My Poetry!


Laying and waiting impatiently

for something to pull you under, for the darkness.

In order to get through the day full of restlessness,

You have to accept peace of mind and let sleep over shadow

Your worries and become your area of comfort.


But the contentment of being wrapped up in your blankets

Isn’t enough when the clock strikes one

and the restlessness comes back.

You add another blanket as a wave of chills wash over

Only to realize it’s too hot for an extra blanket.

Tossing the blanket off and turning to the side.

Everything from the day replays,

That awkward moment you said thank you instead of you’re welcome,

When you open a door and someone is already standing in the way,

And the struggle to pay attention in class as your mind wonders.

The thought of the homework you could be catching up on instead

of laying here doing nothing makes you feel like you’ve accomplished nothing.

Dreams you wish for fill you head and random thoughts

of the potential future float around aimlessly.

Everything that shouldn’t be running through your head

haunts you as you try to squeeze your eyes close.

What else does one think of beside homework,

plans for tomorrow, and the that one test that still hasn’t been graded?

What about the lunch plans for tomorrow

or are they going to be cancel at the last minute again?

These forces keep you awake.

until finally you find peace in the darkness,

Only to hear –beep beep- the alarm clock

Bringing you out of the darkness and into a new day.

A new day that will bring the same sleepless night.



White crisp pages, no wrinkles or tears

At least not yet anyways.

Your touch can be firm and murderous

Yet genital as if I was a baby not yet aware of the world

Soon I am overwhelmed,

Color and leftover shreds of new beginnings

fill up every crevice,

But what really gets me is the way I transform.

Your hand glides across my surface making the connection between us never-ending.

After shapes form and come together I understand that I now possess an eye

But the eye holds more within the blank stare and you’re not satisfied. I’m torn.

I feel as though I am broken­­—

Shattered as if I was a bottle made of glass,

So fragile nothing can touch me without me falling apart.

But I pull it together, I start over,

erased are old broken lines that seem too abstract to be a building or a tree.

That one movie scene from that cartoon you love is slowing being pieced together.

Instead of turning me over, a piece of me is place inside a folder.

Times such as this, makes it feel as though a piece of my body

and soul is ripped apart and tossed to the side,

But I begin to realize—

Realize that even though I’m ripped and broken,

A new page appears ready to uphold a version of you,

the version only I can see.

To the world you’re just an empty soul with a heart that’s so dark,

that it’s almost too cold and hard as stone.

But I know.

I know that deep down

is a heart too fragile and scared to open up and I’m the only one who can understand.

I just want to understand what you see,

What you feel,

What you think,

And create a world with only us in it.



Like a leaf

We start off green, vibrant, and hopeful.

The veins running through represent

a memory, branching out and creeping toward the top,

coming together to help keep us alive.

Surrounding ourselves with family and friends,

only to drift apart from them

to become the person, we were meant to be.

With the seasons passing, our time slowly decreases.


Changing color from a vibrant green,

it becomes orange so deep it drags you into an abyss

or a red so dark it looks as if its bleeding and calling for help.

Holding on to everything and trying to make it last.

Descending into a depressed state it slowly releases its hold—

falling to the ground with little life left.


The leaf goes and decays

with the life pulled out of every crevice

it sinks deeper into the ground to help the surrounding plants grow.

We grow and slowly become old and wise

sinking deeper into the person we want or need,

Yet we pull it together in the end to be someone they may need.


Avoiding Homework.

The calendar says it’s November, yet I can’t grasp

the feeling that this year was supposed to be more exciting.

I’m not sure if I’m willing to do something as extreme as a random road trip.

My fear of the unknown keeps me from driving,

let alone going somewhere I’ve never been.

That doesn’t I don’t want to travel.

I want to go and try food from different places.

I wonder if those brownies are still in the kitchen.

Maybe I was meant to learn something new.

I always wanted to learn how to be more social,

but that’s scary considering my shy and quiet personality.

Talking in class gives me an anxiety attack.

What if people notice when I mispronounce simple words,

because my accent. I never noticed until my friends pointed it out.

I turn twenty-one this year, and I still don’t understand

how I made it this far in life. Why can’t I remember more

of my childhood? Where did it all go?

Now, I’m in college. I guess mom was right about holding

on to the memories we make in high school.

But all I remember is getting chased by the cops,

Because my friend talked me into throwing toilet paper on our teacher’s house.

We drove into the woods, but the cop saw us and let us off with a warning.

Some friends they were, I freaked out and they laughed at me.

I only talk to one person from high school, maybe I should message her.

She might be asleep or working late.

I need a job. I’ll look for job openings later.

I think I’ll go see if those brownies are still in the kitchen.



It seems like I’m always showing little emotion

If I was to change, I don’t think it would be a match.

As I sit here I realized I remain broken.


I wished I wasn’t drowning in this ocean.

My anxiety is so strong it will only attach

to small range of emotion.


One day every feeling will come out in an explosion

The hole would be too big to be mended by a patch.

I’m just too broken,


nothing can pierce through my heart frozen,

yet the smallest scratch

makes me realize I can feel a little emotion.


Although there are days I have a notion,

and I suddenly I latch

onto this feeling of being broken.


I can’t help but feel as though I was chosen,

to make feel a little detach

from understanding why they show little emotion.

And I realize that maybe I am not broken.



