A short poem.


Ideas are gifts.

Ideas are feelings that uplift.

Ideas are helpful.

Ideas make us try when others are doubtful.


They help us make us who we are.

They are apart of us.

They are ideas.



Another Online Message

This is another one of those online You-Chat message things that I had done a few days a go.

HardRockLife56- Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

AnnabellaTrue18- Ugh I am busy sorry.

HardRockLife56- Your ALWAYS and I mean ALWAYS busy. Is there something your not telling me? Is there someONE you aren’t telling me about? Maybe its time we take this relationship down a bar. You aren’t even willing to text me.

AnnabellaTrue18- Woah woah woah. Slow down. I told you years ago that I work a day job at a restaurant. Short term memory much?

HardRockLife56- And we’ve been over this a hundred times. I have short term memory loss. Short term memory much?

AnnabellaTrue18 and HardRockLife56 left the conversation.

This conversation is no longer available.


Something smells. Its aroma drifts in to my nose and climbs to my sensitive sense of smell. I cough, unable to bare such a horrible thing. I quickly turn my head away from my fathers coffee, instead taking in the scent of a delicious corn muffin. I think often to myself, why is coffee so desirable? Its caffeine would only make me crazy, and it’s smell would only torture my nose. Why can I not be normal, and enjoy the normal things? Because I am me.


Cacti are prickly and mean.

The are icky little fiends.

The are spiky and unlikable.

They are unfortunate and unreliable.

But they have a soft side.

A fluffy not yucky, lucky side.

A sweet smooth skin beyond the angry surface.

A quaint little friend, my dear cactus is.


This is a detailed description of cheese.

I pressed the cheese against the roof of my mouth with my tongue, soaking up all of its cheesy goodness. I let my tongue fall limp, and put the cheese on the tip of my tongue, so that the taste was so strong that it hurt a little bit and made my tongue shrivel up in disgust. Then I pushed it to the back of my throat and swallowed up its cheesiness. A piece of cheese.


This is a (very) short story.

The last thing I remember was swimming. I saw the light of the morning and I swam with all my might, and then the darkness came. It was like a trophy that was taken away just before I won a race. A race of life or death. A trophy to live. I felt myself falling. Falling down, down, down to an eternal end.