Time was dragging by. The last time Ashlyn looked at the clock it was 1:23. It was now 1:27. The anticipation of this interview had started a month ago, and was only three minutes away now. She stared down at her long fingers, that had once danced beautifully along the keys of a piano. Her musical dreams had long faded along with her love of the arts. She had her surroundings memorized by now, having arrived an hour early. She was in a beautifully furnished waiting room, the walls painted a gleaming white, the leather couches and chairs deep black. The décor consisted of beautifully crafted lamps whose stands twisted in all sorts of odd angles, the wide wood plank floors stained black. The artwork on the walls seemed tormented and dark, something she would never have painted in the days of studying Fine Arts in graduate school. She could not believe she was finally here, or why she was...

I don’t know about you but there is such a comforting feeling to taking a personality test in which you already know the results. I know I’m a Myer’s Briggs INFJ. I take this test every three months just to know that there are people in the universe that truly get me. I am within the smallest percentage of the population that thinks and feels how I do. So to find anyone that is similar to me is challenging. While I like being unique, sometimes knowing I’m understood is the most comforting feeling in the entire world.

I’ve felt so misunderstood lately. Mainly misunderstood by a church community I used to call mine. It’s so painful to think that at one point while I was genuinely trying to become and care for a community I somehow ended up being an outcast. I try to be understood by my new husband who fits well into the community but he doesn’t quite get it. I know that I have grown...

I dip my pen into the ink
What century is this?
I stretch my arms out
Roll my neck.
Think through the constant
wave
of
thoughts.
I wait until I fish out
a good one,
it flips and flops,
won’t stay still
on the page.

I try to reinvent myself,
To figure out my code.
But all I am is lost again,
stuck in
an uncomfortable
unbreathable zone.
I was young & beautiful
Now I feel aged.
I feel
like winter stole my youth.
I feel stuck in a cold,
unyielding
CAGE.
Break free,
Break me.
Out.
Someone please.

The moment
the snow
melts from the streets,
the minute
the sun
leaves its warmth
on me,
I know I will soar
I will feel
RELEASE.
But right now
it all feels
plain
heartbreaking.

I just read a fantastic article about recognizing when it’s just not time. When it’s just not time to push yourself harder. When it’s just not time to break through the funk you are in to achieve your dreams. That maybe it’s just time to deal with what is going on right now.
I’m stuck in an in between. I wrote a poem years ago about being in between love. It was another time that I fell completely in between two stages that are so incredibly enriching and fulfilling. But the in between was dark, bumpy and plain confusing. I was still in love but moving on from my first love, while knowing the person I was to love for the rest of my life was probably years down the road. I thought there was something wrong with me, that for some reason I was the only person who dealt with these “in between” times in my life. But I think people just like to edit this part out of their lives when they...

Let me start by saying there is not a single thing wrong with being an introvert or being extrovert. The problem lies with the misunderstanding of extroverts of introverts. We introverts spend our lives listening, observing, taking in our surroundings when they are too much for us. As crowded rooms, distracting color schemes and blaring music deplete our energy levels we see our loud extroverted peers become more and more fulfilled by noise, whether it come from their own mouths (or especially when it comes from their mouths) or any other outlet. We study the people that we are supposed to be like. We see that we are supposed to be leading conversations, talking loudly for everyone to hear us and gaining energy from all this engagement.
We sneak to the bar and pound a couple shots to become even a little bit as socially engaged. We try to pull people we actually care about outside away...

I think I am. I think I am strong, independent. I think I am smart. I think I am worthwhile. I think so hard sometimes trying to convince myself of these traits. I am independent, until I get too anxious, too afraid to do anything on my own. I am smart, but in what capacity? I am not a doctor, I have no high paying job to show for it, my IQ is high but not overly impressive. I am worthwhile, but some people don’t think so at all. In fact, there’s millions of people who I have no idea who I am.

I think I am, but these thoughts are thoughts. Only that.
It’s amazing that the human brain can think, think, think, but only for themselves. I should say, within themselves. It is rare to find individuals that truly think for themselves. We think all day long. We think about what people think of us, what we should do next, when the next chance will be to sit down on a couch and relax. Or the...

There’s something about a story. The mysteries hidden between lines, clues given as soon as the first sentence and later revealed in the end. Something about unexpected romance, disaster, relationships. The beauty of a sentence crafted that makes you feel as if you have stepped inside a room to observe the story as it happens. Reading a book is sort of like looking into the Pensieve in Harry Potter. We become part of the story, we can see, taste, touch, hear, feel the characters yet we can not alter the plot. Something about the way a story twists and turns, takes you into dark corners, back alleys, then shoves you back, unexpectedly, into the light. How a mind can ponder what happens next, how one thing relates to another, if the ending will be conclusive or frustrating. There’s something about it.

I have been writing as far back as I can remember. Maybe that’s not true. There was a...