College Life: My Upcoming Year

College Life: My Upcoming Year

As most of you know, I am now a junior at Auburn University. I major in English- Creative Writing and minor in art. (For more on my major and minor click  here.) This year is going to be a whole different experience. I am finally going to adult, and by adult I mean I will be living in an apartment. I am not happy to be paying bills, but I’m excited to be in an apartment with friends. I see this going well so far. Nothing can truly prepare you for what’s to come, but I think this year will be one to remember.


I am taking a ton of core classes this upcoming fall semester.I am finally past math, science, and history and I finish up my last required Liberal Arts classes this fall. This is exciting because it means I am almost done with my degree. I hope to graduate next year, but I am not sure exactly what year I will graduate. I am taking six classes which will give me the full 18 hours allowed at Auburn. I will be stressed considering I expect to write an essay in every class except for my advanced drawing class. Other than the mindless essays, I’m excited about all my classes. The two classes I expect to stress out in the most is my art and mythology course. I’m way better at sketching than painting, so I’m excited to take a step back from the paints for a while and do something I love. My core creative class this semester is Poetry 1. Poetry is not my strongest form of writing, but I have a few poems I enjoyed from Intro to Creative Writing. (I might upload some later along with some of my new works.) All my other classes are basics that are needed or electives.  I am wanting to join a few clubs to not only build my resume but to help me on my career path. I have a few clubs picked out that I want to go check out. I can only hope for the best.


As I mentioned in the intro, I am happy to have an apartment with my friends. I’m not sure what I would’ve done in the dorms for another year. It’s not that I don’t love the people in the dorms, but I’m so glad to have my own room. (A luxury I’ve missed for years now.) Through my dorm experience last year, I met my roommates for this year. I’m glad I met such great people to live with. I see many adventures and late nights in our future. The thing I’m most excited about is getting a book case, painting it, and filling it with all my books. We have a kitchen rather than just a microwave and I am too happy about it. We  even live within a mile of campus and have a tennis court in the complex. I know I’m amazed over the simple things, but I’m happy about this. It’s safe to say that the apartment will be a new experience for all of us.


I do have a little side job working with the school. It’s around my schedule and isn’t stressful. I am happy to be able to continue with it. I want to look for a part-time job, but I’m scared I won’t have time to fully focus on my academics. I know my class load is a lot and I truly hope everything will work out for the best. Only time will tell.


It’s safe to say, I’m ready and excited for this upcoming school year. I am hoping for a great football season (War Eagle!) I know these past few years have been rough, but I have faith that we will surprise everyone this year. Everything should go as planned this year, and trust me I have planned it. I can only wish everyone good luck with the upcoming school year.










Connecting Art and Writing

Connecting Art and Writing

Being a Creative Writing Major with Studio Art as a minor helps me try to come up with things others originally wouldn’t. I try to come up with things that could be looked at from a different view. It gives me more of an open mind about incorporating art to my stories. I have a bad habit of trying to paint pictures by giving way too much details within my writing and I have been told to cut straight to the point many times. In art, I have this obsession with everything being perfect and in art things don’t have to be perfect. As an artist, I see this as a method of presentation to help the viewer follow the story I might want to show. It really puts the whole show don’t tell method to great use literally. In art, we are presented an image and have to come up with the story ourselves, and in writings we are given the story and have to picture it. I want to try and mix both art and writing together to find the balance of each.

There are different types of writing that I have worked with such as fiction, non-fiction, creative non-fiction, and poetry.  I think my own poetry is about how I feel at the moment. I never really write poetry, but when I do it’s normally about a certain feeling I want to convey within imagery. I think poetry conveys more of the dark side of literature to express those feelings of emptiness in a short and quick way unlike short stories. Poetry doesn’t necessarily need structure, but stories need a beginning middle and end to convey the message. In creative writing, I feel as though my works turn dark even if I want to have something merry happen. I prefer to write short stories because they do need more time to develop, but poetry is something I feel in the moment. I’m not sure how my short stories turn out dark, but as they progress all my ideas come together in a more twisted way than they were meant to. It’s a process that has to come together over time. Poetry does take time and needs editing and can have everything that a short story does, but when I write it’s more of a spur of the moment thing. I just think it’s neat how writings can take over and become what they want. Everything just has a way of flowing together. Poetry is my way to express quick thoughts and emotions, but short stories and even trying to come up with novel ideas are where most of the time and patience comes in making it more challenging.

Writing for me is a great way to put into words what I see in the moment. I tend to have an over active imagination that comes to life in the weirdest ways. Art to me is something that takes time to prepare an image and execute it the way I want it. Writing is a quick release that comes naturally. In high school, I was always the artist trying to doodle and draw simple things in class, but after a while I knew doodling wasn’t something that I could take. It was imperfect and I was never able to draw it the  way I pictured it in my head. Over time, I realized I was able to create the perfect image through words. Now I will be the first to say, I’m not a prefect writer and my grammar is constantly being improved, but that doesn’t mean I won’t work hard to make sure my writing is the best it can be. Every time I write, I go through at least three times to make sure everything is correct, but even then I know there are mistakes and things that could be better. However, my art is different. I work hard on every piece for at least two weeks. It takes a while to make everything as it should be and even then I fix it piece by piece if I see a mistake. Fixing my art is easy because it’s just what I see and how I feel about it. Writing takes a lot more effort, but personally that’s what makes it fun.