How to Live Forever

Start your day with a glass of sunshine, to keep away the wrinkles. Then go for a run while your everything-will-be-okay playlist fills your ears. Take deep breaths of the morning, inhaling all the possibilities. Then take a shower. Wash your hair with hope, and don’t forget to condition with confidence. Get dressed in your favorite outfit, the one that brings out your eyes.

Go for a walk through town, smiling at everyone. Tell your secrets to a kind stranger. Thank her for listening, and give her a five minute hug. As you walk away, realize she is now your friend. Laugh at things you’re afraid of. Dance with that person you’ve always had your eye on, but do not fall in love.

For lunch have a big bowl of beautiful. Then find a jungle gym full of children and play with them. Swim in the ocean and listen to the whales sing. Play their sorrowful song on the piano when you go home, and shed only one tear.

Invite your entire family over for dinner. Cook them your specialty, and graciously accept all of their compliments. Then have a miracle for dessert. When the time comes, wish your family safe journeys home, and tell them you love love love them. Unlike you, they may not live to see tomorrow.

End your day with a glass of moonbeams, to ensure the sweetest of dreams. Rest your head on your pillow of peace. Let your imagination drift where it may, like when a child releases a balloon. Repeat for eternity.

He Is a Widow’s Peak

He is a widow’s peak.

He is San Francisco.

He is a pearl necklace with a diamond clasp.

He is a glass of wine at dinner, every single night.

He is the best mashed potatoes in the world.

He is a little red truck.

He is stupid jokes that only I laugh at.

He is popcorn at midnight.

He is a child at heart.

He is my best friend.

Do You Ever Dream of Better Things? 

Do you ever dream of better things?

I do all the time.

I dream of sparkling cities & glorious wings

of angels who are kind.


I do all the time.

I imagine happy days in beautiful places

of angels who are kind,

where love could be contagious.


I imagine happy days in beautiful places

far away, where no one knows me,

where love could be contagious,

where hate doesn’t roam free.


Far away, where no one knows me,

I could be someone amazing.

Where hate doesn’t roam free,

I could be someone worth saving.


I could be someone amazing.

I dream of sparkling cities & glorious wings.

I could be someone worth saving.

Do you ever dream of better things?

Straight Trade

So this is what happened. I met a girl. She was waaayyy hot. And she loved street racing. So I spent all the money I had to buy a Honda Civic and take her for rides whenever she wanted. It seemed like she was happy. I thought everything was good.

Then out of nowhere she dumped me last week. Said she met a guy with a Nissan Skyline. So I need to get rid of my stupid car. I never liked racing anyway. It scared my mom. She said it was dangerous. She was right. I’ve never been so hurt.

I miss surfing. That was my first love. Before that girl showed up and ruined my life, that was what I did. All day, every day. So I need a truck. Any truck. ASAP. Straight trade.

A List

It’s not because you would rather surf than do your homework.

It’s not because you made me pay every time we went out.

It’s not because you incessantly insulted my friends.

It’s not because you never stuck up for me with your family.

It’s not because you crashed my father’s car.

It’s not because you cheated on me repeatedly without any standards.

& it’s not because you lied to my face when I already knew the truth.


It’s because I’m meant for more than empty words and tear-stained pillows.

It’s because I’m tired of settling for someone who quits before he even tries.

& it’s because I’m ready to be happy again.

A Limerick

I once met a girl from the moon.

Every day she would make a typhoon.

But when it was dark,

She dreamt of a shark;

That alien girl from the moon.

In My Hand

I lie on my back in the grass of my yard during the summer. The days are gorgeous, with colors so vibrant, they’re blinding. I wear my sunglasses as I watch the clouds. Some are thick puffs of cotton, surely more comfortable than my pillows. Others are wispy feathers, dancing, drifting, and disappearing. I can’t help looking up at them and dreaming about flying. I see a picture of a sailboat forming, but the wind is strong, and it’s blown off course, getting lost in the sea of the sky, and being replaced by a dragon. Clouds don’t last, but they’re always there.

