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A love like this is dangerous. I raise the tip of my sword to you, a warning a silent plea for distance. Tears carve down my face as I watch you reach for the blade. You grip it tight until blood spills like ink down your arm. The light in your eyes flickers, then fades. Softness dies. Darkness settles in. Now all I feel is pain creeping into my chest like a starving animal, circling, inching closer, tasting fear. Just as I brace to let go and run, I glance down and realize: I'm holding the other blade. The pain seeps in, not sudden, but slow a sick infusion of hopelessness and rage. Still, I can’t let go. I'm frozen, burning from the inside out, my silence pressing against the walls around me like a scream caught in stone. Then, a whisper slithers through my mind "If I let go, I'll bleed out and die." If This Resonated With You... be sure to check out: https://www.themagicofpencilonpaper.com/post/the-ghost-i-see

I run to the field, a trail of sunlight chasing me. Whispering sweet melodies, the cricket strums its love song for a nearby bee. Lying here, encased in pollen, I hope they fly over and choose me. With closed eyes, my arm rises to the sky, floating gracefully. It's easy to pretend I am but a daisy. Letting my mind escape this body, and for a moment, one softly lands on me. The delicate tip-tap of its legs and the angelic flutter of its wings. I'll stay as still as a weeping willow. My heart begins thumping loudly in my chest, begging for you to stay with every beat. Ever so abruptly, a gust of wind strips the remaining pollen from me. Now I lie here in this field of daisies, and you decide to leave. I watch you float to the others just as quickly as you came to me. All of these beautiful daisies swaying so gently, as if it's a dance. I suppose it's silly of me to think I ever had much of a chance. Lying in this field of daisies, yet now I notice all of the dirt, the itching, and the nearby car horn, driving me crazy. The pollen is now making me sneeze. For that, I thank the breeze. When all feels lost and a tear escapes my watering eye, out jumps a stranger no bigger than the tears I cry. The cricket rests on my knee, tapping his foot to the beat of the rustle in the leaves. He's dancing now. I can't help but wonder, maybe his song was always for me. If you loved this article, be sure to check out: https://www.themagicofpencilonpaper.com/post/__her

It’s something everyone deals with at some point in life. Making mistakes, not producing something “good enough.” So consumed with what others might think. It makes you wonder What if I showed you all of my mistakes? The creations I’m not proud of? Even the pieces I truly dislike? What if I stopped focusing on what everyone might think and started paying attention to what I  like? Sometimes I worry I’ll spend my whole life fearing my imperfections When in reality, I’m having fun. I’m creating something that’s mine. And there’s beauty in that. Creation. Inspiration. Freedom. I once had an art teacher who gave us pencils without erasers. She said it was because she didn’t want us to think of anything we did as a “mistake”, but as something we could use in our art. Something we could make intentional. I’ll never forget that. It's time to bask in the glory of imperfection, join me.

Dedicated to my crazy, wonderful, magical dog; Tallulah Bell Darlene the 1st. To Me, You're Everything (a poem from your dog) I’m the one who steals your socks and sprints down the hall. Not to be bad, I just really want you to chase me. You ’ve been gone all day, and I’ve missed you more than you know. I know you’re tired. I can feel it in the way you move, in how your eyes look past me when you walk in the door. But soon it’ll be bedtime. And I’ll miss you again tomorrow when you leave me. I pull too hard on the leash sometimes. I hear the sigh in your voice when I do. I’m sorry. I just get so excited when we’re outside together. Chasing squirrels with you is the best part of my whole day. Please don’t be mad, I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just happy to be near you. I didn’t mean to drool on your clothes this morning. I was just trying to say goodbye. I’ll be thinking about that moment all day while I sit in the quiet, staring at the door, listening for your footsteps, the beep of your car, the sound of your key turning in the lock. You always come back. At least, I hope you do. Because to you, maybe I’m just a part of your life. A small piece of your busy day. But to me? You are my whole entire world. And I, I’m just your dog. Go home and give them that pet. Throw the ball. Let them drive you a little crazy. One day, you’ll miss the mess. You’ll wish you could turn back time—just to chase them down the hall for your sock one more time.

Dearest Reader, Have you ever been in love? Sometimes I catch myself wondering how real that whole “you’ll just know” thing is. They say love finds you when you least expect it, but sometimes, it feels less like a gentle surprise and more like a heat-seeking missile, locking onto your softest spot and going in for the kill. Or, you know, something a little less dramatic. It only takes one person to flip your whole idea of love on its head. There’s something kind of wild about how you can just click  with a total stranger, even when every possible odd was stacked against you two ever crossing paths. And yet, somehow, it happens. One moment. One chance meeting. And suddenly, the way you thought love worked, what it looked like, how it’s supposed to feel. Is completely different. So next time you end up at a Waffle House at 3 AM, keep your eyes open. Be curious about the stranger who orders the exact same thing as you. Maybe they’ll follow you into a sketchy alley with weird intentions... or maybe, just maybe, it’ll be love. To Love And To Be Loved- a beautiful thing!

