Next To You

I never liked the thought of being anybody else’s

Until I was yours

I never liked to be called baby

Until I heard it roll off of your lips

I always wanted to be free

Until I was trapped in your gaze

I nevr wanted to have a map

Until you traced it lazily over my skin

And I never liked the idea of love

Until I found myself falling in it with you


Something Like Fire

She was something like fire

Beautiful to look at

Warm to be near

She drew you in

With her ever-present glow

The closer you got

The warmer life became


She burned you

That’s the thing about fire

It never means to cause destruction

It is there for light



But let it spread

And she will kill us all

Memoir · Non-Fiction · Short Story

A Short Memoir

I remember this moment as if it had happened five minutes ago. I had walked into the large, wooden, double doors of House of Blues, and was met by a loud rock band on stage. The walkway was filled with teenagers and tipsy adults. It was dark, but the flashing lights lit my way. I kept checking down at my phone to see if she had texted me, but I realized I had lost service.


My two friends, sister, and dad had faded away when I heard my name. The voice I had only heard in videos on Instagram or over video chat. I looked around the crowded area and my vision grew blurry from tears. Everyone and everything faded away around me as my eyes landed on her. I felt my knees grow weak as I took the three steps to meet her. I fell into her open arms as she fell into mine. I had envisioned this moment for the past three years. I pictured every word I ever wanted to say to her. But in that moment, all words abandoned me; all I could say was four little words: “Sierra, I love you.” My chest hurt as I sobbed and gasped for air. All I could think was that…this is the person I told everything to for three years. The only person I felt I could trust. She told me every detail of her life, and I told her every detail of mine. This…person- This incredible human being needed to know how much I loved her — that she was my best friend. And I could tell she thought the same thing.


My friend pulled us from each other as the band on stage was finishing their set. We decided we should find a spot to stand in the crowd and Sierra showed us to a place up front her and her friend were. The two of us cried and cried and cried as we sang along to the bands on stage and danced together. And when it ended, we cried as we had to say goodbye.
That night, on the way home, my throat hurt from the singing and the screaming and the crying. My legs were sore from standing for two hours. My head spun from the noise and the flashing lights. I was exhausted from being awake since 6:30 am and it was almost 2 am. Even though I was in physical pain, I knew this was the happiest I had ever been, and maybe ever will be.


“Beat! Beat! Drums!” Literary Analysis

In Walt Whitman’s “Beat! Beat! Drums!”, he uses alliteration and strong use of metaphor and simile to express his frustration and passion for his call to arms and end slavery. Whitman uses hard consonants to imitate drums and unique language to leave a mark on his readers.

The first line of the poem, you read these hard consonants and begin to realize Whitman is imitating a drum. He goes on and tells these bugles to blow – he is making the reader picture war. “Into the school where the scholar studies…” He turns and uses hard ‘s’s to imitate a whip, as used as a common punishment for slaves in the North Atlantic slave trade. Whitman “beat, beat, drums! -blow you bugles, blow!” is the way he starts each stanza, further etching this dark gloom of war into the reader’s head. As the poem goes on, these drum beats seem to grow louder. “No bargainers bargains by day – no broker of speculators…” One may picture this dark image of war as the drum beats and the bugles blow.

Walt Whitman’s use of metaphor and simile puts the reader right into the time era. Whitman urges for no peace, no happiness, and no tears till this issue is at an end. He personifies slavery and says it’s “ a ruthless force”. Without saying, Whitman uses the bugles and drums as a call to action. Not only that, but he is referring to the instruments as his audience and having them be the bugles and drums. Whitman” readers are the ones who are being called to arms.

Walt Whitman uses adequate use of alliteration and simile and metaphor in his poem “Beat! Beat! Drums!” By doing so, he expresses deep frustration and intense passion to put an end to slavery. Whitman writes in a way to leave such a clear impact on the audience – as he did.

