A Philosophers Thought

As a philosopher who studies existentialism, I believe in existence, not essence. I believe in free will, over determinism. However, there are those times that the most life-saving coincidences have occurred in my life. And then, those situations that are not as much live saving, as they are puzzling.  

My mind can trail as far as my first year in third grade. Whenever it came time for my parents to discuss my progress with my beloved teacher, she would always commemorate me on how advanced my writing skills were, for being so young. To this day, I am an up and coming author, however, I am a writer.

Coincidences have always been circulated throughout my life. Little things that were mentioned in what would have been another time-filling conversation that moments later; become a universal and mental connection.

There was once a sick man in my life who inappropriately told me that my breasts would look amazing if they I pierced them. When I was nineteen, and years had passed from that evil man- the day I single-minded made my own choice to get them done. This same man had suggested to me, that I would thrive in Starbucks as my first workplace. I worked there for a total of almost four years.

What does this mean? How does this get explained? I could easily see a psychological analysis being conducted with results along the lines of: I was only settling or possibly overcoming a trauamtic childhood experience.

I am writing a final paper on the existential argument: existence vs. essence. Early ancient western Greek philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle both believed that for one to live a “good” life, they must live out the essence that they are given before they are born. For centuries, this essence was regularly known as God. That is until the mid-nineteenth century when the French father of Existentialism came to rise. It is genuinely shocking how radical Sartre’s philosophy that man is free, and that our essence comes as we live out our existence, during his time. I agree with Sartre. There is no posterior knowledge within us, in my opinion. We each are in utero for up to nine months, and from the second we are born, comes the interactions and interpretations that surround us to shape later how we make our choices. We are our own choices.

Those instances I had mentioned early from my past put a kink into my radical philosophical beliefs and thinking. In the situations where the bad man gave me those suggestions regarding invasive body mutilation and where to start my first job- I chose to pursue them both. I, Julia-Katherine woke up one morning and decided all by myself, without thought or recollection into my past, to alter my body. To be honest readers, I hadn’t remembered that the sick man with a three letter name had made that remark to me. I hadn’t recognized that until a killer swarm of late night PTSD had set in at least ten months or so later. Years before this had happened, but when he was no longer a part of my life, there was a hiring Starbucks location within walking distance from my house. At that time there was an eager seventeen-year-old who was looking for her first job, something close. Did the evil man determine my fate for both of my actions? Did my subconscious happen to remember both of these instances and I just went with it? These are the type of questions a philosopher asks. Or was it merely that, Starbucks was a convenient option for my first workplace, and I had wanted my breasts pierced for a while- as a girl who already has quite a few body piercings already.

As for the situation that I am convinced occurred due to fate, or whatever Science, Laws of Physics nor Philosophy could explain- I am thankful. I am thankful for one of those “signs” that Sartre highly dislikes in his works as being nothing but a reaction from an action. For in this case, it was not that. It was simply someone or something looking into me and my life at that very moment, and saving me.

An Opinionated Love Column By Julia Katherine

What is love? The intoxicating, deadly and ancient term still holds no set definition. Only a guideline of commonly shared symptoms among those who have been“bitten by the love bug.” That cute phrase has more meaning behind it than given credit for. The “love bug,” is a wise old tale that little girls learn growing up, to not touch any little boys, in avoidance by getting “bit by the cootie bug.” Then as little girls grow up, the bug evolves into“ the lust bug.” The Lust Bug, as I have so named it, is a disease that is as the adult cootie bug. A real-life emotionally straining illness that can occasionally turn into a committed relationship. Keyword: occasionally. Welcome to twenty eighteen where I and thousands of other millennials fear and dread being tied down. One of the symptoms of the lust bug is the grey area between physical intimacy and emotional intimacy. It’s sickly. Lust or love, both are toxic pests to the young female. The insect uses its venom draws out the most alluring and intoxicating emotions that make women seem like some crazed Moaning Myrtle. For a while, at least.

As I was driving home tonight, I was listening to a song by a band I have recently fallen for. Screaming lyrics; boasting of a romance that once brutishly captured a young singers heart. The singer is over her today. Lyrically, however, he still channels the way she made him feel when she left, to play every one of his shows. So his lyrics exclaim in the song “Upside Down.” I reminisced to myself of the three times I had been “bitten” by the love bug. (Only three boyfriends at twenty-two, my mother raised a lady) Each one during their time, I couldn’t picture my tomorrow without them. However, the sun always sets on the horizon.

In all three of my relationships, only after, did I realize that the “love/lust bug” was truly effective. There is a saying that goes: “It takes two to tango.” A small, however, powerful statement of a simple life explanation that possesses nothing but the truth. When two people become intimate in any way; the possible outcome and being together is a genuine option. I feel that is something young women today forget about. That in any grey area that confuses one or both parties as to whether or not they are in a regular relationship. Notice how I said both parties. Ladies, this means the man who is involved in your situation with you. Two to tango, remember? Women forget about that in most cases. Letting their little anxious mental voice romp free and destroy any good faith in the situation. Growing up female, we are taught that when a guy breaks up with you or decides not to sleep with you anymore; that the man has lost all emotional and physical interest in you. Leaving that anxious voice to tell us females that, “he’s fucking another girl because he grew tired of you.” This, however, is not true. Ladies, men have feelings too. Their social standard makes them feel inclined always to be our rock when we need them. No matter how little or ridiculous the situation may be. Leaving the impression on women of all ages that our men of interest are a strange kind of taffy that we can stretch and twist, without them breaking. This is not true whatsoever.

The relationship stereotypes that are presented to both sexes contradict in so many ways. I learned first hand that even the most handsome of knights that are decked out in the strongest of armor- could not save me. In the current day, I am a princess who woke up in a cold tower when 2018 had just begun. Those past months until now, I have slayed my own demons and have gotten myself out of that wretched tower. Now, I find myself free and happily exploring new fields of all reaches of life. If I ever do see a knight again, I will remember, there is someone under that handsome and robust suite of protection and honor. And that sometimes, he will need someone to protect him.

Ladies, have you ever asked yourself if he was as hurt during the times you were cried in front of him? Whether it was about him or not. Or, if he would be okay knowing you walked out his front door upset? Or if he misses you. If he thinks about you in the ways that you do him, happily. Two acts could lead to an answer in this case. One, ask the damn guy. Ask him those exact questions. Or, don’t. Keep your silence, and call it that. When your really just scared that he will either leave you with an open message or that he won’t give you that answer that you want. One thing is for sure, if you do keep your complete silence, you will only leave yourself questioning.

You know when we retell a story of a memory that involved some sort of pain? An accident of any kind, or a tattoo, so on. Most of us can remember that pain so badly to know that we would never want to re-experience it. Even when we retell memories of happiness, the elated feeling of brain chemicals that temporarily blissed our entire nervous system cannot be relived again. You can never relive a moment, only remember it. That’s why I believe it is moderately good to live in a moment and not worry or plan a future that is not guaranteed. However, there are a few memories that can trigger a chemical emotional reaction. Such as fear, humiliation or, PTSD. We learn some of the most important life lessons we will ever encounter through the feeling of love. I remembered this on my drive today.

I found myself trying to trigger the feeling of love. My mind flipped through my past encounters and some of the sweetest memories I hold. Though I could see the soft look in each set of eyes from all of my past guys, and though I remembered how safe and high I felt in each of those moments, I couldn’t trigger the actual feeling. As I watched the smoke dance in front of windshield, the cool autumn air had influenced my mood. I was cold- no, I was numb. I felt as though time had momentarily stopped when I had searched deep into my mind of when I used to call a man mine. I’ve had some awful experiences, but not all of them. With remembering that, where was the feeling?

