Dear Someone XXXVI

Dear Someone,

I want a new main character in young adult fiction.

One who doesn’t fall in love.

One who deals with bullies, and the worst bully is herself.

She tries to be everything everyone wants her to be, and crumbles more and more ever day.

You see it throughout the book. Her thought process.

She starts on top. Yet–page by page, negative connotations and anxiety, take you on the journey of her mind.

And, by the end she’s sitting in the ruins of her life.

She wonders how she got her, and she wants to blame everyone else.

But–you know.

It was her.












Dear Someone VI

Dear Someone,

I’m writing story, and I’d like to share some of it…here goes nothing:


“Someday, we’ll be angels, right now we should be human. Hurt and cracked but a beautiful flawed.” I mumble Haze’s words under my breath. Lance glances over at me.

“My best friend said that,” I say louder.

“What was she like?” He asks.

“She was broken, but she didn’t ever fix herself. She fixed everyone else, she didn’t believe in a happy endings or fairytales. She believed in making the best of reality, even though it is cruel and unjust. She liked indie rock, but not because she wanted to be different but because it spoke to her and told her stories.

She enjoyed philosophy and psychology, but didn’t believe in philosophers and psychologists, they were the evil strain who tried to structure and reason to human beings. Put science behind our actions. She used to say that the science of the human mind was created to make sense of things that weren’t supposed to make sense. She said people wanted categories to feel as if they belong somewhere, but really we all belong to each other and no one belongs in any one place.”

I stop and look over at him.

“How-how did she die?” He wondered.

“She got ran over. She ran out of life. Not because she wanted to or she wanted to be selfish. I don’t think she was selfish, no—she was just tired. She rested her eyes.”

“She committed suicide?”

“No, it was an accident.” I say.

“How is that so? You said she ran out of life; that she wanted to rest.”

I thought about it more. “Haze did want to die.” I say, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. The city lights blurred and my heart hurt. “Sometimes, accidents are more than they seem.”

Accident. Or maybe, a slight of footing because of a rash thought or a flashback. She had drunk too much at the house, her father should have locked the whiskey in a cabinet. She thought to see me, handed her father a note, and headed towards my house. He should have told her to stay home. She tripped into the road, and then….

As she thought,

as she cried,

as she begun to get back up,

She thought, ‘what is life?’

‘What does death feel like?’

The car came.

She looked death in the face and realized it wasn’t her time so she moved,

but she was gone.

Excerpts 4

“Life seems a series of clips, from different movies people are creating. We’re all these actors and actresses, who get dressed up. We play our parts, but when the sun goes down, we all take off the stage makeup, to reveal our true identities. No one films that. That’s under wraps and cut out of sequences. Everyone thinks that the person next to them is perfect, because there are no flaws in the scene. They were erased.”

“And what about us?” I ask.

She looks at me, tilting her head as if to read my thoughts better. “I think—or at least sometimes—we are so real people don’t know what to do with us. Thus, the reason we’re never depicted as stars. No, we’re extras, that add some flavor every now and then.”

From a story I’m in the process of writing.

Dear Anne Shirley.

Dear Anne Shirley,

My book friend, how have you been? I picked you up again yesterday. Your book smells of morning dew and coffee stains.

You greeted me with a red haired, freckled, smile. You were on the bridge, talking about the colors of the sky and magic spells, and Gilbert was still bothering you about love.

I could lost in these pages any day.

Did I ever tell you, Anne of The Island is my favorite of your stories. When Gilbert leaves you, because you were so stupid. Good thing, fictional characters like you get happy endings. He could never move on, so of course he comes back.

Let me tell you…these things never happen in real life. Happy endings, are so rare to find, but I feel determined to die with one.

As you said once, ‘There’s another bend in the road after this. No one knows what will happen.’

I hold onto that; I always have since 5th grade.

I always find a gem when I pick you back up. Something I failed to see the last time, or that didn’t make sense.

