“girls like me”

Girls like me are dangerous. Well read, well spoken.

The true daughters of the ancient Pantheon. We have Athena’s mind, we have Artemis’s freedom, we have Aphrodite’s beauty, we have Hera’s power, we have Hestia’s fire, we have Demeter’s generosity.

We have steel spines and strong hearts and a willingness to follow through. We are storms of our own making, with fire in our eyes.

We will not, cannot let others make us weak, think that we mean less, think that we can do less.

We were never allowed in the arena.
Oh, but that just made us hungry. That just made us learn to fight in back alleys, learn to scream in the silence of our homes, learn to walk softly and carry a big stick.

Oh, but that just made us angry and we’ve finally been allowed to unleash that rage. We are weapons, with our killer smiles, our high heels, our winged eyeliner. We’ve taken what you all decay and made into arrows and daggers, little things that when used right can draw a whole lot of blood.

Oh, but that just made us fierce. That just made us lean on each other, that just made us grab each other’s hands and squeeze before the battle, that just made us turn our bruises, our sisters’ broken hearts, into bombs made for destruction.

Oh, but that just made us powerful. That just made us a family, like vines strong enough to wrap around a tree and pull it down when they work together, that just made us able to disappear like smoke. We will never forget how easy it is to become invisible. That just made us queens, with crowns of blood, crowns of toil and sacrifice and also crowns of flowers, crowns of faith and hope.

We are here.

We have entered the bloodbath and we are never leaving.

We are sirens, we are witches, we are angels, we are the true goddesses.

And oh darling,
we’re fireproof.


“are you a feminist?”

I am five years old. My mother just told me to go change to a sweater because an adult man would be coming over soon. I need to cover up.

I am seven years old. A boy wouldn’t stop chasing me on the playground and throwing rocks at me and pulling my hair. I’m upset. My best friend says it’s because he likes me and she told me boys are mean to girls they like.

I am ten years old. We just had our first health class in school. The teachers were trying to educate us on sexual assault. After class, my classmates told me to scream fire instead of rape if I’m ever being attacked, because no one will come if they hear the word rape being screamed.

I am twelve years old. I just got my first period. A tampon fell out of my backpack at school and everyone started laughing. Apparently, periods aren’t normal and they should be hidden at all costs.

I am fifteen years old. I’m in the office crying because a boy I don’t know kept following me down the hallway and grabbing my ass even after I told him to stop. The administrator scolds me: “Maybe you shouldn’t be wearing leggings if you don’t want that kind of attention.” She sends me home with a dress code violation. She marked the “distracting” box.

I am seventeen years old. I’ve just been slapped because a boy got angry with me after I wouldn’t let him put his hands down my pants. Apparently, I led him on by volunteering to tutor him in math.

I am twenty-one years old. My best friend has bought me special nail polish to wear to the bar. She says it changes color if it’s dipped in a drink that has a date rape drug in it.

I am twenty-three years old. I’m reading this to the first class I will ever teach. A student raises her hand and says, “no offense, but doesn’t this stuff happen to every girl?”

So yes, I am a feminist. And when you ask me why, I will read this to you. Again, and again, and again.


“why can’t it be me?”

Let’s be honest.
People like us don’t know when to give up, and quit while we’re ahead.
While the world might mock us for it at times, I would like to ask you where the world would be without the people who never quit.
Who beat against the roaring wave, who charge into the raging fire, despite all odds never being in their favor.
The way I see it, is if someone’s going to change the world, so why can’t it be me?

“to cherish one another”

I think everyone needs that kind of person in their life at some point. The one who tells you little details about their life because they feel comfortable enough to share. Stories about places and silly conversations that have nothing to do with what’s going on but they just want to tell you. That person who talks to you and lets you know that they appreciate you. Adore you. Love you. The one who checks in and makes sure you’re okay and wonders about your family. The person who is a bit softer than most, who cares probably too much. You need that genuine relationship. Something different that feels intense. Remember to cherish that person, for they don’t come often. Remember to be that person every once in awhile with a lover, a friend, and family.


A dry, wide desert as far as the eye could see. I was in an old cargo truck, similar to a WW2 personnel truck. Pedal is hitting the floor, the warm air hitting my face, which is half covered with a scarf wrapped around my head and covering my mouth and nose.

The truck was difficult to maneuver, but luckily nothing was in sight, except for the rolling hills of rocks and sand that eventually lead to a large mountain in the distance. At the base of the mountain, sat a hidden cave. And I was planning to head towards it.

The soft hum of the engine and the occasional howl from gust of wind filled the air. As I drove, I fell into an uneventful rhythm. However, that peaceful trance did not last long. Out of nowhere, I heard a ear-splitting pop. I cautiously brought the truck to a stop and climbed out of the front seat. To my right, I disappointingly saw that my tires had been destroyed by a few razor sharp rocks. After inspecting the tires, walked around to the front of the truck, standing in front of the hood of the car. Tufts of smoke rose from the rickety hood and the excess heat from broken down truck radiated around me like a big, but unwelcome hug.

I began to search my truck for the tools to fix the tire and hopefully a spare replacement, but to no avail, I could not find any of the necessary items. With a mood of disappointment, I began to gather my belongings and prepare to set out into the barren landscape.

