modern artemis

artemis sits around the campfire, knees pulled close to her chest as she looks up at the stars unpolluted by man-made lights. her lungs breathe air almost as old as she is and she wonders how much longer she’ll be able to visit and not inhale the thick smog that covers whole cities in some places. how much longer will the moon shine down on the big blue planet creatures call home? how much longer until life finally drains out like water through a sieve? the pads of her fingers press into mud-soaked jeans. thoughts like this are better left for tomorrow, she tells herself, for the latest march against governments who care too little about the people and places they were meant to protect. they will know what a true goddess is, but not tonight. artemis sits back, flannel and thick socks keeping her warm as she listens to the far-off yipping of the coyote and the quiet rumble of deer lying to rest. the wilderness is too beautiful to spoil with rage.

modern-day goddesses (prompt via


the mousai

in white-columned halls sit girls wrapped in gossamer. light streams through sheer curtains. laughter hangs in the air. with deft fingers, they braid each other’s hair and the soft sound of a lyre can be heard. paper is strewn about covered in sketches, poems, and prose, the beginnings of a history that has yet to begin, and a star chart beautifully rendered. a girl is dancing, hymns on her tongue and a song in her heart.

they wait for bright minds to bestow the gift of divine inspiration in white-columned halls.

part three: favorite platonic pairings (via

popocatépetl and iztaccíhuatl

i. white lady iztaccíhuatl waits for her lover in her empire home, but jealousy is a snake in the grass and deaths are too easy to lie about. war is hell, they say. it has taken him. her heart ceases in grief and the white lady turns whiter in death.

ii. when popocatépetl comes home, he cradles her to his chest. only cold air can revive her, he thinks, so he climbs to the tops of the mountains and waits for her to wake. she does not. limbs grown leaden as his heart sinks and the cold takes him.

iii. the gods look down on two lovers, hearts broken with grief and chilled with death. pity moves in them. with godly hands, they take human forms and make them mountains, looming over the valley below. iztaccíhuatl does not wake, snow covering her form. she is a white lady once more. popocatépetl thaws and his grief turns to anger that spews forth and lays waste to the land. he is molten earth. a heart wrent open that shall never close.

iv. in the valley below, eyes turn to the pair of mountains and whisper a tale of two lovers. when the volcano erupts, it is his broken heart filled with rage at losing his lover. nearby, his lady slumbers. and the gods watch over them.

part two: favorite romantic pairing (via



she spins gossamer in the night
a punishment, a testament
to vanity
foolish girl who dared
challenge a goddess,
now a spider
you have become

part one: favorite myth (via


year’s end



the last breath of a year exhausted
turns to ephemeral fog when it touches the cold
year’s end


A Year in Review: 2017

my year in review

my year in review | 2017 notable moments

i. january – trip to london | ii. february – wizarding world of harry potter | iii. march – poppy superbloom | iv. april – flower fields @ carlsbad | v. may – college graduation | vi. june – lavender farms | vii. july – got to all the county fairs in SoCal (LA, Orange, San Diego, Ventura) | viii. august – oxnard retreat | ix. august/september – begin grad school | x. september – onerepublic concert | xi. october – pumpkin patch | xii. november – knott’s berry farm

*I tried to get moments from every month, but that didn’t always work out. And I didn’t have one for December but I did have an extra one for August/September. Oh well!

**pictures are not my own.



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november’s end

she walks along the forest path lined

with mushrooms the color of trees’

blood, sap dripping in amber

hues that are golden like the sun that

shines through spots in the leaves and

her hair flows like the orange river that

cuts through dying leaves the color of

earth and blood and fire and

she smiles, knowing that the end has come


happiness fades too fast and you cannot hold on

The numbness wears away

the edges of the photograph

memory, blurring together colors until

it’s nothing but a fuzzy, faded mess

of what used to be.

Inspired by a post that said taking too many pictures while you’re having fun actually diminishes your ability to remember the happy memory.



she prostrates herself at the feet of the mother, a hymn to the dead on her lips. veils thin and the thrum of power echoes across the space between worlds, seeps through cracks and pours out into the night. a fog on a Halloween night, one that whispers of ghosts long past. it arches over the girl, words still spilling from her mouth.

in the darkened room, the fog is shadows. they shift and swirl, forming shapes that go unnoticed. and then She is there, lady of the underworld with Her crown of thorns and roses. Her smile is saccharine, too much morphine in the drip as it washes over the lovesick worshipper, a gentle hand tilting the girl’s face up. eyes wide, the words stop, the girl gazing at her mother goddess.

“Have you ever tasted death?” She asks.

from here, the girl can almost see the skull beneath the hair that covers Her face. “No,” she answers, the word escaping like a last breath.

the goddess’ lips pull back into a more wolfish smile. “Then let me show you,” She says, and leaves only a rose petal behind.