You always reminded me of myself. Unhappy with the way you look, a vicious temper, day dreaming, trying to find the magic in every day things, and extremely prideful.  You hated it when Gilbert laughed at your seriousness.

Thank you, when I read your books, I feel like I can conquer the world.

Your real life friend,


you & I

you and I
cannot seem to get it right
no matter how hard we try

we fall in love
with those fickle boys
but yet inspiring
they keep breaking our hearts
and we swear off them
to find
we run back

we seem to dream
up ridiculous schemes
people worry about
how confused and scatter-brained
we are
it gets worse as we get older

we are crazy
immature girls
who giggle still
who believe in unicorns
who think hot coffee makes you look more intellectual

we have the words though
people are realizing
we’re more than a pretty faces
we have ideas as well

somehow the words
keep us together
keep us grounded
keep us going

so, I’m here to tell you
we don’t have to get it right
there is not a ‘right’ way
no matter the situation
so we should just keep trying

you might fall
I might fall
but I have you
and you have me
that’s all I need


“Dah-ling, you worry too much. He’s just not seen you yet, and when he does, he’ll realize what a huge mistake he’s making.”

I slam my hand onto the desk. “That’s just it Jene, what if—it’s not a mistake.” I look at her miserably as she sorts collectable pins. “What if, I just cannot see the good in her and the bad in him? What if I’ve been wasting my time?”

She looks at me, and smiles sadly. “Then, maybe it’s time to move on.”

I groan and my insides twist. “Jene, it’s not that simple. I have tried, really tried, but every single time without fail, I see him and every single wall comes crashing down.”

I trace the scratches on the counter. “If I could, I would be over him and dating someone. I would go to some college, or do something good in my life. But…here I am.”

An excerpt from my work-in-progress novel.

The Storm

She loves the calm before the storm.
When the wind-chimes sing their warnings,
And the rain slowly starts tumbling.
She sits on her driveway and watches,
Tilting her head up for the cleansing rains.
As the lightening begins,
To dance across the sky,
In flashes of irresistible fire,
She’s tempted to try and touch it.

People keep pulling her away,
But one day they won’t be around,
And she’ll perish,
Because she’s out too long,
And the real storm begins.
Drowned by the rain droplets,
Or burned beyond repair,
All of because she was,
Too curious for her own good,
Stupidity mistaken for bravery.

Can’t You ‘C’?

Chocolate hair.
Chapped lips.
Cheshire grin.
Cold hands.
Crystal tears.

Captivating appearance.
Careless decision.
Crawling towards love,
Clawing for her heart.
Consequences buried in the back of your mind.

Casual flirting.
Calm exterior, calamitous interior.
Catching her is a puzzle itself.
Caring for her is loving something wild.
Caging her is the final feat.

Constantly he asks for her to love him, to be his alone.
Courage he calls it, cowardly she calls it.
Chasing a wild thing, asking for her to be a captive.
Can you not see the flaws in your requests?
Clearly, not.

Crazy boy, clumsy with your words.
Choking on rejection.
Cocky and charming, you didn’t expect it.
Civil, cryptic and confusing, she will always be to you.
Crushing your heart; crumbling dreams of you and her.

Love Her

Scuffed heels, faded dress.

Frizzy hair, smeared lipstick.

You couldn’t careless.

Because you’re love sick.


You love that girl.

Why? No one knows.

Maybe it’s the way she dances and twirls.

Or the way she laughs, how she recites poetry and prose.


People can’t understand it.

Maybe it’s too magical for the ordinary eye.

Don’t let them get to you, don’t you dare quit.

For this love doesn’t deserve to die.


Fight your wars, but always come home,

Never purposely break your promises.

For better or for worse, whatever storms come.

Give her affection, hugs and kisses.


But boy, always remember the first day you met her.

How you felt like you could fly.

Because it will not always be easy, sometimes it will be bitter.

But never give up; and never say goodbye.