You can’t get high without smoking, you can’t be drunk without drinking, but you can be loved, without having another variable factored in so you can achieve that feeling. That is what self love is. That is what I realized in many smokey stop lights.

Do you ever find yourself repeating a pattern that you once did with a significant other(s) Or is that just me? There was a while where I couldn’t go to sleep without having certain YouTube videos on a repeated playlist. They brought me comfort from, how I had originally discovered them. Now-a-days, I still tune in whenever my favorite vloggers post, whenever I can watch them. Compared to, watching them on loop with no sense or urgency for anything else I should do. Once this faze pasted, I knew I was a few steps forward in walking towards healing and independence. In that order.

While lately, I have been the happiest I have ever imagined. As well as coming to terms that dating exclusively is just not in my deck of cards at the moment. The fact that I found myself as perplexed as I was tonight over the fact that I couldn’t find immediate or short finding comfort from a memory with someone else, reminded me why, I am choosing to stay single for awhile. It is completely normal for a single human of either sex to feel lonely at times- the best way to curve that negative feeling is remembering that you are exactly where you should be in this moment, for a reason. We all have the people, choices and opportunities in this moment due to the choices that have lead us here. As well of the choices and actions of others. I also recognize that this mentality is easily carried by those who believe that life hands you what you need when you need it. I just hope that my readers take comfort in the fact, that someone like me, who holds no faith in religion, and even less in humanity, that the universe has always been there for me.

Where Is She Coming From?

Her eyes,
Widen at a subject that she wishes she could just forget.
Her neck,
Her pulse raises,
After every text she gets.

All we do is lie,
All we do is think of the feelings that we hide,
All to protect our made up pride.

California was never meant for me to call home,
California was never supposed to be home,
Even after I saw the glisten in your eyes after you would listen.

His laugh traces down her each one of her vertebrae,
As she’s climbing her way up from the hurricane they both put her in.
There are days if she questions if she will win.

Her mother is in the wind.
Her mother gives her the waves of strength to climb harder and longer.
She remembers she is her mothers daughter.

All we do is climb,
All we do is try and avoid the cracks that was suck us through, as if we were made out of slime.
All we do is…

California was never home for her,
Cali was not meant for a girl of her wisdom and standard.

There’s a place deep down in Stanford,
Where a girl lives behind books.
She dreams of all her accomplishments.
That seems so attractive…

What if I told you I would break your heart?
What if I told you I past demons that made me mean?
What if I told you I had that my past has to power to rip your mind apart?
That is why solitude fits me like a glove,
What if I told you I was just bad at love?

Maybe you should stop before you start.
Maybe you could see that I’m just too young to love…

You ought to know where this is coming from,
I stood alone while I watched my home burn to the ground.
All of the pieces were burned and gone.
Do you see where I’m coming from?

What if I said I was built on carelessness and crumbs?
What if I told you that I once loved a substance that would make me feel so numb?
What if I told you, I would be gone before you…

You out to know where this is coming from,
I saw my home burn and gone,
I was so, so young.
Do you know what it’s like to be without a home?
You, he or him couldn’t turn me away from the blows you all took at me.
When your so alone,

No one knows where you are coming from.

The Princess and The Yellow Brick Road

Don’t think I don’t remember the pain that embedded itself into every one of my membranes.

Don’t think that I still have to shut off my head because certain memories sound like a shot gun instead.

Don’t think I don’t have those intimate evenings that flash themselves so vividly, it feels like some nights I’m still in your bed.

All those messages unanswered,

Might have been unread.

Should I inform you on how badly my body bled.

Physically, I needn’t state it, obviously.

Internally, from all those words that you said.

Or should I say screamed?

Flash forward to present day and I can honestly thank you for teaching me my strengths.

I’ve been through hell and back,

But what the hell was one more trip?

There were to many unfortunate reminders of the way you could only grab my hips.

Bruise my lip.

Remember when I showed you to unlock that trick?

With all rhymes aside,

I for a awhile had already decided to grow from an experience that was paved as a beautiful yellow brick road.

I thought I had kissed a prince but now I see he was nothing but a rotten toad.

Now I am a woman of her own,

That paves her own road.

And while at times it gets lonely and scary,

I am thank for all the


My Eating Disorder Story: Introduction

Being Anorexic,
Is like being sick,
For an entire lifetime.
Being diagnosed should be considered a mental crime.
To feel as though you must measure your;
Being an Anorexic makes you so, so sick.
You always feel like you failed if you eat anything else besides a few pieces of kale.
You have no energy.
Vertigo is a bitch that comes with it.
Oh, the goddamn ketones.
Ketones are a lovely cell that your body produces
That essentially eat you alive,
To keep you alive.
From the inside out.
I remember walking into the sterile smelling,
Metal reflecting,
Treatment bathroom.
Unbuttoning my loosely sized double zero jeans,
I caught a glance at myself in the mirror.
I thought I looked beautiful, at that moment.
I put the small plastic cup between my legs,
Not expecting to receive the rock bottom news that would choke me.

The emotion and mental haze that being Anorexic brings,
Equates to the pain of a billion wasp stings.
From lack of food intake, your emotions are all over the place. But usually, lower than average.
You flare with anger when you have your own expectation and image of pretty, but then get told “you are too skinny,” from a boy.
You are paranoid that even drinking a diet soda will make you bloated, and everyone will see you like a cow.
The anchor plunge rush when you see in your jaded eyes “how MUCH you weigh.”
What if scales could read and tell us, how little we weigh?
But how is that possible, when I used to step on a scale:
You get the picture.

I by no means want to encourage what an Anorexic would consider being “the pros” of having this ungodly disorder brings, but for educational purposes, I will list them.
You feel a sense of euphoria, almost a high when your hunger pain passes.
Then not only do you feel accomplished for getting through that stomach-being-put-into-a-cheesegrater-feeling
You smirk at the accomplishment that you are getting smaller
You feel confident in yourself. For things such as hip and collar bones are supposedly attractive when they are protruded.
Though now that it is 2018, and sayings such as “thick thighs save lives” are being tossed around- it’s not like the earlier to mid-2000’s where being skinny was the most desired body in society.
It is now present day, and before I tell the tale of how I made the number on my scale raise,
I must put out a message,
That I am writing this as a lesson.
I hope you find my story, inspirational and helpful.

The Doctors all told me that Anorexia is a choice.
For someone that spent thousands of dollars and hours becoming an expert,
I facepalm myself, mentally,
Every time I think back to the day I was diagnosed.
Those rooms all smell the same.
Whether it was the
Exam room
Doctors office
I even remember what I was wearing on this dark day.
Isn’t it fascinating how your mind can push back or tuck away specific memories?
But then,
We all have those few
That can be remembered so vividly.
Even when, we don’t want to remember.

After taking what felt like a million tests,
From mental to physical health examinations,
Gave my doctors the determination to make an accusation,
And that’s basically exactly how it happened.
I had just gone to my doctor for a physical to get cleared for the swim team.
Little did I know,
I would not only be swimming in my team’s pool,
But also an ocean of my own.
My first road to recovery.
I remember;
Being led into a small office that smelled like all the rest.
It was dimly lighted,
With bland art on the walls,
And carpet that would make any modern-day designer puke.
My father and myself were placed in wooden chairs with cotton cushions that felt as though no one had ever sat in them before,
As if no one had ever sobbed their eyes out from the news that blew a patients mind.
And it was my time.
Doc walks in;
“Julia…Julia, Julia, little….beautiful Julia.”
I looked at her with my big emerald eyes.
“What?”, I thought to myself.
“Am I dying?”.
Truthfully, I was.
“Julia-Katherine…” (she used my full name, I knew I was in trouble)
“You are Anorexic.”
She labeled me so quickly.
She marked my so vastly.
She gave me a label that will forever stick with me.
“What…what do you mean?”, I scoffed.
“Ms. Katherine, you have Anorexia-Nervosa.”
“You are fucking crazy.”
(Yes, I really said that and have said worse to my doctors)
“I eat…until…I’m full.”, I protested.
“Like any normal person.”
How dare someone, let alone a doctor, who has only known me for about an hour
Tell me something that I still to this day have a hard time believing.
In a way.
That is just my microscopic ego comes into play. (i.e., I don’t believe in egos, for myself at least)
Is this why psychology as a subject, as a field, was invented?
To give a term that will scab, scar- but never fully heal, to who I am?
Where did society come up with the symptoms of Anorexia?
Where the fuck did the term, Anorexia Nervosa even derive from?

