Tree nomad

I have realized, on my own

I no longer want to roam

I do not crave the breeze, because

Knowing I’m freely rooted leaves

The possibility to dance.

I no longer feel like half a whole

My heart not dreaming to be a soul

I’ve found myself and I’ve never been so


silly story

It’s a Tuesday. The bell rings and you make your way to your math class. As you’re walking through the hallways, someone bumps into you, casually enough. They say something to you and begin to walk away. Only after they’re gone do you realize that instead of saying “I’m sorry,” they said “wake up.” Feeling confused and slightly annoyed, you soon forget the incident. After your lunch period is over, someone bumps into you again and scatters your books everywhere. As you gasp in dismay and bend to recover your belongings, you look up at the person. An apologetic look flashes over their face as they exclaim, “you’re in a coma,” and begin to walk away. A mixture of emotions, including frustration and annoyance, fight for dominance inside you. Only when you stand and consider the stranger’s parting words does the earlier incident resurface in your mind. Feeling a cold trickle of some chilling, silly fear, you swallow hard. But soon you shake off the cobwebs and make your way to chemistry. After the last class bell rings, you are rushing through the hallways to the buses when for the third time someone collides with you. This stranger seems aloof, diffident, as they toss four words over their shoulder in an uncaring attempt at an apologetic tone. Four words that make your blood run cold.

“Doctor, she’s not responding.”

Recycled Minds

Beyond the bend of mortal sense,

A world awaits with baited breath.

Discovered in shards of brilliance,

Broken by reality’s hindrance.


To flow beyond the realm of real,

Toward colors to hear and scents to feel.

To breathe in the shock of what is to come,

Built by others, discovered by some.


To find what sleeps in swathes of thought,

Where dreams become solid at once they are sought.

A realm of disputed physics and laws,

Where complexity’s fodder and simple is awe.


And of this realm of torturous perfection,

Unlimited creation, unhindered invention,

A wicked guard sits at the throne of it all,

Reality, ensuring that some dreams fall.


Beyond his gaping chasm-like eyes,

Defiance sits cross-legged at his demise.

Declaring the freedom of an illness-rid world,

To be found in the light of our own shadowy realm.


To be found in the death of Death’s slayer, you know.