Poetry Snippets

Say that we’re a coincidence

Because I’ve dreamed of soulmates

A little too often

Shatter my heart

Don’t leave me in the dark



Scream my flaws

Until my throat bleeds from crying

Until our fingertips drip red


Do anything but wait


Tell me you hate me

Tell me to leave

Break my heart



Until I give up

Like I already should have

I’m made of hypocrisy

And too much vanity

For your taste




Now that my emo shit is over… Hi! I just want to say a colossal thank you for 50 followers!!! Even though it sounds cliche, I honestly appreciate each and every one of you. Your comments always make me smile, and everyone I’ve talked to has been super sweet.

I just posted some short scraps of poems I’m working on because I needed to put them out there, even in their very imperfect forms. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to let me know~

Finally, I’m trying to figure out some kind of gift/special post for 50 followers. I might not write much for a week or two, but that’s just because I’m brainstorming something (hopefully) awesome. Love y’all and thanks so much for reading ❤


One Lovely Blog Award!


First off, a huge thank you to hailangeliccreation for nominating me! It’s really sweet of you, and I hope you like this post 🙂

Here are the rules:

1. Thank the person who nominated you for this lovely award, and make sure you also include a link back to their blog.

2. Post the  ‘One Lovely Blog Award’ picture to your blog with your nomination post.

3. List seven random facts about yourself.

4. Nominate up to 15 other blogs for this lovely award.

5. Inform your nominees of their nomination.

6. Lastly, include this set of rules with your post.

So, let’s get started~!


  1. I have really bad insectophobia/arachnophobia.
  2. I listen to a lot of music. Some artists I really like are The Neighbourhood, THEY., and Blackbear.
  3. My favorite season is winter, mainly because I love wearing scarves, sweaters, and boots (also, way fewer bugs!)
  4. I practically collect chapstick at this point… it’s a problem.
  5. My favorite colors are green, gray, purple, and black.
  6. I’m terrible at drawing, sports, and singing.
  7. I usually prefer TV shows over movies.


The Divergent Poet

Claire Yang


Hudson Biko

Scattered Scripturient

I hope you enjoyed reading this, and please check out my nominees’ blogs! They’re all amazing.

A New (Basil) Leaf

via Daily Prompt: Leaf

“Grab two basil leaves!” Em says, and I turn once again to our greenery-lined windowsill. Is this one it…? I wonder, sniffing an unassuming green plant.

“Got it!” I tear off a couple leaves. Making another 180, I throw them into a large red pot.

“Nice.” He shakes absurd amounts of spices into the soup and stirs it rapidly.

“Hey, do you want me to, like, set the counter or something?”

He looks up, surprised. “Oh. I mean… yeah. Sure. Go ahead, I washed the dishes this morning.”

I wince a little at the reminder that I slept until 11, but Em didn’t notice. Grabbing the bowls, napkins, and spoons, I walk around our stovetop to the kitchen counter.

“You want water?” I ask, moving to get some cups.

“Nah, I already got some.”

“Alright.” I fill my cup with tap water and take a sip.

“… Winter?”

“Yeah?” I put down my cup.

“Have we got any oregano?”

I sigh. “Gimme a second.” What the fuck even is oregano?? I stare blindly at the sea of green before me. Rolling my eyes, I pull out my phone to google it.

“I’m sorry, but all these plants look way too much like weed,” I laugh.

Em snorts, reluctantly amused. “Who said I don’t have any?”

I gape at him. “New York state law, hopefully.”

He cracks up. “You right. Now hand over the oregano.”

“Here.” I hand him something that looks vaguely similar to the picture on my phone. Em glances at it before tossing it in the, now nearly full, pot.

Leaning over to look at the soup, I take a deep breath. “I can clean up after dinner… if you want…”

He stares at me. I desperately avoid eye contact.

“What’s wrong?” He’s not looking at me anymore.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“What, because I’m being helpful for once?” It comes out bitter. Salty.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Em shake his head. “If you want to help, then help. If not, then don’t. I don’t care either way.”

“That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?”

I’m silent. He stirs the soup again.

“I’ve got it covered, ok? Stop worrying about shit.”

“I know…” I know, but… “I just feel…” useless.

He glances at me. He looks away just as quickly.

“Stir.” Em hands me the spoon.

I comply. It’d be useless to argue.

“You can clean up too, I guess. There shouldn’t be too much.”

“I’m starting to regret this,” I joke.

He smiles.

Lurid Lucidity

You’re a dream

A fantasy

A tasteless face


You’re a dream

That treads nightmare’s borders


You’re a dream

That looks real

Too real

Too close

So all I see are skin cells

Never a soul


You’re a dream

A lurid, lucid dream

I (Don’t) Know

via Daily Prompt: Recreate


“You’ll die if you keep living like this.”

“I know.” I don’t know how to change.

“God!” She throws her hands in the air. “It’s like you don’t even want to try!”

I stay silent.

She shakes her head.

I should fix this. “I…” don’t know how.

She’s disappointed.

“I’ll call you later.” She says; leaving.

I’m sorry.

But it’s too late to redo this.

To recreate myself.

Fake It

via Daily Prompt: Anticipate


“I’m really anticipating your performance!” She says with a grin, making a few marks on her clipboard.

“Thank you,” I respond, averting my eyes as she reaches for her walkie-talkie.

“Yes, bump down the backlight a bit… Good, good, lock it!”  The woman paces away with a wave.

I take yet another deep breath. Two more performances.

The current dancer finishes. One left.

The lady comes back to push me closer to the stage. I gaze through the curtains and give up on controlling my racing heart. All or nothing… go big or go home, right?

She’s done. The announcer says my name.


I glide on stage as the first beat escapes the speakers. I can’t see the audience, which is an instant comfort.


My mind is blank. I’m relying entirely on muscle memory, freestyling slightly more than I should be.

But the thing is… I can’t bring myself to care. Here, I’m different. I used to fake this confidence, but here… it’s real.

I smile.

The song’s almost over, and I throw my whole being into the last verse. Faster, faster, faster, more feeling, keep it neat, keep moving, down then up then step, get lower, more power, faster.

I blow a kiss to the faceless claps and dash away as quickly as I can.

Backstage, a blonde girl gives me a high-five. “Good job!” I somehow manage to respond with a heartfelt thank you. I want to compliment her, but I couldn’t watch her routine. She walks away when my dance teacher confronts me.

“Awesome! You did so well.” She hugs me, and I laugh, embarrassed.


Fake it ’til you make it, right?