kiss away the darkness

another (better) song for my favorite donuts. enjoy!

kiss away the darkness 

there was a girl (you)
who was born broken into a thousand pieces
no one ever cared to pick you up, lift you up
into the stars

and then there was him
he picked up the pieces in
soft summer breezes but
he only tore you apart

at night, in the dark, through the beating of your heart
you think you hear his voice saying “it will be okay”
lies, all lies, and he’s
lying on the couch with your brother in the dark

hands in his hair, in your hair
lips on your mouth, in your mind
prying open secrets like old kitchen cupboards and you’ve
lost your first lover to the world inside your home

then she’s there,with her heart on her sleeve
open mind, scabby knees
kiss away the salty tears
kiss away your deepest fears
kiss away the sadness and the dark

i hope you like it! constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. have a fantabulous day!

love from,




long time, no see, eh?

i had a crappy song idea today and i wrote it down, and i’m gonna share it with y’all now.  enjoy!


I wish I had a photograph
Of each moment
We spend together
Cause it’s the little things that matter
I would hold it to my chest
And kiss your
And dream that I could ever matter
Falling asleep
It’s you I see
Every time
Every dang time
I wish I had a photograph
Of each moment
We spend together
Cause it’s the little things that

hope you liked it!
love from,


make your mark

i traced my fingers over the painted words, inhaling their musty scent. i am surrounded with the hopes and dreams of those who came before me. now, it’s time to make my mark.

i dip my hand into the thick teal paint, allowing it to coat my fingers, painting a single smear upon the wall. it glows among the dim monotony of the black and white letters in my room.

i think over the life-shaking words i am about to write, turning them over in my mind until i’m ready.

slowly, s l o w l y, i paint my legendary declaration.

will turner is baeeeeeeeeee!

just a little something for y’all. 😊😉

love from,


“all you need is love”

more sad stuff. sorry. to whoever wrote this song, credit for the lyrics goes to you.

“all you need is love.”

a girl, thin with two dark braids, drifts along the sidewalk, singing softly to herself.

“all you need is love.”

she rubs her arms, shivering as she walks into the wind.

“all you need is love,”

a car rounds the corner, red with rust. the driver, intoxicated. the passengers, out cold.


the car swerves onto the sidewalk, the driver too drunk to see straight. she doesn’t notice, too focused on the lilting words spilling forth from her.

“all you need is lo-”

her life ends at the same time as her song. 

have a nice day! i feel you still can… 

love from,


b r o k e n memories

ok, so i know i already posted today, but i’m kind of on a roll, so here’s some more sad stuff to make you and me both cry. 😥

b r o k e n memories

don’t let go

i’m waiting for you

hold me tight

i’m not leaving you

forgive me

no, no, no.

i can’t stay any longer

it’s not time yet


i’m not ready

all my love to

don’t break my

y o u

h e a r t

Trevor goes to Jasmine’s funeral, placing a handful of her namesake on her grave.

beautiful blossoms for a beautiful girl, inside and o u t.

He cradles the pictures he took, putting them on the walls and taking them down.

too p a i n f u l to look.

The notes she wrote him are buried deep in a box in the corner of his bedroom.

the flowery scent of her still l i n g e r s.

Tears drip from the tip of his nose onto her yearbook picture.

all these broken memories



b r e a k me

i’m sorry for your poor feels! trevor ain’t the only one with a broken heart after all this sad stuff i keep posting. 


love from,



yay, more depressing stuff. joy oh joy. not. guys, your comments are really nice, and i’m sorry i can’t write something less sad for y’all. i’m just not feeling the happy writing vibes, ya know? anyways, let’s get on to our weird poem story thing.

*warning: this story contains character eating disorders, suicidal thoughts, depression, self harm (kind of?), and suicide. if you are under thirteen, do not read this poem without parental permission, unless you’re absolutely SURE you can handle it.*


(if i was prettier, would he like me?)

mai admires him from across the room. her eyes water, because she know he’ll never be hers.

(if i was thinner, would he look my way?)

she goes to take a bite of ice cream, then hesitates and replaces her spoon.

(if i was smarter, would my parents love me?)

she’s on perpetual diets. she waits for someone to notice, to tell her to stop, but no one does.

(does anyone love me?)

her mother snaps at her to finish her lasagna. mai nods, scraping her plate into the trash can when no one is looking.

(has anyone ever loved me?)

mai collapses one day during gym; she’s too thin to run a fast as they’re making her.