Doc shook her head and put her hand on mine.
She informed me on my:
-High key-tone count
-Extremely low BMI
-Surprisingly still semi-strong heart, that was running in the potential of dying as it did so quickly develop
I sat there in that wooden handled, cotton cushion chair.
I saw what she meant,
Looking at everything with new eyes from my fingernails and hair, seeing for the first time how they and so much more of me, physically were brittle, bent and just about spent.
I crossed my legs so tightly, hoping they would look a bit bigger, maybe only slightly.

There are just not enough pages in this world,
Not enough ink any in a billion pens,
And too many thoughts in my head,
To explain
The dehumanizing feeling
I received,
And had to grieve,
That I was given a label,
Which I never thought of,
Or would even consider would be present or welcomed in my life.

The rest of that visit was visualized in grey.
Giving me a recovery plan and schedule,
Down to what I would eat,
Six times,
All and every day.
Until I would weigh in at a weight that would make everyone smile.
Until I would be able to eat everything off my plate, though little did I know, that wouldn’t come for a while.
This all seemed so so vile
In my very juvenile mind.
I didn’t realize that on this day I was supposed to get a sports physical,
That I would be declined
And denied,
I knew one thing;
It was time to fight.

To be continued….

Girl On Fire

Just one kiss,

And you’ll be hooked to her fire.

Its an experience that can’t compare,

Too any drug you may think gets you higher.

She is art,

She may be ripped at every edge,

But shes a masterpiece.

She has no idea the chaos she causes,

But it always turns out to be the most beautiful chaos one will ever see.

Just one spark and she can bring anyone back to life.

Just wait and see….

When she takes flight there’s no one there to stop her.

Her ashes are burning,

Her ashes are smoking.

There’s no where for her to hide.

In this fire that burns inside her it ignites a starless night sky.

Even though shes on her own,

She knows shes never on her own.

There’s two bodies in the sky,

That look down and produce her light,

That she calls her own.

So here’s a poem from her heart,

There is no such thing as home sweet home,

For she knows that her trauma is how she has grown.

She questions why her reflection looks like a complicated objection.

Her heart needs to be free,

Too fly.

It burns,

With the need to know,

The reason why;

She was held under a fist, knife, and body.

She once used to run and hide until her memories faded away.

But she realized that she needn’t waste her genius mind.

As a writer,

Shes an automatic fighter.

She told them all to stick it.

Shes burned since she was born,

She only cries a little bit before she dries her eyes,

Because this woman on fire isn’t a little girl anymore.

Chemical Cocktails

Its interesting that the only interest in early twenty teens is experimenting with brain chemistry.

I haven’t seen some of you sober for more than a week.

That just makes you look weak.

Let me speak,

I know what its like to get a whiff of a toxic antidote,

Even when you fuck with coke, it won’t make you stay woke.

Even if all you do is toke, you still look like a joke.

Its interesting the way how I see things,

Everyone feels the need to pop out a baby or be given a ring.

What happened to being in our twenties?

What happened to discovering ourselves?

I’ve been the most independent I have ever been in my entire life;

Which makes me think,

“Shit, I don’t want to be anyone’s wife”.

But that’s just a 21 year old me thought.

Love felt like his knife to my throat,

He fucked everyone but me,

So I know he thought of us as a joke.

And when he left me on the concrete floor,

Cold New Years night,

I don’t want this shit anymore.

You spat in my face I’m a whore-

When really I hit my books to help me soar.

You lied to me like a religion,

But wouldn’t lie with me unless I gave you Christian Dior.

But you still called me a whore?

What a mother fucking bore.

You think you are better now?

Honey, you are behind bars,

You only say that cause I’m not around.

I got tired being projected as a clown, my frown used to hold to pieces gravel you smeared my face into.

There’s nothing that you can undo.

You never did,

Never will,

Have a clue.

I’m working on an empire that needn’t the burden of a bloodsucking vampire.

I tire of childish games, they are so lame now-a-days.

While some of my generation is stuck in play; I’m in a hyper-drive to improve my life.

A word of advise,

Once you stop viewing the worlds opinions, you stop being a minion.

It’s independent.

It’s scary,

Only a first.


You realize,

You quench a thirst for independence and freedom,

Some, may have not ever realized they needed.

Just a Little Life Update

Hey Readers,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I know there are some of you that are probably thankful for my break. Not blasting my blog posts into your social media feed and what not. But, as I promised, I am back.

Lately life has seemed to be going by so fast. There are days that I feel don’t even feel real to me. Carrying around as much responsibility that I have on my shoulders these days has been one of the most surreal feelings I have ever experienced. And the thing is, it won’t go away, it will only go on. When you suddenly become the head of a house, the power is at first riveting. Soon after, it becomes exhausting. I am twenty-one years old and I am already living an adult life. Who would have ever figured, for the person that I am, that I could handle it all? But I am yet another hopeful example; that human nature is capable of change.

For I have had to change for not only myself personally, but also for my future. I cannot begin the explain the loss that 2018 has brought onto me. My first loss (though a chosen one) was in early January. Followed by March, and then April. I am incredibly impressed at my will physically to not just fall to floor screaming and crying. There was once a time in my life that that would be how I would resolve my emotions. I feel as though at this point I have endured so much loss that my body is just used to it. Its been barely two months and I still haven’t broken down yet. Will I ever?

On a more positive note, I have applied to a few major universities and have already been accepted into John Hopkins! I was offered a full ride into their Philosophy program. How crazy is that? I am now just waiting on Brown, Yale and NYU. My hopes are looking quite high from what my advisers tell me.

I have received support in these last few months. But I still can’t help but feel as though I am alone in this world, now, more than ever. I am wondering if this is only a temporary feeling. Because I find myself hugging my pillows a bit tighter than usual. I’m tired of missing. I’m tired of feeling like I am not missed. I am more machine than human lately. My friends are what make me smile the most. But even when I have a room full of them, I still find myself alone in my mind. Thanks, Halsey, for that line.

I will be resuming posting every Monday. To be honest, I missed my blog, very much. If you guys have any ideas or topics you would like me to write about, please let me know.


Julia Katherine

Final Generation: Recall

Is it too much to ask to live in a world where everybody can be themselves freely? The little world that I have created in my head is my sanctuary. A place so pure; pure and kind, any person or creature trans, queer, gay or bisexual, are welcomed to romp burden free of masking their true colors. The current state of my physical reality is atrocious. Of all the burdens my physical world already carried, it leaves me so confused as to why my government decided to archaically repress relationships and intimate relations with members of the Queer community. It is selfish to keep the intoxicating experience of love and passion away from an individual community, or anyone for that matter. It’s inhumane. We as human beings are not biologically or neurologically built to comfortably live an altered lifestyle, suppressing any part of what makes us who we are, just to abide by society’s definition of what’s “right.” Falling in love doesn’t always mean it has to be done a right way. No book, belief or opinion should matter or dictate anyone’s choices on how they want to live their life, as well as with who. Having to be trapped in a mental cage and wear a mask every day is its form of torture. Eventually, we start to break. It starts with a few cracks, like a pebble hitting the windshield of a car, and then one day an unexpected speed bump comes along, and we shatter. Frank Bidart wrote it best:
Lie to yourself about this and you will
forever lie about everything.
Everybody already knows everything
so you can
lie to them. That’s what they want.
But lie to yourself, what you will
lose is yourself. Then you
turn into them.

