There was a time when joy came in the form of crayons, paint, and a plastic yellow caddy I wanted more than anything in the world. As a child, art wasn’t just something I enjoyed—it was my escape. In a life that often felt chaotic, creating something beautiful gave me peace. But somewhere between growing up, becoming a mother, surviving hardship, and carrying the weight of “real life,” I quietly let that part of myself slip away. Years turned into decades without me even realizing I had abandoned the one thing that once made me feel whole. Until one day, I found my way back. Reclaiming a childhood passion isn’t just about picking up a hobby again—it’s about rediscovering a piece of yourself you didn’t realize you lost. And sometimes, that return can bring more healing, joy, and peace than you ever expected.

Francine crawled her legs out of a cave behind a steep cascade, a web was weaved across the Georgia landscapes.

This is a poem that I came up with during a particularly emotional day. I hope some other people may also relate.

What We Actually Know About Biological Complexity A forensic way to separate direct observation from origin storytelling Whenever people bring up the topic of biological complexity, they usually make it sound like every side of the issue is valid. Not at all.

The world changes just as the seasons but our peace within is a vast ocean of unimaginable peace. The tranquil waters span time and the depths hide sorrows once written by poets.

Warning: Graphic violence descriptions contained in this story. Reader discretion is advised. This killer left 11 bodies in the White Chapel are of London in a time when DNA evidence was not in existence and only in recent years do Crime historians believe they know who this killer was.

Most fans of the horror genre have seen American Psycho. For me, when it was released for home viewing I raced to Blockbuster with a note from my parents conceding to let me rent the VHS. I brought it home and probably watched it ten times over the weekend before I needed to return it. I got to school Monday morning with the skinny for everyone else on a movie that nobody else's parents would let them see. For once, I was the cool kid.

Talking about my day and how I am feeling. Therapy appointment, family drama, and feelings in general.

I go through periods of being super inspired to write and even longer periods of massive writer's block. Sometimes I struggle to find ways to deal with it. I'm currently dealing with writer's block while on chapter 21 of my first book.

Everyone else was singing about jet planes, but I was standing in a "Silent Solo." Looking out at my father sitting alone in the gymnasium, I realized some people leave and don't come back. This is the moment the music stopped, and I had to become a sturdy soldier.

Many people believe that being brave means having no fear or worry. That isn't true though. True bravery is when you're absolutely terrified, but do the right thing anyways.

This poem is an expression of my desire to always help others. Even at my own expense. Being a people pleaser is something many people struggle with. It can be difficult, but learning when to put yourself first is an essential skill.

I wrote this poem to express my own personal battle of trying to move on from past pains and trauma. It's never easy, and the pain doesn't always truly go away. However, despite that we can always build something new and better.

Stings trace my body, from chest, to arms, to stomach. I call it thunder. It floods me, leaving me to wonder when love became a storm, and why I let go of myself

Silent love screams in my chest, yet stays hushed in your hands. Shattered like glass after he walked away, I gather the broken pieces—October and November’s perfect warmth now only scorches me. From safe hugs to panic attacks, home burned to ashes. This scattered poem is a heartbreak puzzle: self-harm, abandonment, endless ache. Piece it together if you dare—you’ll feel why I still love him in deafening silence. Forever.

There are moments when the veil thins around your life — when the signs get louder, the dreams get stranger, and something winged stirs in the dark. If you’re here, you already feel it. AlationAshes Veils Tarot is for the ones who sense the shift before it arrives. For the ones who carry old wounds like echoes. For the ones standing at a threshold they can’t name yet. My readings are not vague guidance or soft comfort. They are doorways — ritual, shadowed, and precise. Each one cuts through illusion, reveals what’s been pulling at you, and shows the path rising from the ashes beneath your feet. If you’re tired of guessing… If you’re done repeating the same patterns… If you feel the wings of your next chapter beating against the veil… Then step through. Your answers are already waiting.

This piece paints a vivid picture of despair and cynicism. Love and goodness are just fleeting illusions in a universe indifferent. It's a journey through a world where every hint of light is just a mask for the shadows beneath, where time turns what we cherish into emptiness.

This is written during the loss of my family to murder! It paints a vivid picture of anguish and longing. A soul crying out for release. Yearning for peace amidst darkness. Finding no love, only anguish, somberness, and anger. I felt nothing but pain!

My life of an abusive relationship, pain suffering and more. I want to try and relate to others if I can.

About how my night is going and what I did. From 4:25pm to 9:45pm on March 17,2026. From cooking dinner to doing makeup and showering.