Fiction · Short Story

The Wilderness

The air was cold around me, but I pushed my legs further, harder. The white out effect hadn’t kicked in, and I was waiting for it. I looked down at my two legs moving faster and faster as my lungs were filled with the freezing air.

I tripped over something and watched myself fall in slow motion. I laid on my stomach for what felt like ages. I used my aching, bleeding arms to push myself onto my back. I watched the snow began flurry down through the tall, bare pine trees above me. I began to count.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, …

“Callie,” I hear from in a tree. I began to count faster. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Something fell from a tree beside my head. I used my strength to sit up straight – I hadn’t noticed how cold I was till just now. My eyes came to focus as I surveyed the object that had fallen: thick, black fur covered the thing. It had beady red eyes and two jagged front teeth. The creature heaved for breath and its body was rising and falling ever so quickly. Two small puncture marks were made in the stomach, and a large amount of blood was seeping out into its charcoal fur and over the pure snow.

My vision began to blur so I scratched at my eyes. “You’re scared,” he called from above. The branch shook. “Callie, Callie, Callie… What are they going to do with you?”

I stood up again and tried to run; my feet gave out and I fell back into the cold, wet snow. A branch shook overhead, “You’re not going to run away from me. I can,” he breathed in deeply, “smell you.” “Stop!” I shouted, standing up again and looking into the tree tops. He chuckled and the limb above my head shook. “At last, she speaks! You’re not a waste after all,” he shouted down at me.

I watched as he jumped from one limb to the other, but I could only see him for a minute. His raven black hair stood out against the fresh sheet of white snow. His red sweater was torn and tattered and covered in spiders’ webs. Snow fell from a limb seconds before I heard a large thud in the snow just a foot in front of me. He is here. My breathing hitched. “Callie,” he whispered to me. His breath was of ice and it chilled me to the bone. I dared not move for fear of what was to come. “You should not have run away. You should have stayed.You messed up.”

A tear rolled down my cheek, for now, I knew what my fate held for me. He stepped closer into the mood light and took my still bleeding arm in one hand. His skin was paler than any other person’s I have ever seen and colder than the snow around me. He looked at the blood dripping off of me and licked his lips. “Callie…” his voice trailed away. “You are so-”

“Callie!” I heard you call off in the distance,“Callie! Where are you?” Flashlights flickered as he snarled at me and ran back up into the tree. I wiped away the stray tears and watched him run back up into the tall pines. “Oh my gosh!” You turned your head back in the direction in which you came from and called out, “She is over here!” You turned back to me, “You scared us all! Where have you been? And your arms!”

You engulfed me in your arms as nurses came running up. I was pulled to my feet and lead back into the direction of Sick Minds. I turned back to where I was standing just moments prior and watched him step into the pale moonlight in between the tall pine trees. He snarled at me as I was lead off. That was the last time I stepped foot in the real world.


(This short story was inspired by a writing prompt entitled The Wilderness which instructs the author to take two previously existing characters and put them in a wilderness. The characters I chose were Callie from the book Cut by Patricia Mccormick  and Baz from the book Carry On by Rainbow Rowell.)

Poetry · Uncategorized


People often wonder what happens in your room

when the sky goes black.

Is there a Sandman there to bring you dreams?

Are there creatures in the closet?


They ask about what happens

when your eyes are closed,

if something happens during those early hours of the AM.

Do things even happen?


I can tell you.

I live there.

Those hours between midnight and six A.M.

That is where I live.


I am moonlight.

I am shadows.

I am early, early sunlight.

I am fog and morning dew.

I am dark thoughts

and tear stained pillow cases.


I am insomnia.


How I Remember You

The way the wind blows
Through the trees in autumn
Chilling you to the bone
It is the feeling you get
When you are at a concert
And everything feels right
Almost like you are on top of the world
Or the waves crashing
On the soft yellow sand
Destroying their beautiful patterns
Or how a leaf falls
Slowly and laying there
It is the way you tie your shoes
without even thinking about it
It is an old song
Followed by a memory
And burns your heart
That is how I remember you