Mae H.

Joined November 2021

0 stories

Bio

I am an avid reader, a creative cook, and a hater of biography-writing. I'm here trying to get back to the one thing that has always been life-giving to me.

Stories (10/0)

Mountain
Drawn from rock and fire a summit of dragon lore; a peak for prayer
By Mae H.about a year ago in Poets
This is Me
I am a harbinger of peace – outwardly – to those who do not know me; a diplomat between worlds I fear I hardly know.
By Mae H.2 years ago in Poets
As April Rains
I love you as April rains; a few drops to begin are a glance to you. Such intent to deliver a swell of life to the blossoming heat that
By Mae H.2 years ago in Poets
Through the Eyes of the Blind: My Child Born Blind
I'm really not sure how to start writing this. After all, I'll likely never know what it's like to be blind, but I expect I'll gain a better understanding as I watch my daughter grow.
By Mae H.2 years ago in Journal
The House in the Fog
I am not a reliable narrator. I will eagerly steer you toward my own bias. And so, I tell you, approach what I disclose with great discernment. I am merely a witness, and, as such, I will make my judgments, just as you will.
By Mae H.2 years ago in Fiction
The Sunrise
Christening the bleak of grey; The paradox of dark and day, Confined to single Moment’s blush for longer light the earthly lust.
By Mae H.2 years ago in Poets
Love is a Better Lullaby
I don’t like to nap. Even with a six-month old baby and a two-year-old, I hate falling asleep. My husband knows that if I decide to lay down, I am exhausted beyond the point of functioning.
By Mae H.2 years ago in Motivation
Our Darkest Moment
Our darkest moments give us a chance to show our truest, rawest versions of ourselves because, often, that is the only part we have left. In those moments we have been beaten down and stripped away until only a skeleton of our sense of self remains. We have nothing left but the very core of our beings, so how could we be anything other than who we truly are?
By Mae H.2 years ago in Humans
Sable
Raven is the only way I could describe it. Or ebony; onyx. Black, even. Her coat was so dark it was often illuminated with blue hues by the sun. At night, her vibrant green eyes were all that would give her away; large enough to reflect the dim light of the moon, creating a beacon in the shadows.
By Mae H.2 years ago in Fiction
Peach Tree
Trees are catalysts for time itself, growing and aging; watching. They are born by the wind and the hope of life, drawing each day in as they release the last, bearing out the seasons in loyal retribution as they decay and resurrect.
By Mae H.2 years ago in Fiction

Mae H.

Bio

Stories .css-19zxm0z-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(10/0)

Mountain

This is Me

As April Rains

Through the Eyes of the Blind: My Child Born Blind

The House in the Fog

The Sunrise

Love is a Better Lullaby

Our Darkest Moment

Sable

Peach Tree

Stories (10/0)