leaf cascading down to the Forest floor. “Tell me the colour of your eyes please.”
I smile warmly like a crinkled leaf and my eyes mirroring the sublime ocean reflected in his eyes. He smirks as if that is a response. His sly smile long upturned like a caterpillar. That caterpillar smile squirming in my mind hungry to know. His charcoal lined words, “Where is the fun in that… after all we are the night full of possibilities, where dreams come to life, bleed hearts living and mystery lays nestled between inky blackness of the sea of stars. The night is us, no? We are lost somewhere lost between his strong powerful turning seas and my vast leafy green forests…. Our love is the masterpiece that people stop and stare at with awe. We are a mess of colours, and no one knows the meaning.”

He leans in and kisses me soft. So soft like a butterfly landing on a flower. His lips were the roses soft and my lips the butterfly. The flapping wings fluttering in my stomach, a few monarchs stuck in my heart that he could not be ever be affect and the whole butterfly fleet is trying to escape from my mouth.
He pulls away and I am once again staring into those blue eyes. He chuckles and I turn away embarrassed. Him a cool calm straight white line over blue ripples.
He was out of my league and we both knew it.
I made mud pies with my words and his words are glittering gold honey drizzling out of lips. Slow, thick sweetness drawing the flies and bees to him. I never could get enough of that honey.
He turns my head with his hand until he count every cinnamon dust freckles dotting my face and my little doll nose.
His hand locked around my cheeks left me no choice but to look up into his blue eyes. His eyes no longer the playful waves anymore. The blue eyes now crashing waves valiantly trying to ready to fight off my invisible thought that sting me day in and day out.

He pulls me tightly against his chest. I try to focus on listening to his heart beat steady and exhale when he does. He whispers softly in my ear like a father telling his daughter he loves her sleeping, “Hey you, be gentle with yourself. I love you and I hate seeing you being your own enemy. I am here. Stay with me.”
He rocked me in his arms like a bit luring me to sleep and assuring me that he would make it alright. I breathed in his scent of wood and and closed my eye ax

Suddenly exclamation runs form hiss mouth. “I forgot to kiss your boo boos. Let’s start with your lips.”
I throw my head bam. And my eyes crinkle at the corners. He threads his hand in my dark brown hair and hooks his other arm around my waist like a tree branch keeping me securely against him. The kiss, not a playful splash made at a friend or the soft luring tide pulling toddlers into the current. No, the kiss is tumbling waves that I am in the undertow now.

My eyes heavy and my lips tingling still from his warm kiss.
The sun is burning in the slashes in the curtains and I am back to reality. A weight in my stomach and I choke on tears that are bound to come. He is only part of my imagination. He is just a daydream. He’s…not…. sob slips out… my heart breaking again with the break of day… he… is…not…real. The tears fall like raindrops and my body droops like wet branches. I whisper softly to my pillows again… he is not real. That phrase meant to be a balm from the stinging bee stings.