My bedroom is the place, where I write.
I close the bedroom door.
My cat stretches out on the bed.
I turn on the computer and Microsoft Word.
The world begs to come in.
I tell it to leave me alone.
I’m writing now.
I stare at the blank screen,
give my mind a moment.
My fingers start to type.
A voice in my head.
The character is talking to me,
leading me through their story.
Sometimes, it’s the story itself
that does the talking.
I’m merely the conduit,
and the words climb upward,
pages fly by.
I’ve disappeared into…
In 2018, my body changed. I knew something was wrong, but the doctor that I was seeing told me that everything was okay. The gynaecologist called me in December to tell me that it wasn’t good, and I jump started 2019 with a fertility doctor. In 2019, I got a promotion at work, and I was also faced with a hard decision. Have a baby. If I don’t, then I won’t, and adoption’s been mentioned many times. I decided not to. One reason was the job promotion, and 2019 ended with an abnormal cyst on my ovary. 2020 jump started…
My birthday is in December. Around this time, I take a step back to look at the past year. I ask myself a series of questions. What happened this year? What was good, what was bad? What did I accomplish this year, and that question is like a stone in my throat because I feel like I didn’t accomplish anything. I wasted another year. I’m right where I was last December. I kept saying that next year would be different, and yeah, the year was different. But nothing’s changed, but something’s changed now.
When my birthday arrives this December, I…
It was right before my birthday when the gynecologist called me. She had the results of my bloodwork. It wasn’t good. Can I have children, I asked. “I don’t have a crystal ball,” was her response, but then she added, “I would not wait.”
I sat in the family room with my parents and brothers. We were watching television together like we always do. I forgot what we were watching, but something hit a nerve. I made a comment, and my parents asked my brothers to leave the room. …
I was talking to a coworker today about what’s next. Do I stay where I am, or do I plan the next move? She listed some options, and they were good options. But it felt like another box. I seem to put myself, my life into a box, but I’m beginning to think that I don’t fit into boxes like everyone else. They have their life, their family, their job. That’s their box. It’s not mine, but if I don’t accept one, then I’m stuck like I usually am. Or I need to make my own shape. If I had…
“If you don’t do the surgery, then you will die.”
No one ever wants to hear someone say that to them. I never thought someone would say that to me, but he did. He was dead serious. If I did not do the surgery, I was going to die. I looked at my father, and the look on his face was evident. I sat back in my chair, ignored his set focus on me, and looked around the office. It felt small, cluttered, and why were there so many animal heads on his wall? …
On the radio this afternoon,
I heard them say,
“A lot of writers come from small towns,
and they loved living there.”
Do I come from a small town?
It used to be small,
but development saw its way through it.
Sometimes, it still feels small,
but I could never call the city home.
I’ve tried to make Long Island my home,
but I didn’t fit in there.
I feel more at home where I am,
surrounded by deer
that hang out in my backyard.
I feel more at home,
passing the lake,
and watching the fishermen fish.
They weren’t kidding when they said that when you hit a certain age, your body falls apart. How about things falling out of your body? That’s a horrifying experience. You go about your business, and then suddenly, something is there that should not be there. There’s some pain, discomfort, but no blood. Sorry, not to be graphic, but it shouldn’t be there. Do you ignore it? I did for a few days, but then I realized that it was not going away or back in. Shit, I had to go to the doctor, and I didn’t know what to say…
Horror, Science-Fiction and Dystopian Author and Poet.