Just Writing



There was a girl who stood
at the top of the world
we all watched her rise
and some of us were happy

She stood there and glittered
clean and untouchable

And then one day the world turned
and she fell from that place
we watched all the glitter shed
off of her like skin

None of us were there when she
hit the bottom of the sky

I thought about her often
and wondered about her death
If it had been white, red, or black

White like a soul escaping
stretched thin by its separateness
and burned away before the sun

Or crimson red like a broken heart
stuck in a pattern of beats
until it surrenders to the silence

Though perhaps it was black
like the souls of men who put flowers
on the graves they’ve created

But maybe it was none of those
and it was only gray

Gray like the ashes of an explosion
that was so beautiful
it killed everything to live

I think those ashes covered her
becoming new glitter
trying to convince her
of her new place in the world

And for a very long time after
we could not see her

Out of habit, we looked for her skyline
and all the lights were gone
we wondered about the aftermath
what would be there
if the ashes ever left the sky

I imagined a ring of fire
around the crater where she lay
and her eyes were closed
below the costs of ash and smoke

But one day they opened
and they were full of so much fire
that all her condemning flames
shuddered and withdrew from true might

She rose from the crater
brushing ashes and glass off her skin
like words that didn’t matter

with every step that she now took
across her new wasteland
a hot wind blew at the edges
of a once blue dress

She reached her hands high above
to a limitless sky
empty of the reels and negatives
while she declared,
“You don’t need to save me.”

And the world grew back

Instead of a mountain where she stood
it was a wide plain
wide and free

To this place she rose
and here she will rebuild
something much more beautiful
than all the shattered lights

For Laughs

An Open Letter To All The Songs/Artists Who Plotted My Death On Pandora Today

To the Following:

  • Too Much To Ask by Niall Horan
  • Flicker by Niall Horan
  • Little Do You Know by Alex & Sierra
  • Back for You by One Direction
  • Literally any song by Ed Sheeran
  • From the Dining Table by Harry Styles

You can all go straight to tea with Satan.

Warm regards,


Just Writing

The Leaf

The Leaf

somewhere deep in the forest
a leaf grew on the high branches

one day she changed
to vibrant red and gold

she merely thought it was her time
the time she’d waited for

she didn’t know
she was about to die

in hues of majesty
she held onto her branch

overlooked the forest
and understood contentment

she watched her change
and was happy

she didn’t know
she was about to die

a wind came from the south
carrying black clouds

but she didn’t have strength
to hold on

it had been sapped
the colors had weakened her

she knew
she was about to die

somewhere deep in the forest
a leaf grew on high branches

one day the red and gold betrayed her
and she fell to the ground

and shattered on the forest floor
nothing to catch her

she hadn’t known
what it felt like to die

and there, upon the ground
the leaf stayed forever

ever slowly falling apart
blending into the brokenness

she watched the long life of others
saw their contentment

she watched as they knew
that they would never die



I Was Wondering

My Scottish October

autumnToday I could write about a lot of things. Autumn is in full swing: my favorite season of the year. It always seems to speak to me, as if I could hear a great secret or story if I just listened well enough. Many things pull and tug at me, sending creativity in scattered directions and attentions on many different emotions.

While autumn always inspires me like nothing else, it also leaves me on a sort of edge. I stare at the world in awe, wondering how such brilliant colors can spring forth, wondering what secrets these old colors know. While in winter all sleeps, and spring all grows, and in summer all is young and wild, autumn seems to me very old and wise. It draws out the beautiful things as well as the fact that all is about to sleep.

There is an intense beauty in the tragedy of it all. The leaves are dying, and yet they’ve never been more bright. There is nothing we can do to stop the passage of time, or the occurrence of this brilliance just before sleep. But we can enjoy it. We can walk through the woods, take pictures of the brilliance, sit in the wisdom that autumn is. It may be a tragedy in a way, but it is also the most beautiful thing in the world. And I think that’s the real lesson to be learned. We have to find beauty. Because it truly is everywhere. And the beautiful things are an amazing blessing.

The air is crisp and sharp, inviting in a way. The smell of wood smoke clings to the air, harvest is in full swing. And today it highlandsis cloudy, and some seeds are growing across from the house in a field as if they forgot it’s October.

My ancestors came to America from Scotland. My ancestry is very important to me, and always has been. I’m not sure if that’s the case with most people, but I genuinely feel that all of that is a part of me somewhere. And I never feel it more keenly than I do in the autumn. The season always leaves me reflecting on where I’ve come from. For me my ancestry is an undeniable part of that.

And I suppose that these are my observations for the day. Take them how you will. Maybe they’ll add something to your day or maybe they won’t. As for me, I think it’s time for bagpipes, hot chocolate, and pumpkin cake.

Just Writing

Love And Roses

Love and Roses

She said it to me as she sipped at her cup
Drinking in raspberry vines
We sat on the stone overlooking the wood
The trees were passing and bright

I looked at her face with its eyes bright blue
Deep in the question she tried
She spoke of the time when the great roses fade
“Where do they go when they die?”

“The crumble away underneath every flake
Beneath a cover of snow
And we sit and we look at a world pure white
Never knowing where they go.”snow rose

“The roses?” Spoke I, in a jumble of thought.
“My dear, why do you cry?”
“Yes, roses.” Pressed she, so wanting me to know
“Where do they go when they die?”

I want to say what would make her alright
What would calm her crying heart
But she sat on stone overlooking the wood
As if it might break apart

The colors of autumn were ripe in her hair
Her eyes were a harvest moon
I tried to comfort her, though it did no good
For roses would die so soontomb

“In the springtime we’ll see the world fresh and new
And all will be bright and rare
The world will be green and the foxes will play
New roses will bloom so fair

But here we have autumn: the end of the year
And everything is ripe
Why is it, my dear: all is so brilliant
When it is about to die?

This question of mine, though perhaps it is strange,
Pulls so dearly at my soul
I never did think of the beautiful things
How could I have been so cold?”Rose

“My dear, my sweet darling, listen to my words
And believe all that I say
Where things do not die in a place very fair
Go roses when gone away.

And one day we’ll have a lovely little girl
Autumn colors in her hair
And if she does ask us the very same thing
We’ll speak of this place so fair.”

We walked hand in hand among the red roses
Surrounded by autumn vines
And the question she asked sunk deep in my heart:
So fragile, and yet, so bright