Aching for you

For a headache, aspirin

For a muscle ache, ibuprofen 

For an ear ache, antibiotic

For a stomach ache, Tums

For a heartache…what?

I know one thing for sure:

I feel the pain like a cut.

And I can’t get the cure:

It’s miles away. 

When push comes to shove,

The ache’s here to stay.

Oh, my dear love,

The cure’s simple to find,

Just not to do. 

It’s clear in my mind:

I just need you. 



I feel…cold.

I’m scared. My heart shivers

despite the pressure squeezing it ever inward, smaller and smaller till it’s ready to burst.

Each hair on my body tingles with the anxiety blazing across my skin

And even as the tears stream down my face

I know

my pain pales in comparison to yours. Continue reading

Public posts of affection

Am I the only one who gets disgusted by PDA on Facebook? Is this a legitimate concern or is it just a product of being single and bitter?

Exhibit A. Gross overuse of hearts to punctuate every sentence ❤ ❤ ❤

Exhibit B. Panting like a sycophantic puppy dog over EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. of the boyfriend’s/girlfriend’s posts and/or responding to whatever inane thing the boyfriend/girlfriend said with completely non-sequitur “I love you ❤ “s.

Exhibit C. An inordinate number of couple photos. Especially while kissing.

I’m not talking about the normal Facebookers who occasionally express appreciation and admiration for their partners. I’m talking about the couples who litter my newsfeed with their little Cupidfairy droppings. If I wanted to gag while listening to your whispered sweet nothings, I would have gone out to a cozy little cafe on Valentine’s Day. You know what? I didn’t. I chilled at home eating chocolate and watching Game of Thrones.

Come on, guys. Get a room. There’s a reason Facebook has a “Message” option.

Happy Father’s Day


If you say he’s a guy who is not often sad,
If you say he is usually slow to get mad,
If you say that he can overreact just a tad,

Well, then I wouldn’t be sure. But…

If you say his personality’s totally rad,
If you say all his jokes are a little bit bad,
If you say he’s the best father the world’s ever had,

Then I’d know. You’re talking about my dad.


Dear Wad,

I am so lucky to have such a cool dad as you. While being a stressed-out surgeon, you’ve still managed to be there for me — not just to watch softball games and choir concerts, but also to hit extra fly balls and pluck out the song’s melody on the piano. You work 12-hour days (and that’s when you’re not on call) and yet you still do the dishes and crack your infamous “dad” jokes. You had all the skills to go through medical school and become a great orthopedist, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t learn to cook, bake, play the guitar, sing, and be a handyman too.

As a college student halfway through my program, I’m terrified by the idea of dedicating my life to a single career path. You’re living proof that being excellent in a profession doesn’t mean leaving behind family or enjoying other hobbies and talents as well. The love and kindness you show to your family on a daily basis, and your dedication to the church, are an inspiration to me and I hope I can follow your example.

I love you so much, Wad. I can’t wait to see you — only a couple more weeks!

Lots of love and hugs,

Your daughter


Photos from

A kyrielle

Most of my poetry is free verse (I’m lazy), but I wanted to try something different this time. I decided to write a kyrielle because I liked the name.

I sit in shadow here alone,
Mind locked in a broken tower,
Where once a kinder sun had shone
Quiet ‘neath a leafy bower.

Once, eyes bright and hair windblown,
Far more fair than spring’s sweet flower,
My love’s soft lips caressed my own
Quiet ‘neath a leafy bower.

Now, death’s touch chills blood and bone
Despair and pain my soul devour
Her absence screaming from each stone
Quiet ‘neath a leafy bower.

Al(m)as, Part 2

New to this story? Read Part 1.

Patrick’s eyes snapped open to a deafening CRACK. Startled, he rolled over in bed and propped himself up on an elbow, scanning the shadows of his small room. The various shades of black were interrupted only by the dark grey outline of his window. The sound came again, crackling and snapping — thunder. As he eased back onto his pillows, his door creaked open and a petite form appeared in the doorway.

Continue reading