I want to break free.

I would break
from this monotony and
out of this cage.

Free of any responsibilities,
I could just be
completely and 
utterly selfish. 

I aim to be completely

thought of the day:

I am the ultimate masochist.

Sharing Poetry: Sylvia Plath, "Love Letter"


Not easy to state the change you made.
If I’m alive now, then I was dead,
Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,
Staying put according to habit.
You didn’t just toe me an inch, no -
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope, of course,
Of apprehending blueness, or stars.

That wasn’t it. I slept, say: a snake

hold fast!

The struggle has started.
Each day brings me closer to the fire,
to the desire,
and the ungodly things I do.

And all I can think is, “not again”.

Sharing Poetry: Emily Dickinson, "Because I could not stop for death"


Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed…

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to Middle-Earth.
Story of my lunch break

Story of my lunch break

(Source: amandaonwriting)

Through anyone’s eyes
I just want to be special,
Ah - to be chosen!

Descent into Madness

The sun rose and the bell tower struck eve, 
The crows are calling to me.
The messengers from below crave a word. 

Hear me sweet pagans,
Sing me a lullaby -
For now is the hour I make my descent

To where the Sun can’t reach me and where
I’ll finally be alone, and safe.
Me and my insanity. 

I want to be still. So make way.
I am falling; through time, through space,
Through pain. 

The final fall for this Queen.
I come to a halt. I am numb.
Stuck in this Underworld, forever.