(will i ever be loved?)

the school nurse takes one look at her and calls the doctor.


they put a tube in her stomach, forcing her to eat, but she doesn’t want to eat, she’s too fat, she doesn’t deserve to eat.


her parents don’t even feel sorry for mai-instead, they’re mad at her. It’s her fault, she should’ve just eaten.


she believes them.

(i just want answers.)

mai rips the tube out. it hurts, but she deserves this pain and suffering. she deserves to die.

(can you help me?)

her breaths rattle in her chest. mai rubs her hands together for warmth, but there is no warmth left.

(no one can.)

“i just want someone to care about me.”

(it’s too late.)

//oh poor girl who just wanted to be loved//

//you’re in a better place now//

//up above//

so that’s that. have a nice day!

love from,


p.s. i’m finally getting the hang of this whole graphics thing! yay! 


hello, friends! today i have another sad, depressing poem for y’all, but at least it’s not about me this time. it also has anaphora. it’s about two characters, sonya and ethan, and the choices the make. there’s a story on each side of the poem, and a different choice. 

*warning: this story contains character suicide, suicidal thoughts, depression, self harm, and child abuse. if you are under thirteen, do not read this poem without parental permission.* 



sonya stumbles in the dark. she is night. she is pain.

ethan hits his sister, who hits back. he is light. he is pain.

sonya rubs her bruises and cries. she is night. she is pain.

ethan rolls over in bed and dreams of endless sleep. he is light. he is pain.

sonya curls up in a ball. she is night. she is pain.

ethan wonders why he is alive. he is light. he is pain.

sonya hides from him and his punching fists. she is night. she is pain.

ethan finds the pills and prepares to end it all. he is light. he is pain.

sonya thinks that life is not worth living. she is night. she is pain.

ethan imagines his sister crying at his funeral. he is light. he is pain.

sonya presses the gun against her forehead. she is night. she is pain.

ethan thinks of a life of happiness, a life he could still have. he is light. he is pain.

sonya slips through the cracks. she was night. she was pain.

ethan disposes of the pills. he is light. he is alive.

sonya’s baby brother cries for a sister who will never return. she was night. she was pain.

he walks his little sister to school and kisses her goodbye. he is light. he is alive.

he arrives home drunk, laughing until they tell him. she was night. she was pain.

he wears long sleeves to hide the cuts. he is light. he is alive.

the school learns of her loss and shake their heads sadly. she was night. she was pain.

he learns of the death of a girl he’s known since birth. he is light. he is alive.

she had so much more to give. she was night. she was pain.

he leaves flowers and tears upon sonya’s grave. he is light. he is alive.

so much more life left to live. she was night. she was pain.

he prays it will be many years until he joins her. he is light. he is alive.

she lost it all. she was night. she was pain.

ethan returns home and bakes cookies with his family. he is light. he is alive.

“goodbye.” she was night. she was p a i n.

“i love you.” he is light. he is a l i v e.

thanks for reading! and remember, comments encourage & inspire me.

love from, 


p.s. yay, me! i managed a cute graphic. for once. 


hello! today i’m going to share a poem that uses symbolism and anaphora. it’s about me, and it’s kind of depressing, soooooooo… sorry. but first, i’ll tell you what anaphora is.

anaphora: the repetition of a word or phrase, usually at the beginning of a stanza in a poem or song.

anyway, here’s my poem. it doesn’t really have a title, so i call it a.n.a.p.h.o.r.a.


{i am an apple-colorful, quick to bruise, and quick to go bad}

{i am a penguin-clumsy, fun-loving, a tad naive, and slightly adorable}

{i am a calendar, with a changing demeanor and changing emotions each day}

{i am a cloud-above the others, sometimes with company, sometimes stranded}

{i am an old marker, used accidentally, unwanted, eventually thrown out}

{i am a set of new gel pens, glittery, bright, and frank with the world}

{i am a dandelion, towering above grass, first beautiful, then blown away}

{i am a new binder-shiny and special and empty inside}

{i am a down comforter, full of fluff}

{i am america, wanting change and fearing it at the same time}

anyhoo… have a nice day! comments and constructive criticism are welcome and wanted. also, does anyone have any good book recommendations? i need something to read.

i love y’all!

love from,


A Pantoum & Announcements!

Helloooooooooo! Long time, no see, right? I missed y’all. Anyways, I’m here with a short pantoum that I wrote for my writing class and some announcements… which will come after the poem. Enjoy!


Everything ended in flames

They’re gone; that wasn’t a dream

I wish it was a dream

Why couldn’t it be a dream?

They’re gone; that wasn’t a dream

You’re talking, but I can’t hear you

Why couldn’t it be a dream?

