Remember
no matter
what happens

you're unique
amazing
wonderful

someone that
could never
be replaced

I don't think you understand what you've done here.

That tiny little seed of self doubt
what you might think is insignificant
might very well dig its roots deep into their mind.

Whether or not it comes to fruition tomorrow
or twenty years from now,
congrats.
You've made quite a contribution.

Instead of choosing to be constructive
or even supportive
you've made a crack in that mirror behind their eyes.
The one they'll see every single day
and measure themselves against,
no matter how much they try not to.

I hope you're happy now.
Because you can't let anyone else be confident in this world,
you've decided to know someone down a peg
or ten.
Are you stronger now?
Happier?
Are you satisfied?

'Tis the month of feverish scribbling!

What will you do to boost your word count?
Let the word vomit flow?
Eliminate the use of contractions?
Drink every caffeinated and/or sugary substance in sight?
Stay up until sun rises?

However you end up doing it
and however many words you end up writing,
enjoy yourselves,
enjoy your stories,
and don't forget
that only you can write your story.
It is unique
and amazing,
just like you.

Oh, and enjoy the snacks!​

Write on,
NaNo's!!

You're a broiling sun
burnt and black against the sky.

A sight once revered and life-bringing,
now a terrible dark radiance
towering over the earth.

Your beams rip and tear and fragile flesh
where once they were a warm comfort.

How could something once so benevolent
morph into a monstrosity
​in mere moments?

You poor mortal souls.
Trapped inside bodies that slowly dismantle and decay
all while you watch
and feel yourselves growing more feeble with every passing moment.

It must be torture
to be blessed with a physical form
but have its health be finite
and your limits binding.

We the spirits of above and below
shudder to imagine it.
We who exist from one age to the next
and watch as your civilizations fall.
We the strong where you are weak.
We whose souls create worlds innumerable.

We will watch you
and laugh.
But will always wonder...
what it feels like when the sun caresses you
and if the eternity of death is cold.

Dear whoever is reading this,

I know. It's a bit cliche.
A message in a bottle
scribbled on heavy parchment and rolled up tightly
held by a wax signet seal.
Oh, maybe not then?
Huh, I wonder what kind you're used to getting...

But no matter!
Petty distractions!
This dry and inane chatter isn't why I've reached out.
I have a favor to ask.

Now, before you wonder,
no it's nothing to do with blood sacrifices,
first-born children or virgins,
or even a plea for freedom.
I'm actually very happy where I am.

No, what I need you to do
is feed my dragon.

Yes
the tiny little scaled thing that just crawled out of the bottle.

They won't hurt you.
As long as you find them something meaty soon
like a chicken or a wolf pup.
Anything around that size with lots of protein would do.

Why don't I feed them, you ask?
Sadly my new isolated abode is severely lacking in tasty dragon treats.
That's what happens with deserted islands, I supposed.
You trade away certain freedoms and food varieties for peace and quiet.
So I have to ask for outside assistance.

But once you've fed them
they'll climb back into the bottle without a fuss,
curl their tail around their nose
and blink back to me.

In their place you'll find a pile of coins
and a coupon for all-you-can-eat mutton at the Sheepshead Bistro next door.
Thanks again for your help!

P.S. My dragon really likes you now.
I'll have to send them to you more often!
What does one normally charge for dragon baby-sitting?

P.P.S. Actually, you might want to reconsider the mutton.
Trust me, you don't want to know why.

Alright my fuzzy friend,
listen up.
You're an adorable fluffball with a very cute face
but you've gotta give me a break here.

I don't doubt your hunting prowess
or that the local critters scatter at the merest hint of your jingly collar bell.
You are the scourge of the neightborhood.
The slayer of feathered fiends.

But seriously?
Three dead birds
in just three days
waiting for me in the living room?

It's not that I don't appreciate the gifts.
They're very... fresh.
But I can happily feed myself
and I'm tired of getting blood out of the carpet.
​Can my gift be fluffy cuddles instead?

I'm really surprised you didn't get the hint
the first two dozen times you tried.
Little love notes slipped into texts I deleted,
voicemail messages to which I gave no reply.

You're persistent, I'll give you that.
But a thick-head and a blind eye
won't let you bulldozer through our little 'spat'.

When someone says no, they mean it.
That rule applies to me too, not just strangers.

Our shared blood isn't thick enough
to wash away the fruit of your anger,
or heal with a snap of a finger
a childhood of fear
I disguised as acquiescence.
​
When I said I'd heal on my own, I meant it.
That maybe one day I'd show you.
But I'm not that far down the road yet.
Just like me, you'll have to wait your turn
to see what I become next.
Who I decide
I'm meant to be.

I've been taking a bit of a break
from posting a daily poem.
But I promise I'm not gone.
I'm working around a
move, mental illness,
and my day job.
But now I'm
coming back.