Posted in My Work, Poems and Prose


Blessed are those who see the dark; they shine upon the hour.

A light shines out a light shines in, a beacon on a tower.

They do not shun the lurking shadows; they do not close the doors.

Instead, they open up themselves and ask if there is more.

A tear will fall, a cry may sound, but every breath is strong.

Each battle fought with spitting fury regardless of how long.

In careful corners of the world
plays ignorance and innocence.
By circumstance or by their choosing,
confidence is but false bliss.

Blessed are those who see the dark; they shine upon the hour.

The truth be known, and shadows shown! And welcome in the power.

Posted in My Work, Poems and Prose


It’s only when I break, that my insides spill out and I see what I’m made of.
It’s only when I stop holding my breath, that I exhale the poison within.
It’s only when I fall that I find cracks in my foundation,
And only when I weep do I hear my true voice.

Our metaphoric armor protects but equally destroys all that we know and all that we are.
It weighs heavy on our souls and injures and crushes, rots and corrupts. Armor was not made to be worn at length, but when the battle evolves into a war, we feel we have no choice.

Continue reading “RELINQUISH”
Posted in My Work, Poems and Prose


I feel the shadows slowly peel off the walls.

They quietly rip from the corners,

hungrily make their way towards me.

Blocking exits,

snuffing out light,

pausing now and again to be sure their victim is as weak as she appears.

Calculating their moves, working as one.

One of many.

So many against the weak and injured light of one.

Will she fall this time?

Even if she does not fall, they lick their lips anxious for a taste.

The taste of despair and failure.

The stench of rotten wasted hope entices them to creep closer.

A broken heart, a soiled soul, a lost cause.

All a feast for the darkness. All good things that end are for them.

All good things gone wrong, all dead dreams, hopes and love,

but mostly; faith.

I feel the shadows upon me.

Posted in My Work, short story

“You Are Beautiful.”

A tiny little story by i.e.faber.

It’s been the kind of month where each week just gets worse. Each week you think, “This’ll be the week I get on top of things”, but you don’t. You fall down like you slip on ice. You don’t even see it and next, you’re on your ass. How’d I get here again?

I work all day and the few hours I have at home are dedicated to preparing myself for the next 13hrs of work. The next struggle. I’ve been working nonstop and yet somehow still have bills past due. At work, no one acknowledges my talents or successes so I wonder why I bother. Heck, people don’t even know my name. Not my neighbors or coworkers, or even my clients who I’ve been working with for years. People in the streets practically bump into me like I’m invisible.


I feel invisible.

Rushing off to work I turn the corner just in time to see the bus pull away. It’s fun to sit on the sidewalk in the freezing cold waiting for the next bus. I should know – I do it all the time. But I have such little time, I use this moment to do some work emails. Hat on, giant coat, bones aching, feeling old and worn out I type on my phone hoping my fingers don’t freeze. I missed the bus because my running was hindered by a limp. Am I so old now my hips are going?

What am I even doing with my life?

What is the point?

“Miss. Miss? MISS!”

“HUH?”  I look up to see a very old man bundled in a hooded coat too large for him hobble over slowly on his cane to speak to me.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just crossed several seas to tell you this: you are beautiful. I can see you have no trouble being beautiful, I simply wanted to tell you in person.”

“HA! Thanks,” I mumble to my phone.
Then, feeling bad that I ignored the only human being who acknowledged my presence in days, I glance up to say something,

but he’s gone.

Then the bus arrives.

It wasn’t until later that evening while brushing my teeth and inspecting the bags under my eyes that his words settle in my brain. How could he even see me to think I was pretty when I was crouched down and so bundled up? Where did he come from? And did he say he crossed “seas”? Surely he meant “streets”? So strange.

But he didn’t say pretty,

he said beautiful.

Posted in My Work, short story

Grocery Store

I recently took a writing class called Story Telling For Kids run by Val Muller. One of our exercises was to pay attention to children out in the world and incorporate them into one of our stories if possible or just write the scene. I witnessed some kids with their father at a grocery shop visit and one boy was thrilled about a cartoon bear on a cereal box. It was pretty cute. I turned those boys into the girls from one of my middle-grade stories and expanded the moment.

Without giving the full synopsis, this a dark fantasy story about a young girl who’s family of three is dealing with new sadnesses, and (unbeknownst to them) very old evils. Samantha may just be able to help out if she could only keep her manners in check. Continue reading “Grocery Store”