We start with once-upon-a-time

But it seems this makes no sense

If we are once-upon-a-time

Are we not trapped in a fence?


If we start-upon-a-time

Then what’s happening right now?

We could be doing countless crimes

The world would never know


We could be riding clouds above

We could be running short

We could be falling deep in love

Or fighting over sports


Endless possibilities,

So many things we do

Endless liabilities

We wouldn’t know what’s true


We’ll never really know the truth

Of once-upon-today

And we’ll only pass on to the youth

The way we found our way


We start with once-upon-a-time

But this really makes to sense,

Since once-upon-a-time

Is already in past tense.


[Author’s Note]

Hey guys! Welcome to The Write Story! Thanks to my few followers already keeping up with what is going on in my humble little corner of the internet 😉 You guys have already made my day, and I hope to see more of your posts in the future. Please feel free to comment a poem of you own below or tell me what you think of this one. It is one I wrote a couple of months ago and I wanted to share it with you so I hope enjoy and have a great Thursday.

Hating Hate

This is for the hated ones.

This is for the girl who has no personal possessions,

Because her family destroys it when she brings it home.

This is for the ones who are afraid to out in public,

Because they believe in their owns God.

This is for the boy who hides scars on his arms,

Because he spent countless nights alone at home.

This is for the one who sits alone at lunch,

Because no one really wants to sit with her.

This is for the single mother,

Who works days and nights and still struggles to provide.

This is for the veteran on the street,

Who can’t hold a job.

This is for the hated ones.

The ones who have grown numb.

The ones who hate, hate.


His Name is Death

I’ve only seen him three times. Each time is as painful as the last. He leaves a lingering pain behind that burns for hours after hours. I hate him. I hate the way he radiates shock and confusion, and then leaves me in grief for months afterwords. He is cloaked in darkness, but somehow I wish he would just take me. To me, his voice sounds sweet against the darkness he has already brought me. I want only to go with him. He has destroyed everyone I need, now he has only to destroy me. I hate him, and everything about him. But I want him desperately. He is called Death.

-This journal poem is fictional and does not reflect my personal thoughts or experiences

-Please comment your thoughts or a short journal poem of your own.

Thinking Away My Life- A Short Story

I’ve begun to realize that true friends are the greatest things of all because a true friend will be there for you waiting in the rain when everyone else ran inside without you. A true friend will not sit around and watch you burn. No, they will fight for you until their last breath. If only I had fought for her.

Regret pecks at my mind once again as I recall the day I let her down, and even though my age has caught up making the edges of times past blurry, I remember it quite well. I told myself she wasn’t truly my friend, the Colored Girl. At least that is what I called her. She was one of my father’s first slaves, and I knew he would not let me get close to her.

But when she saved me after I nearly drowned in the pond, it became harder to ignore her. Rebecca was her name, at least, that was the one we had given her, and she came to our farm when she was five. I was the same age.

Her mother was sold to another owner.

No one really knew why she saved me. She always proclaimed loud and clear how much she hated me, something father never knew about, but I never told him. She talked about how white I was and how terrible I was to her people. She was a leader to the core. Even the adults looked up to her sometimes, though she was at least a fourth their age.

When I turned ten I started to sneak out to visit her in the night. I would bring the slaves leftover food that the dog was supposed to get. I helped her learn to read, even though it was forbidden for her to know.

My father caught me once. I told him not to hurt her, that it was my fault, but he insisted that she get punished. They beat her. I had seen them do it before, but it still brought tears to my eyes. I tried to run away, but the neighbors found me in their fields and dragged me back. I hated every second I had to spend with my father from then on.

He tried to be good to me, he really did. But I could never get the picture of Rebecca’s torn skin out of my mind. And as years past, we got more and more rebellious.

When I was fifteen I tried to burn down the farmhouse. Father was infuriated. Rebecca told him to stop yelling at me. Instead he yelled at her.

I should have done something. I should have taken the beating or something. He beat her so hard she died from her injuries. I let her down, and she stood up for me.

My regret for Rebecca shrouded me my entire life. I’m just so glad to finally let go of it. Because of Rebecca I am still here thinking away the last moments of my life.

Love and Villains

I finally understand why villains think love isn’t worth the pain. Love hurts like dagger. It pierces and bleeds. Love burns like gasoline and destroys everything you thought you knew about yourself, but love is beautiful. Because even when you are dying inside love comes to save you with more power than anything you can imagine. Love is amazing. And that’s the part that villains forgot.  They forgot to love when everything is lost. They forgot to keep going if only for the sake of love. And love is not just for those who date or are married. Love is for brothers and sisters. Friends and enemies. Love is all we can hold on to in this life. Love is real.