I adore doing this; gazing at the ocean above and basking in the summer breeze I can feel but never hold in my hand.

Throw and Tell

It’s funny how dramatic things in our lives seem to happen in slow motion. It kind of makes you wonder, do they really happen that way? Or is that just how we remember them? When I was in kindergarten, we had show and tell every week. You know how it goes. A student brings in something from home and talks about it. One day, a boy brought in a blue robin’s egg that he had found in a tree at his house. We were sitting on the grainy carpet in the classroom and he passed the egg around. Like, seriously? We’re five years old. You don’t give five year olds an egg to touch and hold and hand off to each other. That was mistake number one.

One of my classmates, who was also my cousin, sat next to me in the back row. When it came to him, he looked at it for a brief moment and then instead of handing me the egg gently like anyone else would, he tossed it to me, like a ball. That was mistake number two.

I’ll be the first to admit that I have very poor hand-eye coordination. I tried my best to reach up and catch the egg, and I did, but I also ended up crushing it in my hand and drenching myself in yolk. That was mistake number three, and that is the moment I recall in slow motion. The sky oval in the air right before it cracked in my grasp. Then I felt the crunched shell between my fingers, and the cold, wet substance oozing down my face and seeping into my clothes.

I heard the boy start crying. Then I saw his best friend fixing me with an I-will-kill-you stare from across the room, as if it was entirely my fault, and I had done it on purpose. Hadn’t anyone seen my cousin throw the egg at me? How could I be the only one to blame?

The boy couldn’t control his sobs and his best friend wouldn’t stop glaring at me, and I swear my cousin was laughing. I don’t remember going to clean myself up, but I do remember the boy’s tears and his grief, and I can understand why, through his eyes, I looked like a murderer. It’s true that accidents happen, but that explanation is never enough.

This is a Poem that…

This is a poem that drowns

in the truth;

that sinks to the bottom

because it can’t swim,

because it never wanted to learn.

And when regret reaches your shore

it feels like the surf, dragging you in, pulling you under, and slamming you into the reef.

This is the poem that begs for second chances

from the depths of the ocean

like a singing whale you can’t understand.

My Favorite Place

The Old Lahaina Luau is my favorite place to be. Here I can see colorful drinks as mysterious as magic potions, beautiful dancers as talented as Beyonce, and swaying trees as lazy as Bruno. I can hear repetitive questions that are comforting rather than irritating, blistering profanity that I can’t help but shy away from, and boisterous laughter I always join in on. I can feel feathery leis swinging on my wrist, squishy food I slop, and suffocating heat all around while I greet. I can see, I can hear, I can feel, in my favorite place, the Old Lahaina Luau.


Peter Panda

I had a panda that made me smile.

He was silly like a child.

I named him Peter, as in Pan.

And we stayed young, hand in hand.


D is for Dead

 I’m sorry I punched your face,

but you broke my best friend’s heart.

I wasn’t joking when I told you

I’d finish what you start.


Consider yourself lucky

that I only crushed your nose.

If I’d had it my way

you’d be missing all your toes.


Green with Envy

“Will you be my wife?”

Funny how five words can change your life.

The man waited patiently for the woman to arrive at their favorite place, which happened to be the most expensive restaurant in town. It was New Year’s Eve, and he was nervous, but excited for the proposal. It had been too long since he had done anything romantic for her because he was very busy with his environmental work, planting trees. Things were slow right now, though, because it was winter, making it the perfect time to pop the question.

Just then, in a swirl of snow, the woman breezed through the door and the host took her scarlet coat. She thanked him, and then searched the restaurant for the man she was meeting. Heads turned and eyes lingered as she walked to the table where he sat.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said warmly, kissing her cheek as he pulled out her chair.

“Hello,” she answered softly, avoiding his gaze as she took her seat. The man returned to

his place across from her and reached for her hands but she drew back, folding hers in her lap.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, leaning forward, concern saturating his voice.

