Never Giving Up

I will never throw in the towel when it comes to writing. I may not blog every day (despite wanting to participate daily in JusJoJan), but I write every day, both poetry and in a journal. Also, at this point, I will never throw in the towel when it comes to praying the rosary, as I have done so every day for probably 6 years (thanks be to God). It seems more likely that I will throw in the towel on all of life before stopping those 2 things! Nevermind that giving up on life does sometimes seem likely….but that is a whole other topic!

I am never giving up:
Standing in the storm,
Underneath is solid rock,
Something keeps me warm.

Throwing in the towel is no
Option now for me,
I’ll use it to dry my tears
When sun comes to me.

(Just realized I rhymed “me” with “me” — that’s stream-of-consciousness writing for you)


For DVerse’s Quadrille Monday, we are to write a poem of 44 words containing the word “ice.” I couldn’t help dipping my poetic pen-paintbrush into some dark paints. Not sure if it’s good, but it’s the best thing I’ve written all week. 


She tries to ward off his advances,
Feeling helpless as a daisy in a snowstorm
As his icy fingers chillingly caress
Her hair as if it were pure-white petals,
Before he rips them, callously as if limb-from-limb.
Her tears are the dewdrops of mo(u)ring. 
photo of white daisy
Photo by Alan Cabello on

MVB Prompt: Advance.  

For a Friend

It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad and happy at the same time. It’s okay to have your heart hurting while another’s is bursting with joy.

I’m writing this for a friend. That friend is me. That friend would probably want to die, if not for the psychiatric meds that keep her alive. The only present she wants is love and to feel special, but that can’t be bought or fit under the tree. She wants to be worth a diamond ring to somebody.

Her heart hurts, when she wishes she was happy, and that has to be okay.

Surplus of Sadness, Lack of Imagination

Depression, this sickness, is unimaginative:
Got a surplus of sadness, a panoply
Of problems, a massive mess? Then 
There must be nothing to do but die.


It doesn't see past its own pain, 
Nor possibilities. 
                          "What could be gained
From waiting?" it wonders. 
                  Inner storm thunders.

Depression is indeed unimaginative, but I can’t let it get in the way too much of me posting on here. Thanks to whoever reads these. Today is better than yesterday. Yesterday I had the most depressed Gaudete Sunday ever, despite the day itself being actually rather special. Sometimes I just can’t be happy…. 😦 😦 😦

A Sea of Grief and Longing

Just now, I wrote a poem for the Sunday Whirl’s Wordle #581. If it’s nothing but a word salad, it’s because I’m still depressed and very sad and grieving, but here you go. Update: Sharing with DVerse Open Link Live!

Let one's flame, spilt over the darkness, 
Cause a gap filled with light to be ripped
Into the world, knocking down hopelessness's
Walls -- Let's touch hope for a half-second,
Even with fingers numb with cold, 
Even with the rest of the Earth burning down
To ashes, amidst a sea of grief and longing. 


For DVerse Poetics: Cheers!, we are to write inspired by a drink. I’m glad that it wasn’t limited to alcoholic beverages because I don’t drink; in fact, I find the mere smell of alcohol repulsive.

Other people have written gorgeous poems involving wine, but this is mine. 😅 I write what I know, haha. Comments are appreciated. 

Starbucks is my bar. 

I walked straight there, after
Getting my heart broken (again)

I needed a hot, tall (handsome?)
Dark roast immediately that morning,
And time to cry and write.

The salt from my tears
Under the rims of my glasses

Made me look somewhat on the rocks.

I Miss the Past

For MLMM’S Opposing Forces. Quite often, I look back and think things used to be so much better. At the very least, I miss the past, probably too much. Also, at least for me, I feel like my life has stopped for the past 6 or 7 years, like I left myself back there or something. 

Please comment if you know what the heck I mean by that.

“Call Me Mara” *

With all my reminisces, 
I ought to take a tiny bit of sugar 
To sweeten any bitterness of loss;
And like Lot's wife, take
A giant pillar of salt as the cost. 

               * see Ruth 1:20

I’ve Been Reading…

I’ve been reading a book called I Love Jesus, but I Want to Die, by Sarah J. Robinson. The book title was what attracted me because of how blunt it is. I appreciate that the author didn’t mince words. I’ve had this book for over a year but only started to read it a couple of months ago because, before, I couldn’t get through the first page without sobbing.

I read a chapter today which mentioned psalm 139. Not the verses that are supposed to be hope-filled, such as “I praise You, because I am fearfully and wonderfully made,” but the part where it says, “If I make my bed in hell [or Sheol, or the grave], You are there.” That inspired me to make this piece of “art,” using good old Microsoft Paint:

Scripture Art

It might not be finished, but I wanted to share. Nor am I finished with the book, but I wanted to write about it because it is the most real book on dealing with depression from a Christian perspective that I’ve ever read. Sometimes it gives me some hope. Other times it doesn’t, but it doesn’t claim to have all the answers. That verse helped a little today but it might not tomorrow; we will have to see.

Out of Her Element

The first think I think of when given the word “element” is the Periodic Table of Elements and chemistry class. Even though when I am writing I am in my element, I can’t seem to write a poem about that. Earlier this week I did write a 6-Sentence Story having to do with chemistry. I was really good at it in theory, but when I got into the lab, I learned that I am not good at chemistry at all; in fact, it terrified me, so I changed my college major.

This story was written almost SoC-style, except the last half of the last sentence was from ChelleBee.

Should she stay at her current university, while changing her major, or should she transfer to a different one? She didn’t know what to do with the next year, let alone the rest of her life.

Returning to her childhood home, the trunk of her life’s tree, she tried to discern where to go from there, which branch to take next. A year at the community college, taking various classes, turned into three, and a few more years intervened between then and eventual graduation. In terms of college units, she had started out ahead of her classmates, but she had ended up behind every one of her peers; though she was not entirely unhappy with her life, she and her parents thought that she would have accomplished much more by now.

At the time, she was unaware of how momentous her decision to change her university would be, but years later she realized that that had been the defining moment of her life.