April 6, 2017

So, I may continue the “His Story/Her Story” poetry series but without further publication on here. I want to keep typing it up but as a poetry project and possibly publish it on Wattpad or something. Then, eventually, link it on here. I’m still trying to decide (projects change as you work on them over a period of time so I don’t want to make promises). I definitely want to keep creating more pieces, I’m just not sure how I want to go forth with it but I will update if anything changes !

The first poems to the poetry series are linked below 🙂

Her Story: Part One
His Story: Part One

February 3, 2017

“How many layers do we have to peel until we get to the surface of who we really are?”
“It’s far more difficult for some than for others.”
“What if we never get there? What if we search our entire lives and never reach the core?”
“To look for something would imply that you’ve lost it. You don’t need to search for something that’s already there. We are perpetually presented with situations, obstacles, people, and relationships that assist in refining and further accentuating the best version of ourselves. You aren’t looking for yourself, on the contrary, you are a manifestation of these lessons. The most complex of these lessons are when one is faced with two paths. This surfaces often throughout life. For as long as ‘chances’ exist as a concept, there will be no path that leads to your complete disintegration. What does occur is the reversal of progression. Even a death, can serve as a teacher to another. That is how one lives on.”


“We aren’t meant to have everything in a world where anything can go wrong.”

That’s what he told me when he left, balancing a cigarette in his hand, indifference painted across his face, the puff of smoke threatening to distort his features. He had a classy grace about him but the rest of him was a mystery. I didn’t know him. He think he knew me. I wanted to know him. He was set on the fact that he’d had me all figured out. That’s why he left, I think. There was nothing else to figure out. To him, there were no pieces left in my all too simple puzzle. Nothing was wrong, nothing was missing, and that’s exactly what he had been missing. He was not searching for a puzzle piece. He was searching for someone who was as incomplete as he was.
So, he didn’t know and maybe he never will. That his shoes left a mark that day, he left them on my heart.