That’s what happened to my world. Rightfully so, the warriors of the Queer community reached their breaking point with the Breeder operated “government” system- and how the public endorsed their corruptions. That hatred between the Hetero’s and the Queer’s boiled over into a hell born war. The amount of blood that was shed between these two groups was ungodly. This was right before I came into the world and I am a part of the outcome or, “solution” as the leaders projected. An inhumane agreement to prevent any future conflict that might trigger another battle and also make sure we don’t kill off the human race. A law was passed prohibiting any and all natural human reproduction. You may be wondering, my dear reader, how there is still a human population left, and how on the Government’s green Earth is it possible for a democracy to take over the organic regulation that is sex? Let me first explain the process in which I and the rest of Generation 00 were concocted. Generation 00 was the first successful era of humans to be fabricated in test tubes. These “test tube babies” are genetically modified not to carry gametes, the human sex cell and live out their utero state inside a vile for nine months. Like a timer going off for Thanksgiving turkey, once the fetus is fully developed the prospective parents receive an alert via text message or email that their bundle of matured cells is done baking and ready for pick up. The most disgusting part about this; parents (or, I like to call them buyers) can build their perfect spawn. Technology has gotten so advanced after you sign all the paperwork and shovel out thousands of dollars. The couple is then taken separately to the lab to have their sperm and egg extracted. Once that process is completed, and your specimen is correctly mixed up, you are presented with your impending baby’s genes. Right there in front of you are the chromosome, microfiber detail to what their child would be. When in the old days, one of the biggest highlights of a pregnant couple is the wanderlust of what it’ll look like. The doctor then helps you thread the future fetus into a nice, unoriginal meat sack, that is technically human. Perfectly biologically modified, minus the gametes cells. There have been rumors of Generation 01 will be another preliminary trial for doctors are wanting to remove the part of the hypothalamus that is linked to the human primitive sex drive. The reasoning behind this demented theory is that because people are now being manufactured, there is now a one in a million chance for a test tube fetus to be gay. One in a million fucking chance of being different. How screwed up is that? I have had many mental battles with myself trying to find the root of what caused humanity to become so entitled to being superior over another. The Breeders are lucky it happened this way by not being straight the outcasted sexuality. But since we are only human, that one in a million chance happened to land on me.

My name is Rowan, I am sixteen years old, and I am a gay female living in a genetically modified world of straight, or what I like to call, blank people. This is not me slandering Breeders; I use the word “blank” because in a time where the entire human population is assembled like dolls that all look the same, making us predictable. Personally, I believe that one who lives a predictable life does not live at all. What the Queer warhead didn’t realize was that the breeders received the better end of this deal, that everyone would now be exactly like them. I have yet to meet another person who sexuality isn’t like everyone else’s. And with how slim the chances are of the outcome, I doubt in this lifetime I will meet someone like me. What bothers me the most about the state of my world is the fact that humanity is deprived of the intoxicating feeling of lust. The world I see has an empty void where excitement and passion used to be. Taking away the main purpose of sex to prevent humanity from killing itself? Ridiculous. I am thankful for my mother, who is a millennial, the last generation before the government hit the restart button on humanity, she tells me her world was on it’s way to holding stable equality between the Breeders and the Heteros. And that humanity is now dull and colorless, for most of us are now the same. While humans are still capable of finding love (or tolerance I should say) and a mate to settle basic emotional needs, when two people get together it isn’t the same as it once was. I am lucky both of my parents met and had a connection long before everything turned to shit. For I see the looks of the parents of my friends, and it is nothing to what they have.
The place inside my head is much like how the universe used to be. I am a one in a million biological mistake. I see this as a blessing in disguise. I was generated to be put on this planet called Earth to end this archaic production. I will remind the world of the magic that lies in compassion and acceptance in my lifetime. I strive to bring back the exhilarating lust for life that once fueled the human soul and captivated millions of hearts. Dear reader, whether you identify as straight, transgender, gay, pansexual, A-sexual, bisexual, transgender, you are perfect. Learn something from my story, separation and hatred almost wiped out the human race. Why not attempt to come together in love? I cannot be the only one in this galaxy which is drained of waking up every day to the same bland society. I have not lost hope in the human abilities of an adjustment for positive change. I feel as though humanity needs to prioritize finding balance. As a species and individually. Balance creates peace, and peace brings harmony to not only the world but also the human race.

Mother’s Daughter

I’ve watched my mother kill herself a little more each day.

I’m not mad at her,

All the time.

Mommy, please get up…

I hear a fifteen year old me say in hushed tears;




Food addict.

Growing up I heard my parents scream and mom would slam the door behind her as she would head to the nearest place she could get a big mac, because fighting with my dad over that big slap across my face, was always so tragic.

My mother and I had much in common, like mothers and daughters do, I’ll just list a few…

1. We both had eating disorders, just opposite ends.

2. We were both born in August.

3. We can both be so blind to destruction if it comforts or shields us away from a problem. Whether at the bottom of a B.K or Bacardi bottle, or for me at a time, a cocaine baggie.

I stopped.

For my poison was killing me faster,

And I thought to myself, my parents don’t want to find my body laid out dead and plastered.

My father would harp on me for my immortal immaturity.

When I got sober I found clarity.

Mom, can you join me?



Deep depression and physical illness is the realist and the coldest killer. I just wish she knew that I wanted to save her.

Monkey see, monkey do,

Mama doesn’t give a fuck of her own life, why should I?

Because a daughter is supposed to look up to her mother, and I once did so brightly,

But so quietly she made her exit,

Mama, why?

I know some of it you couldn’t have helped but isn’t your daughter worth living for?

My floor has been drenched in my tears for all the years I watched this.

Walking out for class, I wish you would just get off your ass.

Your depressed mom? Why didn’t you come to me, just because of all the pain he inflicted on me, doesn’t mean that I wasn’t there.

I just want you to tell me everything, including myself will be okay,

Because these days all I want think about is joining you because my joints ache in heartbreak and there’s no one here to wipe my tears and hush all my fears. This is the hardest thing I have ever been through, past the rapes, drugs and beatings- I just need to hear my mom tell me that I’m her baby girl.

I had a pipe dream that my motivation to get up every day no matter what, would be something that could have helped you out of this rut.

I feel like I’ve been beaten over a hundred times in my gut,

Should I just run, mommy?

I need you to send me a sign because my mind won’t stop looping, and all I think about is watching myself grow wings and come up to you. But I promised you I’d complete all my goals and dreams, but where is my mommy to tell me that shes proud of me?

I didn’t come from you, but I’ll make it clear to every one that I truly did. Maybe not born from your womb, but I grew in your heart, you wanted a baby girl that was as beautiful as art.

I wanted a mom who’d fight to stay because her daughter was worth it.

Please take this feeling of being lost and scared away,

I want to see the sunshine on the next day.


I miss you more every minute of every day, you don’t know how hard this is without you.

