I am a 30 old female mother of two who loves to write in the male (and now female)perspective. I love to write romance. All kinds of romance---new, old, LGBTQ, Straight, non-binary, science-fiction, horror, everything. I love it all!
Persephone’s Best Friend
Ever since I left you from the mortal realm, my love, my heart has been on fire. The sky upon the Underworld has since been charred to death—-it is broken and black.
The Heart Factory
Author note: this story is set in the same universe as these stories: ———————————————— I went to the movies with my friend, Joy. We went to see Black Widow. That was a very good film. Very emotionally deep and yet funny. Everything in the movies is so funny—-no one can read each other’s mind(to make it more interesting) so they all gotta act like they’re walking on eggshells trying to figure out the other’s motives. I have some human acquaintances. They are so crazy good at reading my mind! Argh! I hate it. But… I kinda like it too. This human guy I know from my College is really funny and cool and he doesn’t show off that he can read minds. I’m half Elf and half Siren.
I write for people who are like me
I write characters and stories that are hard to write (for me). It’s exhausting to write happy people. It’s exhausting to write people fighting their way out of depression. It’s hard to move out of bed sometimes and open my eyes—-but I do it because that’s what thriving through pain is—-moving step by step each day to get by. To do each task and care for your family. I find it difficult to do anything sometimes, but I take deep breaths, and I do it. I try to do it well—-or least finish it to completion. This worldwide pandemic and the way everything feels slow and terrifying and unending—-it is hard to feel safe. But, with my friends and family, I can. Writing is my safeguard to keep me grounded as well.
I grew into my new bones I grew into the grinding, serrated fear The fear that lunges at your fingertips and Down to your throat
A companion piece to this: ——————————— I never thought I was meant to have true love. I just thought I was meant to be stuck in nightmares—-where my parents just watch me suffer and say almost nothing——where I get stuck in these crazy situations where I feel trapped. I know my parents care. They are just so oblivious and selfish.
What we gonna watch?
“What do you wanna watch, baby?” Johnny said in the kitchen as he finished making two fresh cappuccinos from the espresso maker.
“Why are you smoking? You don’t smoke,” I say to myself. You don’t smoke. Your father smokes. You don’t smoke, I repeat, looking into my pristine mirror that I cleaned meticulously for ten minutes. No streaks, just smoke. “I don’t smoke,” I say, and I blow the Marlboro’s burning taste out from my chapped lips. I just came from a funeral. And my mom gave me his cigarettes. My father’s last pack. My father always said he’d quit. He said he’d always stop. Half a pack a day. Just a few a day. “You don’t even smoke!” I whisper, the tendrils of gray whispering sweet suffering and tender hearted memories. He quit drinking, but he still smoked.
The night of the chocolate cake crumbling before us
“I just watched this sad movie,” Selene started, taking off their work clothes, and changing into pajamas. The pajamas had Joshua trees on them. Selene loved Joshua trees—-they said it looked like a human that had stood out in the hot desert, arms outstretched—-and had slowly turned into the beautiful wispy branches. “It was so sad. It made my stomach hurt—-I wanted to cry. I couldn’t.”