I’d be always alone, limited by my concept of love,

And I’ll end up childless or adopting late in life

as I focus on my life and become consumed by my job,

which I should be good at.


I’d want a big house to compensate for loneliness.

Apartment hunting (or forced to stay at my parents’).

With a malnourished yard and a pet craving for attention.

And I would tell others I am happy.


I’d get take-out food or starve myself.

And always alone, I’d stare at my plate.

I’d constantly visit others for food.

Food would be a surplus, but my heart would be empty.


I’d have a car, money, and a child.

Life would be satisfactory.

I’d force a smile on my face.

And it would be okay.


Because of everything I’d have.

Because of friends and family.

Because everyone can dream.

So ideally




I’d be married to someone I love.

And I’d have a kid or maybe two

as I juggle my life and my job,

which I should be good at and happy with.


I’d have a house big enough for family.

A house I paid for myself, not my parents.

With a nice yard for a pet or two or three.

And I would be settled and happy.


I’d get good food and a spouse that can cook.

And together as family, we’d eat together.

We’d eat with more family sometimes.

Food would be ample, and all would be merry.


I’d have a card, money, and family.

Life would be fulfilling.

I’d have a smile on my face.

And it would be great.


Because of everything I’d have.

Because of friends and family.

Because everyone can dream.

But realistically

Dream and My Future

The world is blank – white – as I stand silently. Everything is empty, silent, and it is as if I’m forced to a standstill, as if my feet are glued to the floor.

Only one other person stands before me – my father. But he’s dressed in scrubs, dressed for work.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” he asks.

“…A doctor,” I reply after a long silence. I could not even begin to guess where we are. Am I dreaming?

“No,” my dad says. “What do you really want?”

I don’t want to answer, but the silence kills me. I realize nothing will happen, and I would be stuck here forever if I don’t answer, glued to the floor.

“A… writer,” I mutter, saying my second choice, “but I really want to be a doctor…”

Thousands of bookshelves suddenly appear, sliding into place, and my dad gets one book out, saying, “Then?”

“Well…” is all i can say.

“There is nothing wrong with being a writer.” Suddenly, many people appear, taking books and looking through them. “As long as it’s something you want.”

“But – ”

“You can choose… or do both. Just do what you want.”




I stood up for myself.

Will I dare betray them, they say.
Will I dare raise my hand to my master, they say.
Will I dare run away, they say.
Will I dare to become human?

Never would I see my daughter take her first steps, they say.
Never would I find the rumored land of the free, they say.
Never would I choose to betray them again, they say.
Never would I ever try to escape again, they say.
Never would I listen to them and their false promises again.

Be grateful they left me alive, they say.
Be thankful they have accepted me back into their home, they say.

“Broken” is the term they use to describe me.
Broken is a term they call many of us who have been forced to stop rebelling.
Broken is a misconception.
Broken is someone abused, bruised, cut, sliced, forced into deferral.
Broken is never a human being.
Broken is not the term to describe me – because I will rise and rise again until I reclaim the freedom that always belonged to me.


Random Comic 😜 and a Little Something Else 😁

So, I was going through ideas for what to post here since it’s really been a while. Then I come up with this great idea to make a comic and post every week or something because that’s easy, right – a comic? Just maybe three or four panels of drawing some stuff, adding dialogue, maybe some action.

HA. Haha.

Making the draft by hand was fun and honestly not a lot of work. But using a drawing board… plus coloring even though there are only three main colors was… difficult for me, I guess. So, I may or may not keep doing these. I already had another thing drawn out by hand as a draft anyway.

Continue reading

Empty Mirror

The world spins as I stand in complete darkness, the ground vibrating with each passing second. An oval mirror from my far left suddenly zooms to me, forcing me to look at myself.

Except I’m not there.

I place my hand on the glass mirror – blank and pure dark – until another hand from the other side of the glass holds mine.

A deathly cold hand.

That looks like my own. And I’m scared if I go closer, there’ll be some woman on the other side that appears, empty look in her face, devoid of life in her eyes – an empty shell. But I know this is true.

Because I am my own ghost who can no longer recognize myself.


Everywhere he touched me burns.

The air I breathe in is cold fire.

I dread the times he returns.

He says only I quench his desire.

The flowers have long ago wilted.

In my dreams, he still haunts me.

Despite my rejections and pleas, he persisted.

The nights are burned in my memory.

Soon, everything was skewed.

I no longer remembered who I was

before this life with a man so crude.

I live in submission, just as he wants.

But then you saved me when you came.

And we watched as my prison burned in flames.