How to Heal From Heartbreak In Fourteen Days

Heartbreak, heartache, whatever you want to call it, it’s an unpleasant life quake. But, it happens to almost all of us. Recently, I had just undergone the grieving period of removing affectionate feelings away from someone who I used to look at and see beauty; now I just see pathetic. In my case, I never fully explained to the other person just how I felt. Except in probably one of the best poems I have ever written, that was given to him on Christmas. But he’s a smart one; I’m sure he could just tell by the way I used to look at him.
In my journey to get back to me, I decided to write down the things that helped me find myself again. And hopefully, these tips can help you, my dear readers, to mend from the gravel grasp of heartbreak.

Play Those Sad Songs. You need to let it out.

We all have our favorite sad songs that sing lyrics you wish you could scream in that assholes face. I found myself avoiding sad songs on my playlist, for I hated the thought that the tears I would shed, would be over a shithead. But, one day, I pulled into my driveway. I decided that this was the day I would let those songs play. And I did. The tears following were gruesome. I feel as though the realist tears that fall are the most cleansing. It is scary crying alone. But crying is scientifically proven to make you feel better; it’s a release. So, put on whatever is on your sad girl playlist, grab a pillow, find your comfort place; you’ll feel so much better the following day.
Here’s a list of my personal favorites:
River- Ed Sheeran, Eminem
Crowded Places- Banks
Medicine, Youth- Daughter
Sorry- Halsey
Fly Away; Mama Always Told Me- G- Eazy

2. Make Yourself or Your Space Over
This has to be one of the most important tips I could give. For after I separated ways with my lover, I hated going into my room, more than ever before. I couldn’t comfortably sleep without wanting to cry myself there, knowing that he was the last one to lie there in my body. Besides my bed, I would look around and see all the places within my white walled room- where we would crack beers and smiles. But I also saw the last time we were in my room together; it was so god damn vile. I just got my beautiful natural hair color back, so I wasn’t interested in coloring my hair. So, I did the next best thing. I went to IKEA. Picked up new furniture, new sheets, and comforter, untouched by any boy. I now find myself sleeping so much more peacefully. I also advise doing this with the mentality that it’s for YOU.

3. Get Out Of Your University Sweatshirt and Grab Some Heels
Ladies, I can’t tell you imperative this is. A symptom of depression is a lack of care in hygiene. And no, I didn’t go four days without showering. But I found myself just not giving a shit about what I looked like, and I am woman who takes pride in her fashion, but while going through heartbreak- it didn’t matter. I resided in a baggie hoodie I could hide my face in when I felt random tears rushing in. Aren’t those the worst? I’m almost certain that I went through all of my leggings and sweatpants in a matter of days. My friends didn’t even recognize me walking (I always wear heels) at one point. That’s when they realized I was seriously not okay. As much as you can, try to fight the feelings of just wanting a fluffy blanket and a baggie shirt. Get your ass out of bed, take a hot shower and make yourself up. I promise, getting out of bed is the hardest part. You’ll want to do anything you can that doesn’t involve just sitting around binge watching YouTube because let’s be real, videos can’t fully distract yourself from that distaste that was spat hurtfully from him to your face. It doesn’t matter if you have a place to be or not, make yourself up. Massage your own body with lotion, do a face mask. You are relearning how to care for yourself after the X amount of time you spent with that stupid boy. (or girl) This was something that hugely helped me. Now, I’m back to everyone in the halls turning their head as they hear me coming. 🙂

4. Don’t Isolate Yourself
See the title of this next tip? Follow it. Follow it. Follow it. I am notoriously known for locking myself away to the world so that no one can see me cry. Especially over a guy, I just feel so humiliated. But this is why we have friends. I can’t even begin the express how thankful I am for my best friend coming over, even when I had denied her company. I just didn’t want her to have to hear me cry for the same reasons as the why I felt the way I did. But, that’s what best friends are for. Not to mention, if she sees me cry over anyone, let alone a boy who broke me, like a bully breaking another child’s toy; well, I just hope none of my ex’s encounter her. But in all seriousness, we are human. As communal creatures, coming together during times of sadness is part of what builds up back up to who we are. I even found this time to seek comfort in my parents. As much I can, given my personal family life. But even that helped. I am always seen as the bubbly, loud, spunky little Irish lass, which is another reason why I didn’t want to come out of my room unless it was for class. Having people see me so sad, over a breakup? Fucking pathetic. I’ve sat in class with tears streaming down my face from much, much worse. But, it took my best friend to physically drag me out of bed for me to start this tip. I am oh, so, thankful for her.

5. Get Yourself Some Sex Toys
Get your best friend and make a run to the mall. It’s time to get yourself a vibrator. I say this for the girls who find themselves wanting to rebound. I have intimacy issues, so I have never been one to jump to the next one after a breakup. Hell, it took me almost a year to spend more than twenty-minutes with this last one. Or if you miss the good dick, whatever your reason is, get a jackrabbit dildo and let yourself have it. Pleasuring yourself not only gets yourself more in touch with yourself (Ha, masturbating puns) but it’s a healthier way to get over your ex. Rebounding not only looks bad on your part, but it’s also unfair to whoever it would be. Misplacing feelings and projecting is one of the worst things you can do to anyone, in my opinion. Not to mention, your next partner will be more than pleased to see how intuitive you are with your sexuality. A man loves a woman who knows what she wants.

Breaking up sucks. And you can’t force someone to stay with you. No matter how hopeful you once were in the glimmer that could have been with him, it’s gone. Forever? Eh, who knows. But for now, it is time for you to grieve. But grieve with the goal of getting better. For I know it is so easy to live in sorrow for what feels like forever. These were five steps I found that helped me get through the woods in just fourteen days. The truth of the matter is, we are born to die and only have ourselves for eternity. Feel your feelings; they are valid. No matter how many names he called you. Just ask yourself, from those, what did he gain? Just know, it gets better.


Julia Katherine


I am thankful.
I am thankful to be adopted.
I am thankful to be adopted by my parents because I would not have the roof over my head that I have had my entire life.
I am thankful to be adopted because I would not have gone to England as an infant,
Or see my fingerprint left on the window of many window airplane seats.
I will always repeat this,
For this is a lesson of appreciation that keeps me believing.

I wish to be something above and beyond in this world,
And though I am so very talented about the writing of the times life has sent me on a
I am strong enough to twirl a suffocating whirlwind into a 180-degree twirl.

Survivors work harder.
Split through,
My healing skin,
Tells me there’s more to life than just living.
But I would rather spending my time writing and giving.
For from that slice I realized I’m not just a sexual device, and whom I need to get my justice from.
So, run.
For I no longer have a fear of guns,
Both physically and mentally,
Because really,
How many times could I put myself on trial?
Not for this long of a while,
Remember what I said about being a survivor?

So I thank you,
Mom and Dad for teaching what it means to be truly glad.
For the musk that haunts our days now never has or will collide with most of my childhood days.
And I believe even the darkest childhood and adult days can be glazed with the saying that the glass is half full.

For if we were all meant to be who was being talked about,
All of humanity would be a monstrosity.
And I am used to people from all over this goddamn town using me as a topic conversation that usually doesn’t involve pity. Well, congrats to the one who are truly brats.

Thank you,
Mom and Dad,
For though there are things in your lives that you regret impression your children,
Just know I have knowledge of those problems and have learned to learn from them properly,
Because in the end,
I cannot mend what is not mine.
I am forever thankful both of you said,

Menus Ludos

Oh, memories replaying memories of you and me,
We didn’t last a year.
We’re just a box of souvenirs,

You remember screenshotting pictures of my Instagram,
Because I looked like such a gentle lamb.
You were looking for someone to practice and play with during summer days,
And we managed to keep it wet that entire summer.
But what a bummer when you decided to give into all the hummer of who I used to be rumored to be.

You caught everything I went through,
And though I will never be new to you;
You caught everything I threw at you.

