NaPoWriMo Update

Posting everyday is proving to be quite difficult especially with sports so I will try to post a poem probably once a week. I will not do it everyday.


Rain on the windshield The swish swish swish of the wipers
The dark cloudy sky
Drops race down the window
You watch them fall, silently rooting for one of them to win.
That’s why I love the rain.

Back at the house, rain bounces off the roof
You grab your yellow raincoat and rain boots
Open the door, and wind rushes through your hair.
You jump outside with an assortment of puddles
Raindrops splashing, bouncing back up. That’s why I love the rain.

It may be cold.
It may be wet.
Sunshine is good but when a big shower comes
You can bet I’ll be watching raindrops,
Jumping in puddles
And most of all, loving the rain.


April is National Poetry Writing Month. In my creative writing class, we will be writing a poem everyday for the entirety of April. This blog will be focused on poetry and I will try to post everyday for NaPoWriMo. Happy Poetry Month!

Recovery Road

Two weeks ago, I posted a flash fiction post. This is the novel excerpt of that post. The plot of the whole story is a girl’s mom and little sister die in a car crash. Throughout the story, she deals with her inner self, the relationships around her and mostly survivors guilt. She meets Tyler at a group therapy session who has gone through a similar scenario. Together, they help each other cope and become closer then just friends.

February 6

It’s just a normal summer day. My mom, sister and I are driving down highway I-80. I’m sitting in the passenger seat of our red jeep. My mom drives, lecturing me.

“Lydia, it’s summer but I won’t let you slack off and do nothing! Next year you’ll be a senior, then off to college and you’ll need money! So get a job. Working is a great experience…..” I drown her out, earbuds in my ears, volume going up. I close my eyes, envisioning the song. Billie Eilish’s ‘Bury a Friend’ blocks out my surroundings until I hear the squeal of tires. I smell burning rubber. I open my eyes wide. Glass rains down, and I jolt forwards and I see darkness and I’m falling. Falling, falling down.

June 6

Four months ago, I lost two very important people in my life. My nine year old sister, Haley and my mom, Adeline. My life wasn’t supposed to end like this. Metaphorically speaking of course since I’m not the one buried six feet under. Now, I’m surrounded by people I don’ want to be near. I’m forced to listen to stories I don’t want to hear. Love and loss. It’s like Shakespeare wrote out my life. The walls enclosing this group therapy session stare at me.

I look up at the clock. Five more minutes till we start. I don’t talk in these “meetings”. People don’t need to know my business. Maybe one day I’ll share, but so far, it’s been the same thing, every time.

“Lydia, would you like to share?” Brent (the group therapist and my personal therapist) asks.

“No,” I reply. He always nods and is always so nice. He understands.

Three minutes. Then, one hour of talking and I’m free to go. I look around the room and see a few new faces mixed in with the familiar ones. I put my long, blonde hair up, trying to make the time go by faster. I hear the door open and I turn in that direction. The guy that walks in sits across from me. My attention is all on him. He looks right into my green eyes. I stare back into his icy light blue ones. I’m the first to glance away.

“Alright. It’s 11:00. Who would like to start?” Brent asks.

At first, no one says anything or moves. “I’ll go,” the guy says. I feel his gaze burning into me and I can’t help but look up at him.

“Great! Say your name since your new, why you’re here and how the situation has affected you!” Brent says.

“I’m Tyler Harding. My dad and older brother died in a plane crash two months ago. I’m here because my mother forced me to be,” He pauses and you drop your eyes to his grey hoodie. “My mom and I always fight. My friends call me moody and all but three of them don’t talk to me.”

Tyler and I stare, eyes challenging each other. My mouth speaks before I can comprehend what I’m doing.

“My mom and baby sister died in a car crash four months ago.” I stop and look up at the clock. I feel not one, but multiple stares. I look at Brent who radiates shock, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. I spoke. I said what happened and I’m almost as shocked as everyone else.

My eyes once again, meet Tyler’s, who already is watching me. His face softens and he gives me a small smile. I smile back, the corners of my lips slightly turning up. Time to wait for fifty minutes to pass.


The forest I’m in had no fire. No smoke signals, no ‘help’ or ‘SOS’ spelled out. I don’t need any of these. I do not want to be found.

The breeze makes the leaves quiver. Each day I explore. Some days I take my dog. Some days I make camp. Others I don’t go too astray from the shelter I call home. Living among the wild animals and trees is freedom. No one can stop me. No one will find me for I do not want to be found.

I’ve seen animals of all colors and species. Brown bear, black bear, grey wolf, red fox…. The list goes on. The few occasions I turn my portable radio on, I hear my name. Missing person they say. I’m not missing. I ran. I know exactly where I am. I’m in the midst of a forest, nature on every side. They say, “…still missing….” because I do not want to be found.

Recovery Road

In my creative writing class, we are doing 6 word, 2 sentence, or 50 word flash fiction pieces. We make one and eventually, will develop it into a short story. This is my 50 word flash fiction!

It was just a normal day. Driving down the highway in the passenger seat of our red jeep. My mom drives, lecturing me. Earbuds in; drowning her out. Normal teenager stuff. Then, it happened so fast. Glass rains down on me. I see darkness and I’m falling. Falling, falling down.