We made it to Coronado Beach. John loved crossing the bridge. There was an overcast and I immediately thought, this would've looked more beautiful if the sun was out, hitting the water, making it glimmer. His eyes would've glowed brighter, I'm sure of it. We didn't hope for rain. We wanted warmth and soft ocean breeze. Nonetheless, we sought the 'perfect' beach day.

Lunch was filling-- lobster rolls and chowder-- ideal for the wind and clouds. We walked off the post-grub lethargy through residential streets and mooned over each home's individuality.

The sand was warm between our toes, which gave us hope. John took his walk a step further and ran along the shore. His physical stamina endlessly amuses me (as much as it excites me). My mind drifted to meditation; lured by the crashes of the waves. I usually get annoyed when sand sneaks into restricted areas and colonizes underneath my fingernails, but not today...

Soon enough the clouds passed over and took its chill with it. And here we are sun-bathing. Kismet. Good thing we only had SPF 55 to massage each other with. After our bellies are filled with apple slices and plump cherries and have grown toasty from the bake, we'll dip into the shimmering, salty sea.

What I have to offer to the world, I don't have; stories of times I've never experienced and people I've never met. I have nothing tangible to sell, only words written in invisible ink. And only I have the light in which they can be read. 

I know only one audience and that is myself. Yet I question just how well I know myself at times. If I can barely finish this sentence, what makes me think I can get another to finish reading it? Better yet, how can I get them to begin? 

Words are better ingested with a chorus and a bassline. And stories get their limelight, streamed, in the comfort of viewers' homes, even phones. How do I compete?- If I too invest in these... alternative art forms...

I am a consumer of knowledge, but even I give in to the stale, mindless entertainment that has been popularized. I guess what I'm asking is... is it worth it?

Acting the same as the mass

         the Knight passes through

               undetected-- misunderstood

     Ruthless, just as some women and men

                       but never succumbs in the end

                                   to a darkness not his own

Alone-- sometimes afraid

          of always trying to escape

                        For the Lambs are not always meek

                                    and the Lions not always beast

       But to the world-- maybe known as a Vigilante

I'm hidden beneath these cardboard confines

Muffled by masking tape

Damned by dust.

Unknown,

And alone,

Haunted by perpetual sighs.

Reach in and retrieve

Inside the box that's keeping me.

Alive, I'll be-- filled with ranine divinity.

Find me,

Expose me,

I do not mind.

I am unlike any other kind.

When I was a young girl I fancied myself a life of mystery and magic. I figured things were not as they seem and I could come to uncover those hidden truths. As it happens to most, I lost that wistful essence. 

I was surrounded by people who believed in saints and sinners and that the world was at war. I was taught that death was inevitable and that this planet's finale has been in preparation since long before my time. I was scared into avoiding tidings with the devil and was told stories about creatures of the night who were meant to seize me if I misbehaved. 

My feet cemented in the ground; unable to search beyond myself, but with age grew gusto. Some would call me estranged-- those whose dials don't work and stamps are expired. I vanquished death's looming questions... When? How? I did not wish to let such morbid curiosities get the most from me. Since then I've worked to become the faithful woman that I am today; a woman who thinks outside of her circumstance and into others'; wanting only to be a symbol of resiliency and empathy.

I've never sought evil but I do not fear it neither. Something in me has shifted, and death no longer fuels my worries. I live my life fully and renounce all that dare to clutter it. And because I can go to sleep and wake up satisfied today and everyday, I will not be afraid the day I choose to sleep, never to awake in this body again.

Glass jar-- empty

Sack full of sand

Multicolored thumb-tack/pins

20 rubber-bands

Small black buttons

Needle and thread

Candles-- purple, yellow, white

Yeast for the bread

Sage

String

Bottle caps

Lavender and honey-bee's wax

Flower-- sweet-- low CBD

Roasted crickets

Canned chickpeas 

Coconut oil

Cocoa powder

Lemon candy-- something sour

"The Places That Scares You"

"I Am That"

Food for that one stray cat

From the moment I 

saw you

sitting there with that fire

I knew

no one 

could do 

what you do for me.

That fire burned bright

from underneath the

light of dark coals;

holes that are your eyes.

I did everything 

for you

I had to and I wanted to

be the 

other

half of you.

You captured me but 

were in love with another 

a lover who shares the same

gender, albeit total blunder.

We're both shocked and

in awe

of this strange accusation

but the

relation 

we had was

entirely

about

you.

Nails too brittle

Skin too tan

Brows too long

Steady hand

Teeth too crooked

Hips too wide

Lips too cracked

Active mind

Veins too veiny

Hair too hairy

Mouth too mouthy

Human

Very

Tattered by the scorching wind

Thin as paper

Sunburn-ed

Skin

Golden mesh, papyrus—translucent

Soaring higher

No

Descent

Just passing through; all scenic routes

Escape to stay

Only to

Move

Again, again, again, again…

No bother from the world at all

No want to watch

Or make one

Fall

Until the sun no longer stings

A shadowed doom

Consumes

Desert wings

Behind lit screens.

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