I’m a bad bitch,
But your mind has me condemned as a witch.
For I no longer wish to prove my innocence to someone who attempted to put a weak variable vex of who I am.
And I’m the one you won’t forget, and probably regret.
Trust me I don’t want to be friends with someone who has a control complex.

Though memories fade you still may think of me during some days;
You’ll see my dark days posted on replay.
“Is she okay, maybe I should text her and say hey”.
You don’t care my chest will be split open for surgery I hope not encounter on any more of days.

You caught all the things I threw away.
I leave that now bitter birthday card I made,
We’re nothing but souvenirs.

Maybe I’m the one the blame.

This meant more to you than it did to me,
I was filled with doubt, but you believed that I could revive from all the fights I had endured.

Maybe you were just too nice to me,
I think it took me way too long to leave.
But on that, we both feel the same.

I know how a fairy tale goes.

Maybe I wanted you to see me and believe that actions could be proven, but once we felt the same,
You said I was the one to blame.

You liked me when I walked around on the low, unnoticed.
When I was coming off of a something, I used as much as my electronic device.
Now you gotta deal with a glitch on your shoulder,
I recently heard a song that sang me relevant lyrics,
“Fuck with a goddess, and you get a little colder”.

Am I still the one to entirely blame?

Boy don’t hurt your brain on struggling to compute of what you’d want to say,
What did your facts for your data did gain from calling me all those names?
I’ve analyzed all the things that I’m sure that you have cried in fear that I lied.
I got into Stanford,
I’m smart enough to see all of the incriminating facts implied on myself.

I’ll bring it down,
I’ll bring it on,
Till the rise of dawn,
Because this what it feels like now;
I have never been accused of being such a heartless clown by someone who never used to frown at the sight of me.
There was a point you couldn’t sleep because of me,
And I don’t doubt that’s what’s still happening,

This is what it feels like.
Because this is getting old.

All of our words have been cursed with dishonesty.
Take it from the girl who had to learn how to build a heart made of armor.
You were always so bold while you watched me moan.

You tried to hide; I can see that you don’t see me.
Take it from the girl you used to take it in; you will get some bad karma-
I can see that you just wanted me cold.

We were nothing but Gemini feed,
And I would have to pay to lead you to my legal leads,
You always said to spend my money carefully.
But the blood that I had bled on the day I wanted myself dead from allegations that swam around in my head,
Swarming me with dread,
Lead me to no longer put my head on having to focus on proving myself innocent to multiple men.

So this is the end.

Nightmare Passing

What I saw is true,
That if I couldn’t screw,
You would have never manipulated yourself into my bedroom.
I had been standing there for two years
And I hate that I question why I should have gone with the right thing but got caught in the left hook of your thorn ridden wing.
A disaster passed down to that guy who never lied.

Oh, do you see me now?

Better run for cover.
Cause my addiction to you was just another contradiction to my life’s confusion.
And I used to say I would be scared to walk away,
In fear I couldn’t find other muse’s that knew me and my music as well as I thought you did.
Then I found someone who can’t listen to Halsey without me getting stuck in their head.
You claim that every time you took me in, took my hand,
It felt like you were being reprimanded.

Do you see me now?

A self-medicated
Mentally blocked.
When I came through, you were dark blue,
And all I did was try to take care of you
Even when I had been spit up and chewed by you.
Now I hate the color blue.

You try now to compensate for that time and “regretful” mind state.
And I’m just Anna on the train tracks for all that you’d give a rats ass.
But then I looked back as she did at those train tracks and saw my “dark world.”
As a story arch.
I had to get away,
You beat me down into the color gray,
Why is still such a mystery that my attention was redirected when I was a stray?

Do you see me now?

Now tell me what you want from me.
I think you need someone who isn’t a lead-
A weaker girl?
Because a woman knows where her stance is-
This story will be one of me growing strong.
Because you are so,
But you refuse to listen to my song of justice.
To be honest,
You were just a placebo.
I might as well have been your depot.

I put you on a pedestal and gave you the throne.
But you take pride in bloody eyes,
You always liked it when I cried.
Is that why you lied with her and,
Too me?

I can hear resentment in your tone,
You thought I’d never make it on my own.
You made an effort,
But nothing can last forever,
We’re such pessimists.
You left for the hell of it.
And when you realized I laid with brown eyes who holds no physical expectation over me, except to see me smiling over him-
He even helped my body not to be so slim.
He has never laid an unwanted hand on my limbs.

I asked you once,
What do you want,
And I need to know.
But that ego runs wild,
You said I got your beatings because I acted like a child.
You cheated on me so why are you still haunting me.

My memory is bated from your loneliness,
That is from childhood emptiness.

You won’t come back.
You aren’t anything but slack.
And I don’t waste my wishes anymore-
To wish that,
You thought of me more.

You will get yours,
Trust me.
I have many open author doors.
Didn’t I tell you,
You fuck with a writer,
And I will put you in my words,
Right here.

Still in love with fashion,
Trying to be Hugh Heffner.
When he hurts a fire sign,
He didn’t think he would get burned.
Poor little boy,
Cries his psychotic eyes out on the stand,
It’s all part of a show.

I’ve always wondered why can’t you just leave me alone?

Timor Luman Metus

This is a story of how an astronomers son fell in love with the moon goddess. Ever since he was a boy, Ryan Masters had been captivated by the night sky and all it beholds. Ryan’s father said there were a million stars in the universe, but only one moon. When saying this, Ryan’s father was referring to his late mother. Who had been said to hold all of the moon’s phases in her eyes and soul. Ryan’s mother passed away during his birth, which made his relationship with his father a rough one. For Mr. Master’s claimed he could no longer see the moon in all of its glory since the day, his beloved passed. Leaving a star child in his care, that had every essence of his mother.
Growing up Ryan’s father had warned him never to fall in love. He would tell young Ryan, “Falling in love is much like a meteor shower. It is captivating, beautiful and catastrophic all put together”. Since he could remember, Ryan Masters swore never to fall in love. The guilt and pain he felt of losing his mother during his birth had haunted him heavily for years. Ryan followed in his father’s footsteps in becoming an astronomer, hoping that one day he’d be able to see his mother for the first time in the vast night sky. Homeschooled, Ryan took every precaution he could never to develop an affection for anyone. He never wanted to experience the pain his father endured his entire life after losing his moon and stars.
One cold February night, Ryan Gilligan Masters hiked to the top of Mount Diablo to set up his telescope to see the full moon that came on this night. Each time he hiked his lonely self up to the top of the mountain, his mind couldn’t help but wonder what the gentle caress of a woman felt like. Was he incapable of being loved, or incapable of loving, he internally battled. This night, in particular, Ryan felt something inside of him that he never had before, hope. But for what? He was only doing his usual routine and study during yet another full moon.
After Ryan had reached his usual spot and set up- he waited. Waited for a sign pointing to him of what triggered this sensation of hope. He watched the glorious moon rise to its highest point in the night sky. Peering through his telescope- there it was. There she was. The moon looked as it normally did this night. Ryan took a seat on the wet grassy area surrounding his set up. Closing his eyes, he breathed deep. “I miss you, mom,” he whispered to himself. Suddenly, there was a flash of light that started beaming from the moon. Ryan shot up and ran to his telescope. “What in the world…”, He questioned. He zoomed onto the moon, and there was a light…that was falling from the moon. What could this be? Ryan frantically ran to his computer and started to chart and study possible and logical reasoning as to why there was a light falling from the moon, rapidly, and…towards him. Young Masters backed up from his telescope. Breathing so heavily, his breath looked like the smoke from a cigarette. “What the fuck! What the fuck! What the FUCK!”, Ryan frantically shouted. The light was falling so fast and so close to him. A light started to cast from whatever mystery was falling towards him. It was bright. Brighter than any neon color or new light bulb. Painfully protecting his eyes, Ryan Masters was sure he would die that night.
The light peering down at him was fifty feet from him when its warp speed spastically became slower. Ryan peaked one eye and noticed a figure he couldn’t ultimately make out, but that was not a meteor or unknown space mass, as he had thought. The light was becoming dimmer as well. Ryan soon realized, this was a person- human? Twenty feet above him he caught a glimpse of a silhouette, of a woman! He started to panic. “Shit, shit shit- Ryan catch her!”, He thought to himself. And he did.
The light had ceased completely. Ryan Masters looked up and saw what was hurtling toward him. She was a woman. A…beautiful woman. Ryan widened his eyes to see examine every detail of the armful he held. She was small, pale. She had hair that had to go down to at least her back. Her hair was red. A red so romantic it put a million red rose petals to shame. Ryan leaned down to her chest to make sure she was breathing. Cold as ice, she was breathing. She was captivating, fascinating, she was…she was naked. “Oh SHIT Ry, don’t be a creep!” he panicked under his breath. He took the blanket that was once his mothers and draped it over the body of this mysterious woman.
She opened her eyes. They were the purest green Ryan had ever seen. Pure, like the calm after a storm. Pure like a blank canvas. Pure like a life without turmoil. They were big. They were beautiful. Ryan had only read stories of love at first sight from his mother’s book collection. The adrenaline that courses through your body at the sight of the one body you want forever in every way. He couldn’t believe it. Ryan Masters had fallen in love, in a location, he had been researching for years, and no phenomenon had taken place before. In his arms, he held his moon and stars .


