ARTIST-ONLY-HERE

I keep my heart in a glass jar. It used to be free. Free to feel, free to live, free to love. Now it stays tucked away safe at home in its jar. I leave it there so it won’t get hurt. I’m sorry for those times I was careless and callus and mean. It’s harder you see when your heart is away. My father was the one who first broke it. He stomped my dreams, then my laughter, then me. When I left, I tried to mend it and bring back the love and light it once held. But then another boy broke my heart. He stomped it, smashed it, and crushed it. Now I leave my heart at home. I keep it on the shelf to remind me, Not to trust,

Two men, big, burly guards, brought Kenna through the double doors fighting. Biting, kicking and screaming, she was much more animated now than when they had captured her. The men half walked, half dragged her down a long white corridor for what felt like forever to Kenna. There were barred doors every few feet, and the stinging smell of alcohol disinfectant flooded her nose. The two guards who secured her on either side didn't even flinch as she struggled for her freedom, they just stared ahead with blank expressions, marching silently. The white washed walls of the corridor glared at her under the florescence, making the barred doors more e

Pitch black is the night in the forest. There are no shadows here. I am walking and they watch me, yet I am free. Alone, growing cold, light cannot reach me. The turning, tube-like tendrils caress my thoughts, weaving in and out. I will not look upon the sun. I trail over darkened hills. My jumbled consciousness pushing up my throat to my mouth, sour and hard. Harsh laughter escapes. I spill out of me, essence reeling. Ever searching for shelter.

 I decided to ride my bike today. Tuns out tires and sand do not mix. Usually on my trek through the desert outskirts, I walk. For some reason I thought this would be faster. If only I had a hover bike, that would make things much easier. I ended up having to walk anyways, towing my bike behind me. In a way it was worth it, I might have missed the happy little family of desert mice. I stopped to add a quick sketch of them to my notebook. The sun was riding high by then so I thought I'd take a break for some food. I usually pack a lunch, but this time I guess I should have brought more. A baby desert fox came out of his hole, probably beca

I dreamt of love; then woke.

In the Summer, my mother's garden smelled of perfumed flowers, sweet wine grapes and rain. She loved that hallowed place, quite likely more than she loved her four young children. Hours she spent toiling in it each day, working in the rain, shine and wind; and for all her efforts she had turned that place into a paradise. An Eden. We loved to go out and play in the splendor of the garden. The flowers overflowing their pots and hanging planters. The pond with its waterfall and little arched bridge that cut across water littered with koi. The orchard, lush ripe fruits hanging just beyond my reach. The centerpiece of it all was a great weeping

I tried to imagine when I had been in a worse situation than this. The red welt of a sun scorched and sizzled my skin until I felt crisp and raw. It was all I could do to ignore the parade of pissed of mammoths, hot coals strapped to their feet, stomping on my back. Through frustration and outrage ate at my insides, I was too dehydrated to cry. How could I have gotten into this impossible situation? I had been clinging for sweet life to a splinter of a log, arms painfully stiff and numb. With the last of my strength I managed to hoist myself on top of the drift wood, maybe when I passed out I might have a little less chance of drowning. Howe

 Long ago a fair cherub of a child lived with her mother and father on a farm which bordered a large forest. The girls name was Celia and she was a helpful, kind and beauteous child. Celia often wandered the forests edge that bordered her families little hut. Usually hunting for berries and nuts or fallen branches for firewood to help her family out, but sometimes she went for her own enjoyment. She would sit by the stream that ran through the woods, weave reeds and sing. Often she engaged in conversations with nearby animals though she knew they couldn't understand her. On one such occasion, as she was humming and fixing her fair, golden h

I looked to the ancient man before me, so old he seemed as if he should be falling apart; or at least not hobbling around showing off the massive decrepit tower behind him. “These are the campus dorms,” he told me with a gesture towards the tower. “You can go ahead and get settled inside, but before that there's one more thing I must tell you,” he said. I looked curiously at this wizened man, his eyes which appeared glazed a moment ago now shone with a mysterious inner energy. “The north outer wall,” he said pointing around the corner of the front double doors, “That's referred to as 'The Wall of Tome

Captains Log 3263: Captain Richard Paige recording. After purchasing the S.S. Aquamarine and a crew to run her with the very last of my funds, we set out North along the Andromeda highway towards the spiral galaxy. Though we are in for quite the trek on this cargo run, I feel it will reward us handsomely. Far more than enough for a feast of supplies, deckhands, and any repairs we might need when we arrive. I'm optimistic to say the least. The precious cargo we carry was a rare find off of a local merchant. “Tis the valuable Oplatite, sir” the merchant said, and he described to me its value and properties. I knew by one look at