Note to Self

You bottle up your emotions
Like liquor on a shelf
To drown yourself in
When the world is too much

Photo Credit to Pexels

Note: I recommend the Moodnotes and Pacifica apps, but there are many helpful ones out there. It might take a while to find one that you like and can use regularly, but it’s so worth it.



Let’s build a little
matchstick house
and burn it down together,
let the flames warm the world
as we walk on ashes
and charcoal words.

Silence doesn’t burn,
my dear.

Let’s dance in the fire storm,
crackling and sizzling
as everyone watches
and they will see
we are embers.

Photo credit to Pexels.

Note: I hope you all have a great New Years Eve if you’re celebrating now or later tonight. Happy New Year to those who live further from me.


The cup is half-full, half-finished, half-empty:
I still have a long way to go.
Unpleasant demons unsettle the dreams,
Coating the sweet glasses with bitter rime.
I do not feel fear or anticipation,
But I know when I see the end,
I will see a beginning of me.

Painting: “Crossing the Dnieper Gogol” by Anton Ivanovich Ivanov

She Says She Is a Scientist (Snippet 2)

One Word Memories
(“Infatuated. Infuriated. Befuddled.”)

She sips the tea, taking in the warmth and scent of jasmine and vanilla. They sit in companionable silence by the fire, drinking tea and planning experiments that could shift the balance of their world.

Is it possible to be entranced by the way someone can hold a tray of samples so carefully and steadily, even at the wee hours of the morning? Ingrid wonders this as she watches Temerio over the top of her notebook, looking away when he catches her eyes.

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The Old Ones (Snippet 1)

“They love us. They believe in us again. Never in the past millennia have I felt so powerful,” said Morrigan. “I feel the New Ways weakening, the youth turning away from it, or turning back to the Old Ways. My children will not have died for nothing.”

“But I still think we ought to show kindness to the followers of the New Ways,” warned Brigid, her red hair glowing in the candlelight. “They are still powerful, and they’ve merged with our people and faith in many ways. It seems foolish to encourage more division.”

“Ah yes, play nice,” Morrigan said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Let’s all pretend there’s no hatred, no fear dividing us already. Well, that’s easy for you to say, Saint Brigid.” She practically spat the Christian title. “They adopted you, cast my sisters out, put my children to the sword and burned them alive.”

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She tells me I’m remembering wrong
That it’s a story she told once
A half-woken dream on a dark night
That it’s wisps of smoke and shadows

“Saint George and that dragon, depression,”
She joked with me just yesterday
“Seven strange and ghostly demons of the mind.”

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