Make love to a couple grams

To empty hands

Make up for a couple sniffs

Curling up, feel so stiff

Waking up



Wait a second

I’m evaporating in front of my eyes

She wants to live today

She wants to listen today

The snow is melting away now


The snow is turning into rain


Rain to turns spring,


It’s refreshing not to have to


On a substance,

That made me once so mean.


Having to wean myself of cocaine,

Made me realize,

What lane I want to be in life.


Because thinking I was a better writer and stronger fighter,

On it,

Was a lie.

Why did I, you may ask?

I saw using at first for fun,

Then a task.


But now,

I task.

In my dreams.

Instead of finding ways to scheme.

And my dreams,




Trauma Teachings

TRIGGER WARNING: Contains material of sexual abuse

I find my work is enveloped in an essence of darkness.

We all know that any journey ends when the break of dawn seeps through every crack,

Every crevasse,

Light trickles into the iris’s of my eyes-

Sweet lass,

The best part of being broken,

Shattered glass,

Is picking up the pieces.

I list the things I have lost,

From rape.

I list the ways I was hurt,

From rape.


When was the last time I listed the things I gained from rape;

The things that weren’t swept away:

1. My smile

Oh for a while my smile was not was it can be- what it is today, and what it always should be.

But even while wrongfully under you, him and it,

They were never able to rip it,

Which I know put all their stomachs into a pit-

“Who is this creature, that can recreate her tradgies and become a teacher?”.

I’m still smiling.

While all of you are still lying to yourself,

Its cute to think you could put a flame like me on the shelf.

2. My laugh

I spat in a monsters face and laughed maniacally,

Just like him,

You think you can win?

I cant even feel you trying to force your way in.

For this is my body and mind,

Never yours,

And though the first monsters 21 year old fiance was a bore,

Does not mean I became a 32 year old mans whore.

I laugh in the face of danger,

Which only made them all fill with rage and anger.

My laugh is loud, almost as loud as my immaculate strength.

My laugh comes out at all the right times.

Laughing in the faces of my rapists,

Was the greatest.

3. My writing

Tattoo’d boo you think you could patronize me,

Lets quote Moonlight Madness,

“Aren’t you a fighter?”,

Yes, but more importantly,






Now that is danger.

Now don’t get me wrong,

I have made every single mistake that one could ever possibly make,

I’ve taken, cried and lied,

But as time passed by,

I learned that one of the strongest traits, that I want one day for the entire world to relate;


Forgive yourself for events that have happened-

It was never my fault that I was hit, chewed up and pinned-

Because in the end,

I’m still able to look back and say,

Thank you,

For those terrible, inspirational days.

Moonlight Madness

Sweet dreams are made from sober dazzling inseams,

Those seams were once clogged by cocaine fog.

Where are your words, little writer?

He taunted you; “aren’t you a fighter?”.

Has your magic pen run out of ink and power?

Or is it that your mind is in limbo,

Trying to figure out where to go.

Because I can no longer bear the tragedies from evil monsters,

Failed strategies and attempted mental catastrophes.

When I see my mind in a crowded room,

I want to dive in and zoom through.

Be a little loud,

Stand a little proud.

But oh,


There go the memories reminding me about those painful mental catastrophes.

Leaving me in a mental sinking sand lot.

I recently heard a song where I was told not to let my crown fall,

But cry if I must.

But I can’t cry,


Because how many times can you rewrite the same story?

Before it gets old and boring?

The girl who has eyes made of emeralds and sun ray teardrops that create the golden red ribbons of her hair.  

The emerald glass stained windows into her soul tells her struggles.

But that is not all she is.

A beautiful,




That has been blessed enough with the riches of life;

Not her fault she’s played in Satan’s strife;

But she saved her own life.

And while prince charming is still on the horizon,

I see him in my dreams-

And we make the most glorious team.

We save the world to make the one we want




That has us laying out under an island moonlight.

Can you grip me that tight?

The way you move my hair from my eyes, feels so right.

Make my body and mind feel so light.

Making love under the covers of the night-


You are in reality.

Your tears want to come streaming,

But you choose to scream internally.

Because of how many times you have repeated your bullshit verbally,


Nobody wants that.

Why do I feel so lost?

Because sometimes being so gifted,

Is an opportunity cost.

I’d like to lead my life like the boss,

I am.






Try me,

I need it,

My time,


Not everything in life is cookies and sunshine;

I have jaded summertime memories,

Faded nightmares from past Decembers,

Broken windows that make me tremor,

That haunt me every night and force me to


All the dispare.

In 2011 I was

Once a virgin angel who fell from


But thanks to my strong mentality,

I turn my reality


Into a worldly heaven.

Never Meant For California

You were drawn to me,

Pretty and smart,

You once,

Multiple times,

called me,


Work of art.

I met you in California,

We both know this state is,

And never,


Home for ya.

I told you that my heart was frozen over.

But that I could still be your lover.

We both sing that lyric of not being able to afford that Rover, and tattoo on someone’s shoulder.

But then I just had to roll over,

Because of the ONE my frozen,


heart took over.

I am so sorry.

My heart is still frozen over,

Maybe forever,

Because I wasn’t used not being run through the gravel.

I miss the miles I used to travel.

It was my choices that had us unravel.





I’ve been going through phases,

Rewriting phrases,

Mentally running through messed up, terrifying, excruciating,






You haven’t seen my new faces,

Because you’ve been happily busy,

And I’m happy for you,

Cause I feel like all I did was screw,




This is not the first time I have written about your valuable time;

It’s just the only piece that isn’t in ripped up pieces.

My body was laid out for a willing sacrifice.

Almost three weeks,

I haven’t felt human.

I’m a robotic device.





You had to leave.

For four days all I did was weep and feel the physical pain settle,

Into every inch of me.




I met you in California,

This poem probably sounds so familiar.

I wake up again,

Every night,

Drenched in my nightmare tears,

Sweat and regret.

Taking practice not to talk to you about my frets.

Because I am forever in your debt.

You know I don’t regret,

Any choice of mine,

But that one, two, three…

Speaking for myself,

Though this repent is genuine,

Those verbals and labels that I’m still trying to tell myself I am not,

Left me and my confidence,


to rot.