Forbidden Magic- A Short Story

I always hated the fairy tales where magic can be used freely and for good purposes. If only that were the reality of it. Magic is forbidden. It always has been because of its evil. When my mother saw my glowing eyes, the mark of the Magics, she handed me right over to the Authorities muttering about how she should have seen it in my father before.

My father left my mother when he found out she was pregnant. He left me to be tortured and scandalized. Of course, I only know what the guards will tell me, so I can never be certain.

The guards are afraid of me because of my high rating. All Magics have one, a number one through thirty painted on the back wall of the cell, but mine is especially high at twenty-six. They think I will kill them, but I don’t want to. I want to be free. They think my ability to speak to animals is dangerous. I don’t know why.

I glance down to see a rat scurry across the ground. When it is in the middle of the room it stops and looks at me with its round, beady eyes.

Do you have food? The rat whispers in my mind.

No, I whisper back to it so the guards don’t hear, but the kitchens are down the hall on the second right. 

The rat nods a thanks and scurries back out of the cell. I watch him leave with a small smile.

“Why do you have an aura again?” A deep grumpy voice says from the other side of the cell, “You know you aren’t suppose to use your magic. That is the third time this week. You know what that means.”

I look up to see the Sargent looking down on me with an angered expression. I sigh, of course I knew what it meant. I had been here my entire life. “Yes, Sargent.”

“Good,” He says pulling down the screen to protect the guards from the heat. He pushes the button directly beside my cell and immediately I feel the heat in my room rise noticeably. Knowing it only takes fifteen minutes I sit on my bed not struggling as the heat starts to peck at my skin. Moving only makes it worse.

Minutes roll by as the heat starts to hurt worse and worse and my skin turns bright red and starts scalding. As the blisters break out across my skin a tear rolls down my face. Not a full-out sob, just a tear. This is all I ever let out, because it evaporates before its magic can do anything to hurt the guards.

When I was seven, I cried for the first time when a guard slapped me across the face. The magic from a tear is one of the strongest and nearly impossible to control. The guard was never the same. It was like he had my magic, but instead of the animals actually hearing him, he just imagined it. Now I am marked as a hostile prisoner.

Finally the heat comes to a stop and the room cools down to normal. The screen is removed and the Sargent merely walks away without another thought. This time, without thinking, I allow another tear to fall. The Sargent freezes mid-step and turns around to see the tear peel off of my skin and fly towards him.

His eyes widen as the tear hits him in the chest, but he doesn’t seem phased, instead he walks over to me and looks at me regretfully. Then he nods and walks away silently. My mind crashes and then I hear the whisper, At sunset the gate will be unlocked. You can escape then.

     What? I respond to the Sargent’s voice, Why are you letting me go?”

But he is gone.

In the next hours I try to comprehend what the Sargent said, escape? the word sounds so sweet on my tongue, and I find myself anxiously waiting until the sun droops beneath the sky.

The hours seem to surge together until finally, the sun begins to set. I casually sit on the floor of the cell next to the door and through rocks through the gates as I usually do this time tapping my foot against the gate impatiently as I wait for it to swing open. Finally, as the sun sets beneath the hills, I lose hope and go back to bed angered at the Sargent. I lie on my back staring at the roof wondering why I thought he would actually let me out.

Then I hear a small creek as the gate swings open. I launch to my feet and sprint out the door only to be caught by strong hands, the Sargent. I open my mouth to shout, but he just puts a finger up to my lips.

We have very little time. Come.

Reluctantly, I follow him only to find that he has led me to another part of the prison that I have been raised in. The room is dark but my glowing eyes illuminate some of the room. I look at the Sargent to see him takeing out contacts, and revealing glowing eyes.

Questions flurry into my mind, but only one comes out, “What rank are you?”

He smiles, at least I think so since I can’t see very well through the dark. Then he responds quietly with a gentle voice I’ve never heard from him before, “Thirty.”

My jaw drops, “What?”

“My magic is the same as yours, if you were wondering,” He says with a chuckle.

I stare at him completely speechless, “What?” I finally say.

He laughs. His voice sounds milky sweet, like something I should have known before now.

“I know you are confused, I would be too. I’m the Sargent because I am undercover. The future of the Magics rests here, where the rebellion is. One by one, we will save the Magics and then eventually make a nation where magic is welcomed,” he says like it should help me understand everything.

“Who are you?” I ask in confusion.

He frowns as if looking back on a bad memory, “I’m your father.”

I close my eyes trying to mask the hurt. He knew I was imprisoned and he waited until now to save me?

“I see,” I whisper knowing there is nothing I can do but help him, “Show me how to lead.”

And somehow, the smile he offers calms me and I know that everything will get better from here.