Just as the reptilian scales offer protection and beauty, a similar trait we as humans possess. An infinite amount of strength and resilience, shedding the remnants of past pain and traumas to reveal a new, fresh skin. Ready to brave the day, regardless of what predators may be in our path. For that is the beauty of life, isn't it? Facing the unknown and conquering tomorrow even while today has beat you black and blue.

Just a quick doodle of an eye, my go-to since I was a tiny, brace-faced gremlin with glitter pens, big dreams, and a sketchbook I took way too seriously.

I am a ticking time bomb, ready to explode and devastate anyone around me at the drop of a pin. The fear of my rigid shards getting thrown into those I love, just because they were too close, forces me to keep my distance. A safety measure, really. I tape myself together tightly, as a precaution, just to be certain I can't come apart. Even if the pressure builds up so heavily that all I want to do is open that dam and release that flood. Yet, I know that the moment that pin comes out, I'd be filled with instant regret as I watch my ever so carefully constructed safe space, become enveloped by smoke and pain. I feel myself tick tick ticking, like the battle drums of a heartbeat, pounding on the walls of your chest. A ticking so fierce and dangerous, it should be locked in a cage where there is no chance of escape. I keep my pin in. I'll guard it with my life, to protect yours. God forbid there's a day I decide to allow it to be yanked from its spot; and I self destruct.

You haunt me like a ghost. Visions of you, appear so suddenly, then vanish as soon as the concept of your face begins forming. Almost as if i'm never supposed to see you again, just not as I knew you before. You are the wind that touches my arm as it travels by. I feel you in the way the sun warms my face everytime I step outside. I hear you as leaves crinkle and crunch, like you are walking towards me but can never reach me. I see you every time I close my eyes to dream. Imagining different endings where the only ghost I saw was the one you'd scare away for me. At night, when the world goes still, I find myself pleading for signs that you, are my ghost. If my visions are real, or if my eyes are seeking the comfort that is not there. I beg the moon, please, be my ghost. I'd wish it over and over again, night after night. If I can't have you in life, then I'd long to feel you in death. Dearest reader, do you see a ghost?

Sometimes the scariest thing we can do is keep it in, bury those feelings inside. To shove them down so deeply, even if you scream, the light that enters you can't quite reach them. Even a scream so loud and sharp it squeezes your heart as you grab your chest to brace yourself. Maybe it could do you some good, dearest reader, to scream. Becoming so enveloped with those very feelings you locked away, never to be heard from again. To truly feel free, letting go of bad memories as you open the flood gates. Allowing yourself to feel everything, everywhere, all at once. I can't remember the last time I let out a good chest clutching scream. That's how you'll find me; usually i'd say to follow your heart, now i'll recommend that you follow the scream.

A shell of myself, almost like i'm just floating in place. Somehow it's all I know, as i'm trying to ride the wave of wind back to your heart; a journey so strenuous, it feels as though i'm fighting for my life. Every road block, every gust of wind that pushes me further from you, is as real as the hot air you spilled into me. Why do I need you to hold onto me so tightly? Hands that grip me as they claim love, yet never allow me the room to fly. Being pulled down, tied to an idea of what could be if I just float like I'm supposed to. Floating in the same spot, suffocating from all this hot air, choking on the pressure of your hands as they tie my string to keep me from flying away. To lose your sense of self, is to feel like an object. I am but a string for you to grab and pull as I float perfectly behind you. A balloon that has the ability to touch the sky but can never stray too far away without getting yanked back into place. Dearest reader, have you ever felt like a balloon?

There comes a time in our lives where we shed our layers and crawl out of the old skin we once let rule our minds. The skin we despised for reasons that are so intimate and personal, we can't ever speak them. To say them out loud is to give them more power, like handing an enemy a knife, and then turning your back to them. The hardened scales and the desire to survive, how we grow and change and leave our old skin behind. Kind of poetic, isn't it? To relate to a creature you don't normally pay much attention to. Dearest reader, how many times have you shed your skin? Maybe our scales thicken as we mature to protect us from predators; a metaphor for life and how it can beat you down as it hardens your exterior. Personally, dearest reader, after years of shedding my skin and crawling away; I've grown hungry and now I eat it.

To know her is to love her. To have her is the fear you could lose her. She holds such power in her gaze, such life behind those eyes, a devastating grip that shifts between love and loss. You are scared if you hold on too tightly, she might choke. The fear that if you allow yourself to feel so deeply, to love so loudly, she will build a raft to escape such noise. Floating away from what could have been, on a river of your tears. Tasting salt that leaves you dying of thirst, yet, never looking back as the tides set their course for heartache. Dearest reader, who is she to you? Tell me about her.