It was a lot.

I was ready to let my body and soul just drop.

But I can’t ‘rightfully’ say that,

Because what I did,

Hit you like a baseball bat.




This was scarring to not only you,

But me too.

But you saw some value,

For knowing each other,





Did not get,

Sucked out.

You think I have no clue of what I put you through,

Oh darling,

I do.

Still sorry.

But you don’t know the pain I endured, because I kept it from you.

So take a note;

Because you don’t know how my skin bled,

Like the ink from my powerful pen.

That though mistakes were made on my end,

I feel like you will never hear me when if or when I ever try to tell you,

That those earlier mentioned verbals,

Made my already difficult healing process,

Get shot through,



Of sleepless nights.

I don’t expect this poem to make it right,

But something you still and have always admired in me,






Though I will admit someone as strong as me,




The light left in me,

Left me my ability,

That is mutually still admired,

To write.

I hope-



Find a way to make this 110%


Because I feel like you don’t see the way I’ve had to fight,

The bite,

That was taken from me,



This isn’t metaphysics,

My feelings are as real as the laws of


My limits,

Were challenged and push,

From those verbals I so rightfully deserved and took.







I’m so sorry.

Breaking The Habit

When do you honestly like yourself the most?  And when I say, “the most,” I am not just referring to a fun night, that is now a memory on your Instagram. Nor something of substance, or instant gratification of any sort. What is it in life that comes from yourself, that makes you like, or even better, LOVE yourself? Trust me, my readers, I do know, far too well, what it is like to be lost in substance and fast good feelings. Chained to addiction and depression. I am told very often that I am strong, for overcoming my self-inflicted struggles, as well as the ones that were forced upon me- I do not believe that it takes any certain soul, strength or psyche- to break the habit.

Genetics is an unfair gambling game. In the life you live, you can make your own choices- but you cannot choose what you look like, who your family is, or whether or not you’ll develop Huntington’s. Unfortunately winning the “addiction gene” is another attribute we cannot dispute. Though there is no official biological addiction gene- as surgeon Dr. Glen Hansone quotes:

“Just because you are prone to addiction doesn’t mean you’re going to become addicted. It just means you have to be more careful”.

The term heritability now comes into context. It plays a role in what makes us individual as people: the term phenotype is defined as our physical and biochemical appearance. The second function is two more or less describe our personality traits and what makes us, us. Genetic variation: both physically and mentally.  Well, thanks to my mystery of a biological mother, my genetic code happen to win the addiction gene, on many counts. Uppers, downers- you name it, mama probably did it. Including her early days of being pregnant with me; and coping with the adoption, by drinking.

No human needs a  specific gene to be able to fall into the toxic, yet temporarily sensational release that is- not being sober. No human needs a specific gene to be able to catch on that playing with toxic temptations to numb or forget up treacherous, traumatic event- feels so arousing. Almost comforting. This usually takes place when there is a lack of support, that isn’t attempting to help mend together a new void.

I speak of this topic today; in an informative voice. That is a world of choices, be reminded that you are the one who makes them, and who chooses to learn from them after. Addiction is a little harder to grow from, than a bad day or event. Addiction is another part of you. He or she are made up of broken atoms from atomic bombs thrown unwillingly into your life. A quantum ghost of yourself. As someone who speaks empathetically on this topic, during my dark times, I was intrigued to get to know this drug addicted duplicate side of me. I thought she at one point made me a good writer; I thought she made me a “bad-ass.” Nearly a year; and I still hear the ringing in my ears that would pierce my skull as I would sit at my desk, lining up in preparation for another test. I always had a gram, rarely ever less. Addiction left me a mistress to constant emotional and physical distress. I thought I could never fit into that black dress… The biggest test that got me out of my mess was telling myself “I deserve better than this.”  

Humans do hold some capability to redefine their genetic codes. Though there are some things in some of us (Like Huntington’s) that we have to carefully decide how we will make our lives (if one WANTS too) worth living. I thought I liked myself best when I wasn’t sober. I’d be me, but more lively, witty. But highs never last, natural or not. All of us all crash.  Shortly I would find myself in a mental cage, temples throbbing my regretful and painful choices- all for what? Towards the end of using I would sit and stare at nothing. Hoping that words would flush through me, just as Dopamine would flush my receptors, each time I picked up that plastic scepter.

Breaking my habit was like racking up broken and torn fall leaves. That would so shortly, put my mind at ease. I could sleep again. Eat again, live again. Eventually, gain confidence with every pound I put back onto my 60 pound something frame. That day came because I choose it too. You don’t need to look for who will do that for you; you can’t always have someone there. Even when you are in what feels like the darkest mental lair that you so dared to explore. Realizing that the night before only left my body and brain sore.

Though I am more susceptible to develop an addiction and did, does not mean by any means the lucky ones whose odds of addiction are lined up higher than mine- you won’t get addicted. Addiction always turns physical but starts as mental. Convincing yourself that the cotton-mouth conversations, will next day be realized as a train you’ll never see again leave the station. I found creation once I got past my deadly white temptations. A permanent, content, mental vacation. It’s never too late to find out how you honestly like yourself.


Today I came out from a haze

It was a Sunday.


I know my wildfire persona has been tamed

But I have never laid in my bed


In pain


Feeling absolutely mundane.


Being as low and hallow


But still acknowledged and admired.


Like the momentary nostalgia and comfort on a fall day;


The array of leaves that would blow and accentuate my slightly








Small strong and physical


My beautiful red hair.

All the fall leaves blow away.


And her beauty


Conjured from forever mysteryness baby book faces.

I wonder the places I would have gone,


If had never been hit, tossed around,


Like a ping pong ball.


But I choose to fall back on the memories that light up the emerald stars that are my eyes.


Which are not a mystery to me.

A Message of Worldly Awareness

The world is crying in fear.

For there is a “man”

In office,

Who hates:






How weird,

That humanity would vote in an asshole and consent to all this

I * N * S * A * N * I * T * Y

But really,

What the fuck?

The world is being shaped to be about how much luck one is born within the color of their skin.

Is this really the world we want to raise children in?

I can’t believe there are still “people” who won’t give human kindness,

Life, we- aren’t supposed to be,

Like this.

Who gives a fuck if a mother feeds her new born,

That doesn’t mean shes whorin.

Stop torturing people with words or hateful actions,

Just because they are foreign.

What happened to my rights to birth control?

This bastard really started on a bad roll.

Any ma-


That demands to be called sir and fucks with my- our rights,

Is far from a gentlemen.

Am I,




Really killing if we chose to have an abortion?

A fetus for any woman takes a great amount of our life’s portion.

And if we aren’t ready for it then it feels like we’re drowning in an ocean of

No support and confusion.

I think the most disgusting part that I have witnessed,

is a white man who spat poison to a Muslim,

Screaming he deserves to be in prison with the “rest of them”.

Fucking lame.

Life is a game, but if the choices we make,

Make us who we are;

I say, produce shining stars,

Don’t fall out of the sky.

Lets get out of this jaded prism,

And let some light in.

I don’t believe in the violence,




There is nothing productive about harsh lightening.


It is,


But lets delegate.

Fuck any man who expects me to be in the kitchen with his dinner plate.

I’m getting as many degrees as I please.

My intelligence is beyond all of this.

My voice is bait to put an end to all of this,

H * A * T * E.


Let’s look at this worldly,

We all,






So why try and squash a part of humanity,

Fight fire with awareness and love.

We all feel as though the weight of the Earth and

Some days,


Is on our shoulders.

We can make sure the world doesn’t get any colder.

So lets change it.

Instead of blocking opportunity

with bullshit blocking boulders.