All of the sudden it's as if the earth seems dull. People walk the streets like clones in different outfits. They say the same things over and over, and yet, believe they are dreamers.

Nobody realizes they were bred to think that way. It's impossible to be born into liking pink or blue. We like the music we like because it's what we are aloud to hear. We watch the news because we want to stay informed. But are we really?

We all want to believe we decide who we are. But it's already been decided for us.

A battered topic many have discussed. It's been repeated so many times by the awoken, that it bleeds for truth. A truth we will never receive.


Resurrection II

It's funny. A little over two years ago, like clock work, a life altering event happened, causing me to turn back to writing. Then life happened, and I carried on as I always do, forgetting to keep up my creative habit.

But this time something changed. Suddenly the world doesn't seem so mysterious or full of wonder and inspiration. It's as if all of the questions I've ever asked myself were all answered when I came face to face with actual death.

Two years ago I thought to resurrect this blog because I was creating life. Now life itself has a whole new meaning to me.

On my mundane commute home from work, I unfortunately witnessed a young man, minutes after a motorcycle accident. I saw the officer kneel down and unfold a tiny blue towel, it seemed that was all anybody had at that moment, and cover this mans face. His arms laid strewn out on the road. It was odd, I could not look away, no matter how badly I wanted to. I didn't know it was possible for arms to look so lifeless. Now those arms will forever be burned into my memory like a lingering camera flash.

I'm sure many people have come face to face with death, in whatever circumstance, and have come to question our existence as a whole. For me, my everyday activities now seem pointless, boring, or frustrating.

Living for likes, trends, and middle class standards seem like a waste of something so precious and so beautiful. I thought I was awake to the world around me. But I couldn't have been more naïve.

"And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye." – Le Petit Prince


   It’s been a few years too long since my thoughts were recorded. A few too many days that have gone by without any recognition. A few too many questions left unanswered. The girl I was just a few years ago, should’ve known better than to think she knew anything at all. 

 All this time has passed by, so many things have changed. Life is a little less in the moment. Each day I am reminded that life is fragile. And it’s as if I was some kind of bull left to run wild in a china shop. I’ve made my fair share of mistakes in these few, very long, very dramatic years. I would like to believe that I have learned from them. But looking back on things now, it doesn’t seem like I’ve let myself grab on to the possibility of moving forward. 

 The grown up disease I’ve so regrettably caught, is now coursing threw my veins. I’ve tried hard to deny myself entrance into this boring world of debt, labor, and godawful misery. But as it seems, I am just like everyone else. I awake in the morning. I stress over the days good tidings. I kick my shoes off at night, and then I press repeat. 

 It’s okay though. I’m not the only one living in this montserous reality. 



She looked at him and he smiled.

They were young and free

driving on an old country road

with the cool breeze flooding into the windows

The roads were paved with leaves and sticks.

Trees hovered over the roads forming a tunnel of shade,

the sun pushing its way from behind the leaves

of the trees.

No sound. Just peace and innocence.

He wrote something on a piece of paper, folded it up and tucked it away in the palm of her hand.

He softly closed her fingers around the folded up note,

stepped out of the car

turned around

and walked away, never looking back.

She lightly kissed the note in her hand

turned her head

smiled to the sun

and woke up, never looking back.

I Hate Fake People

Just one question.

Why must you be so fake?

To what kind of satisfaction does that give you?

A grin from ear to ear,

is a mask in itself.

You’re just a liar in disguise.

You’re just a cheater in life.

Why must you be so fake?

If I am the friendly to your face,

Why do you tarnish my reputation behind my back?

If I do nothing but try to be kind,

Why do you resist my hospitality?

Is it the fact that you hate wonderful things?

You always seem so miserable drowning in self hate.

Why must you hate?

Did I hurt your feelings when I came back at you with the truth?

Do you not deserve the truth?

I did nothing wrong,

Is that why you hate me?

Why must you be so fake?

You must not trust yourself,

So is that why you don’t trust me?

If I were to laugh in your face,

And jump down your throat with ever word you spit,

Would you love me?


Why must you be so fake?

Killing with Karma

Have no fear

For I am here

To make right what was wrong

To bring light to this long-

and grueling complicated reality.

social catastrophe

Molecular anxiety

Society preaches peace and unity

But all we’ve done is built up immunity,

to love.