I just want it to be a dream!

You’re talking, but I can’t hear you

I turn away and let the tears come

I just want it to be a dream!

Slip between the cracks and fall into the abyss

I turn away and let the tears come

I wish it was a dream

Slip between the cracks and fall into the abyss

Everything ended in flames

Thoughts? Suggestions? Dare I say… compliments? 😉 Hey, everyone loves compliments. Well, bye!




You’re still here. You’re staring at me and waving your arms.

It’s kind of freaking me out.

Oh, yeah! 🤦‍♂️ The announcements!

I’m happy to say that I am now on both Pinterest and I’m isabel the writing weirdo  and lovelunalovegood, respectively. I post my random weird stuff on Pinterest, and I’ve posted both Tears and Raindrops and a KOTLC fanfic on there called Secrets & Sweethearts.

Don’t read Secrets & Sweethearts if you’re homophobic! I want no hate on my stories. Otherwise, feel free to check both of those out! And maybe even give me a follow… please?

Love y’all!

Love from,


P.S. Check out this awesome site to find out which author you write like! I’m Agatha Christie, apparently. She’s awesome, so I’m cool with that!

New Collab Story with Cupcakegirl10! Chapter One

Hallooooo, my darlings! Cupcakegirl10 and I have started writing a story together. It’s a historical romance adventure! Sounds fun, right? Anyways, I’m here with chapter one. The Italian words are in italics, and we’ll tell you the meaning at the bottom of each post.

Chapter One: Chiara

It all started with a simple difference, as most arguments do. Difference of opinion, difference of the heart, difference in politics… everyone is different. For us, it was a difference of religion.
Papà was a good man, with a kind heart. But when it came to the topic of religion, he and Siena Amalia had completely different points of view. And it appeared that Papà’s temper, so short and frayed those days, had snapped.

“Mamma says to follow your heart,” I trembled, stepping in between Siena Amalia and Papà. Mamma shook her head vigorously and grabbed my hand, pulling me against her and out of the argument.

“Now is not the time, mia figlia.” She whispered in my ear, holding me close in a storm of anger and tears.

“I am not an animal for you to control!” Siena sobbed, but her eyes were bright with anger rather than sadness. “I have my own beliefs, and I am tired of hiding them. I am a Christian, and I am proud of it.” Pride blossomed within me as I looked upon my sister, whose fists were clenched in defiance, her stance betraying no fear.

Papà slapped her across the face.

“Sergio!” Mamma shrieked, covering her mouth with one hand as she watched Siena nurse the red welt on her cheek.

“It’s time you learned your place, woman,” Papà sneered, turning to Mamma and raising his fist. I burst into tears as I watched the horrors unfold before my eyes. Mamma, my strong, spirited mother, shrank back and kept quiet. She was helpless to the plight before us. Papà’s gaze returned to Siena, who stood tall despite her obvious pain.

“You can hurt me all you want,” she hissed, her dark eyes hot with rage. “But you cannot stop a mind from thinking. And think I will.”

“Then leave,” Papà growled. “As long as you look upon God differently from us, you are no daughter of mine.” The words hurt Siena more than the slap. However, she recovered her composure quickly.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then,” she responded stiffly, but I detected a hint of melancholy in her voice. “I’ll be gone by noon tomorrow.” Papà raised an eyebrow, but didn’t object. But I did.

“You can’t leave!” I cried, hugging my older sister to me in a torrent of sadness. “I need you.”

“Chiara, I’m sorry, but America is no place for a little girl,” Siena sighed, stroking my dark hair as my tears soaked the front of her dress.

“America?!” Mamma burst out. “You can’t go there! It is not safe.” Papà glared at her yet again, and she fell silent. I pulled away from Siena Amalia, my resolve stiffened.

“If you’re going to America,” I said, “Then I’m going too.” Papà turned his anger upon me, and Siena Amalia shook her head vigorously.

“Chiara, no,” they both stated emphatically. There was a flicker of kinship between them before they turned back to me.

“You banish my sister, you banish me,” I continued stubbornly, glaring back at Papà. Tension was thick in the room, and for a minute I thought Siena and I would have matching welts. Finally, though, Papà relented.

“Go,” he snarled. “Both of you. But let it be known, you will not be missed.” Mamma could not hold her tongue any longer.

“I will miss them,” she snapped, opening her arms to us. We both held tight, not knowing that was the last time we would ever see her.

Sew, what do you think? I hope you enjoyed it! Make sure to like and comment below.

Love from,


P.S. Enter TPPWC!