 “No,” the woman murmured, still refusing to look at him. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and then said in a stronger voice, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

The man frowned, confused. They did not keep secrets from each other. Without blinking her glorious green eyes, the woman destroyed his world in five words.

“I burned down your forest.”

When the man finally grasped this, he felt as if she had actually stabbed him in the heart. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe; he wanted to die. It had been her? All those months of investigating and it had been this woman right in front of him, the one he thought he knew.

“You loved those trees more than you loved me,” she said miserably, but her sadness was nothing compared to his overwhelming grief. He pulled the emerald ring from his pocket, the one that perfectly matched her eyes, and held it up so she could see it.

“I never loved anything more than I loved you,” the man said, fighting to keep his voice from wavering. “Those trees were for you. For us. For the better world we were supposed to be building together.”

The woman gasped, realizing his intent and her mistake. The man shook his head, dropping the ring back into his pocket.

“Now I see that you are too selfish to ever truly support what I am trying to accomplish,” he said. He stood up and left without looking back.

The woman watched him go, feeling like a blind girl finally being able to see. The man’s words resonated within her, in the place where her heart should have been.

“Those trees were for you.”

Funny how five words can change your life.


My Date with Defiance

He had small feet, but I agreed to go out with him anyway. When he refused to tell me where he was taking me, insisting it be a surprise, I gave him my one condition.

“I don’t do heights,” I said. He laughed, as if I was joking, which I wasn’t.

“I’ll pick you up at noon,” he said easily.

This was convenient, because I usually slept in. I woke up at eleven the next day and pulled on my favorite pair of jeans, which seemed appropriate for a mystery lunch date. He picked me up promptly at twelve in his black ’97 lifted Tacoma. I hopped in, curious and smiling, until we reached our destination. We pulled up to a field full of colorful hot air balloons. I turned to look at him, disgusted.

“Were you not listening when I said I don’t do heights?” I hissed through clenched teeth. He sighed, avoiding my death stare.

“Of course I was listening,” he said calmly.

“Oh, so then you purposely decided on doing the one thing I specifically said I wouldn’t?” I demanded incredulously.

He sighed again, rolling up his right sleeve to reveal a tattoo on his forearm that read in neat block letters, I DON’T DO HEIGHTS.

I frowned, confused.

“On my twenty-first birthday I went to Vegas with a bunch of my buddies and got pretty messed up,” he explained. “Back then I was kind of a coward, too. I don’t know why I would get a tattoo that reminded me of this fact, but like I said, I was pretty messed up.”

Did he just call me a coward?

“Anyway,” he continued, oblivious that he may have insulted me, “my mom was pissed that I would do something so stupid. She was swearing at me in German and then she went and bought me about a hundred long sleeved shirts. After that calmed her down some, she told me a proverb that her father told her when she was young.”

He pulled off the shirt he was wearing, and I couldn’t help noticing his broad shoulders and firm pectorals. He twisted his body so that his back was to me and I saw another tattoo, this one in thick script across his shoulder blades; Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is.

“I got that one on my twenty-second birthday,” he said, turning around to face me, “right after I went skydiving for the first time.” He smiled warmly. “I figured I’d take it slow with you, though.”

It was hard to believe that someone like him could have ever started out as someone like me. And yet the proof was right there, close enough to touch.

“It’s not so scary when you’re up there,” he said softly. “It’s actually quite beautiful.”

I took in his ocean eyes and golden skin and whispered, “I believe you,” accepting the challenge of the balloon that was my wolf, so much smaller than I’d thought.


Stormy Story

 My writing is like a storm: 

unpredictable, unstoppable. 


 My words rain down, whip around… 

hiding is impossible. 


My voice knows not what limits are. 

I am sorely lacking guidance. 


Eventually I run my course 

and am reduced to silence. 


My Writing Philosophy

 Writing is a way of sharing things that cannot be said out loud. 








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