So let me show you the way

Bring it back-

Around to the imposture of fate

Ending with my blind date,

Of destiny

photo by:

Social Media Mixed Emotions



Beauty is skin deep.

Personality is stereotypical.

Your mind is a battlefield.

Your heart is a goldmine.

Your soul is ungrateful.

Your thoughts are unwilling.

Your tears are plastic.

The steps you took disappear with every step you take.

What you were is not what you are.

Your opinion does not matter.

Who are you?

What makes you special?


Image by *Zara.

If You’re an Artist

If you’re an artist than you already know exactly what I am going to inform the rest of the world about.

If you’re an artist, you see the world in a completely different way. What’s cool about that is, is art can come in many different forms other than a paper and paintbrush. You see, art can be much more than that. It could be in landscaping, films, music, photography, fashion, food, graffiti, architecture, anything at all creative.

The saying “creativity is key” really does mean just that. A true artist can make the best out of a crazy situation. They can take something that wasn’t and turn it into something that is.

An artist knows the world is beautiful, but not beautiful enough. They want to address the world with this gift, by expressing their inner self. A real artist doesn’t want to be famous, they don’t want the money. They just want to be herd by anybody really. It doesn’t matter who, or how many. It’s sharing their thoughts, dreams, and ideas with other people, and being able to communicate and have them understand. Because let’s face it, sometimes they don’t understand themselves.

An artist does it for the thrill. That adrenalin you get during a dinner rush, or when that painting finally gets finished after three years, or when that shoot went smoothly. You could never imagine. They do it because it’s a passion, it’s a different way of living.

Art can take you places. It’s everywhere. It’s just whether or not you can experience it like a true artist.

The Grown-Up Disease

I am sorry to say, but there just so happens to be a growing epidemic right in your very own town. Have you ever noticed that people are not quite as fun as they used to be? Or the fact that everything that used to entertain you has lost all of its luster?

Well you’re not the only one buddy. We’re all experiencing it here. This terrible fate that has bestowed itself on the human race just happens to be known as the Grown-Up Disease. It is so contagious that it has worked its way into our high schools, and in some cases middle and elementary schools as well.

This amoeba of boring lifelessness effects the mind, body, and sense of style. What was once adorable suddenly turns creepy and odd. Like playing on a jungle gym for instance.

When you’re young, a jungle gym is a colorful Mount Everest on crack. As you get older it turns into a fortress, then an extreme game of tag; soon the monkey bars seem to be the cool new hangout seat, and before you know it, its a rusty old workout that involves a lot of effort and head ducking.

Why has the world failed to inform children what adult life is really like?

When you’re younger you are told you can be anything you want to be. But they fail to tell you that, that dream of yours could potentially cost you your good credit, and maybe even your financial state. What they also fail to explain is that the entire world is nothing but a giant popularity contest, and if you know absolutely nobody important, you have a really low chance of making it somewhere in life.

You see, when you grow up, the color purple turns to violet. Your vocabulary changes, and you suddenly start speaking the language of boring. The word underwear no longer makes you laugh, it just reminds you of the dirty laundry piling in your bathroom, and then that reminds you that all of your work uniforms are dirty.

You hit the point where the presidential election is important to you and you look forward to waking up to a cup of coffee and the morning news. Is this really fun?

Or are we playing along with the stereotype of adult hood?

And It Begins

I never thought to start writing a blog. I never thought to write anything long and grueling at all actually. One does not just simply write unless they are told. But of course there is the occasional odd ball who enjoys the fun and effort of expressing ideas.

Not me. I hate writing. In fact, I didn’t even want to start a blog. But I was convinced. I fell for the pressure of my peers. Maybe it will be fun. Maybe someone will read this blog and think I am absolutely nuts.

I am absolutely nuts.

Worst comes to worst and I will just be writing to myself where it will be me in my own little world expressing my own ideas to myself. That couldn’t be all bad now could it? Ah… who cares. Point and fact is, social media and networking is a part of today’s culture. You must embrace the change just how I am. You can sit there and laugh and think… ah who cares what she has to say.

My importance is irrelevant to this blog, to the world, and especially to you.

Regardless, you have made it to the end of this post laughing hysterically at the useless conversation I might have just had with myself. Not only that…

you have been sucked into my world of unimaginative creative torture that I call writing, and I wish the best of luck to you.