June 2016

Letters To Allen

Dear Alley,

There are a million reasons why I can’t seem to foget about you. Everything reminds me of you. When I take a breath I remember “hey Alley used to like breathing, he’d always say he’d die if he didn’t “. Songs, places, memories. You’re etched in the front of my mind, the lids of my eyes. I see the sun, and I remember how we took summer walks. I see a cloudy sky and remember how when I shivered ever so slighty you offered me your Jersey without a doubt . You’re like a tattoo, I could cover you up with makeup or clothes, but that doesn’t mean you cease to exist. There are times you feel like cancer, killing me slowly but surely and painlessly. I’ve tried to cure myself of you, but chemo is killing me faster. Oh Alley, I lay in bed and it feels like my death bed, it feels like I might breathe my last anytime from now. Why couldn’t your imperfections make us perfect. Why couldn’t you fit the equivalent of Cinderella’s glass slipper? I needed you in more ways than I ever knew was humanly possible. I text you a thousand times and another million in my head. I can go a day without texting you, then go on a binge for a week. You’re not strong enough to be my weakness, so I don’t know what you are. But what I do is, I can’t forget, the Lord knows I’ve tried.

Yours Stiil, LadyP




*this is the launch of my mew writing series,”Letters To ALLEN,[the ones i could never send]”


The Untold Stories Of Mine

Tales of my Introverted-ness

Sometimes all I want to do is stay In bed and cry. Cry not only till I ran out of tears, not only till I’m exhausted and beat. But till it doesn’t hurt anymore. Even if it takes a week, a month, a year. So long as it stops. I want to cry till there’s nothing more to make me sad. So sad I have to hide within myself.
Sometimes I have to hide my silence behind a multitude of words even when i don’t want to, but it’s easier to slay than say, to say that I don’t want to talk or be heard. To say and explain that I’m too sad to live so I just exist. Its okay when extroverts want to party all weekend and dance till they can’t feel their legs. But it’s unheard of when an introvert wants to stay in and be quite all weekend. When we want to pour out our hearts till we can’t feel it beat even.
But I can’t, so everyday I slap on a smile and a can-do attitude. I have to wipe my tears and suppress my pain. I have to act like the knives in my heart don’t hurt. I have to act like the sound of people breathing doesn’t kill me inside. Because it does. Each breath they take is like a kick to my side…


I’m at a point where I’m exhausted, I’m tired

Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