Writers

  • Being

    My being in life feels slower. Gentler, and yet I’m sure this too shall pass, as all of life does. I just read an old blog post, from 2019. The words were mine, written with my hands, dictated by my… Continue reading

  • There She Was

    Boom. Like a strike of light through the sky, there she was. After so long, staring into the empty space ahead, wishing to go back to the safety of her silence. It hurt to speak. Too deep, she ran, her… Continue reading

  • The Wind

    I am here. Can you feel me? I am the wind. I am the wind. Continue reading

  • Charlotte’s Web. and why I am me because of it.

    Perception is a vastly misunderstood word, I think, because, for the most part, we use it in very one dimensional terms. It looks like that man over there is grumpy. It sounds like he is, too, given he’s just yelled… Continue reading

  • Writing

    It comes when it is ready to come. It chooses, I have no say. I just feel and write what the feelings translate to. A miraculous marvel. A beauty of life I’m so, so thankful for. Continue reading

  • The Orange Light. Micro Fiction.

    Burnt orange light feels safe. Pop’s old library is full of it; lamp dappled walls, beautiful to look at, even more beautiful to feel. How do you describe a feeling? You can only feel, and open up so others can… Continue reading

  • Stolen

    The internet has stolen my words. They were here, tied with a little bow, tagged: ‘Brooke’s heart’; now they’re gone, the internet stole them. Snuffed them out, like a candle, with ease. The internet has been down all day, so… Continue reading

  • A Poet

    Of all the labels I reject ‘a poet’ is the one golden cage ringing true to my soul. It holds my heart, this stamp that tells me- not who I am, but what I do in the world and how… Continue reading

  • Soul

    I had to write. With my heart open wide and my energy flowing, I had to write because writing is what my soul does when it needs to breathe. My soul needs to breathe. I stood beneath a tree in… Continue reading

  • Sweet Muse of Mine

    Where do you go, sweet bell? Where do you hide when I long to feel your voice sing through my bones? I only know you; the place I call home. I only know you, dear constant voice of heart, of… Continue reading