Hours of walking in the uninhabited desert seemed to take one hundred times longer than it should take, but I couldn’t tell if it was because of my dehydrated state. I could feel the sweltering sun beating down on my back. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead and my tongue sat uncomfortably in my dry, parched mouth. I turned my head and peered into the distance, only spot the remains of my old cargo truck I had just came from.
The ominous presence of the mountain seemed to grow as I trekked closer to the cave. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the swelling luminosity from the moon that contrasted the sharp jagged edges of the peak in front of me, or if all my senses seemed to be heightened by the emptiness of the barren desert around me. But nevertheless, I arrived at the cave, which seemed to carry all of the secrets of the world.

Upon entering the cave, I noticed skeletons littering the shallow corridor. There was evidence of booby traps all over. Dust coated every visible surface and spiderwebs dangled from the craggy walls. No one had ever made it this far. And then I saw it. The lamp, perched on a pedestal, glimmered with a light out of the darkness of the cave. It wasn’t any ordinary lamp; I could tell it had the ability to do more than just give light. It possessed an aura of mystery. I rushed up to grab it, not even thinking of any traps that could be placed on it. The room shaked and moaned as I picked it up, but everything seemed to be safe. I used my scarf to rub the shiny surface of the lamp, when the cave suddenly went dark, and a bright yellow light radiated from the spout of the lamp. Orange and blue smoke quickly followed and a being appeared before me.
He looked normal and wore a tan tunic, and seemingly more modern pair of jeans or pants

“Um-” I barely managed to get out. The being turned toward me and grabbed a flat cap from his pocket and putting it on.

“Hello there!” he said, with an accent I couldn’t identify. He smiled at me, he knew exactly why I was there.

“You have travelled far, you have been through a lot, and finally you have found me.”

“Are you-”

“You’re going to say genie, yes I am.”

“Do I get wishes?”

“Only two.”

“Two? I thought I got three”

He walks over and leans against the column in the center of the room.
“Look at you, you’ve done your research. Even though is incorrect. I get to decide how many you get.”

“You’re messing with me?”

“I gotta have some fun in this, yes?”

“I guess so. So, do I just make the wishes? Or-”

“Yeah whatever you want, how about I give you as many as you can think of, however,” he appeared on my right grabbing me, and pulling me close, “if you attempt to wish for something, that maybe is against the rules, I will decide if we continue.”

“Okay, so can I make a small wish first?”

“Anything you want.”

“I want to go home.”


Everything was suddenly engulfed in light and then, my eyes opened and we were standing in my house.

“Well,” he said to me, heading to the fridge grabbing a beer, “What next?”

“Are you drinking a beer?” I said, confused.

“Well, yeah. I haven’t been let out of that lamp for 20 years. I like to enjoy myself.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“What’s next?”

“I want her to love me again.” The words just came out of my mouth, no hesitation.

“I can’t make her love you. To make someone love you would have dire consequences.”

“Can I wish for her to forget everything I did?”

“To do that would take away from her character. You made your mistakes, and you tried to fix them. But to remove the mistakes, you would not be who you are, she won’t be who she is.”

“Can I wish for her happiness?”

“As long as you can accept the fact that, her happiness may not include you.”

“Okay, I want her happiness. And I want my happiness too.”

“If your happiness is to have her, I cannot give it to you. I can’t force her to do anything. And neither can you. So you must choose. Her happiness or yours?”

“That’s impossible.” Tears began to flood my eyes as I sank to the floor. The genie came to my side also sitting on the floor. His arm draped around my shoulder.

“Nothing is impossible, being difficult doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” He said.

“But if I make this choice, I’m stuck with it.”

“Yes you are. So what’s it gonna be?”

I woke up. In the same bed I fell asleep in, feeling no different than the night before.


“moments thereafter”

One of my biggest fears is that I will stop appreciating every moment of my existence; that I could mistakenly live an entire life without ever once looking back. I have learned to pursue a future worth fighting toward, and I have learned to take the time to breathe and memorize every detail surrounding me, to discover a new beauty at least once each day.

What I continue to struggle with, and frequently forget, is that I have not learned to revel in my past- to glance over my shoulder, to remember what may or may not prove worthwhile.

I have learned to ignore and move past my struggles, but I have not accepted that it is possible to enter a new era of my life and still be capable of gazing back from time to time. To watch, even if not to understand.
Every experience should be held closely and dearly in the event that those memories are all we are left with. Be watchful, be more conservative with your voice, and listen, even if you do not immediately comprehend.
Your life is shaped by the light you cast on each moment; bear in mind that shadows will only ever collect dust, and that even the meekest of souls will turn toward brightness and warmth, despite the risk.


“one last poem”

one last poem.
so, i guess this is goodbye
one last kiss, one last time
one last star to be your guide
one last mountain left to climb
one last sunset, to take in stride
one more chance to see it rise
one more poem to get you by
one more angel at your side
one more kiss, one last time
one last breath, the great divide
i’ll wait at the gate until you arrive
with one more kiss, one more time
one last poem, sincerely signed