I write fiction I've been scared to post, and poems I spam everywhere.
“Come on in, Mr. Walters, have a seat on the couch, get comfortable.” “Thank you.” “So, I guess start off by telling me, what brings you into therapy?”
By jl wood10 days ago in Fiction
If you are reading this, it is with great regret that I assume you have misplaced yourself in one way or another and now find yourself lost. Below is a practical list of steps to take once realizing you are no longer where you thought you were. Follow the following only as far as you must in order to once again discover yourself.
By jl wood17 days ago in Fiction
struck like a matchstick this feels like something different you're the warmth I seek
By jl wood25 days ago in Poets
Light a candle, for it is the darkest day of the year. But worry not, for today the sun’s to be reborn. Now our days grow longer, the long nights shorter and those feelings of eternal darkness begin to melt away in the warmth of the ever-growing sun light. No longer must you suffer Death’s icy cold breath upon your nape or nipping at your heels or suffocating your crops or starving your livestock and children alike. Today the odds begin to turn again in our favor. Today light overcomes the darkness. Today we begin a celebration.
By jl wood2 months ago in Humans
Carried by the breeze, Fluffy but tough Like a dandelion seed; Stability had never been a luxury or guarantee. And though my roots were weak,
By jl wood2 months ago in Poets
Give me a second, to gather up my brain. It’s scattered like ashes, splattered all over the place.
What’s the use of this confusion– stumbling, tripping on my own illusions, somehow coming to my own conclusions.
I’ve overthought this once before, embossed my brain; It’s in my head forever more. I suppose it’s just part of the lore,
We could hardly wait – it was going to be so awesome. Dale’s grandpa finally bent and gave us that loan we’ve been struggling to secure for over a year. He said if the place fails, Dale can just write it out of his inheritance, call it quits, come to his senses and get back to his calling as his brother’s farmhand on the family ranch.
By jl wood2 months ago in Fiction
I would say this place is great, while some display a great distaste, and waste time so precious,
By jl wood3 months ago in Poets
The ink bleeds deep into the folds of the page, no longer confined in my imagination, it spills. It forms sounds, words, feelings
The hairs on her neck stood straight up with the cool breeze. It couldn’t be wind.
By jl wood4 months ago in Poets
