Give Me A Reason


Give me a reason

Like leaves in the seasons

To change, for you

It’s been a long hard winter

I’m prepared to wither away

But you say you don’t want me to

Oh, you want me to stay

But oh, I don’t want to stand still

Just give me a reason

You beg and you’re pleading

For me

But you have nothing to give

Winter has ended

I don’t want to get left stranded

Watching you walk away

Oh no, no, no, no

Just give me a reason to stay.

A song written for a Fantasy in progress, What If. Read the first few chapters on my other blog



At the thought of you with her…
At the sight of your tongue dancing with hers…

At the thought of your hands intertwined…
At the sound of her laughter, divine…

At the thought you were in love…
At the sight of her shuddering under your touch…

At the thought I might not be enough…
At the realization I’ve got to stop…

Stop this jealousy…
I have conjured with my mind…

Stop the envy…
Gurgling inside…

What Do We Live For?



I’m pathetic

Gotta quit this

Delusional life

The hunger the strife.


Such a coward

Such a failure

Do you ever wonder

What is it for?


What do we live for?



Do we live for love?

Do we live for success?

Do we live for the hunger, the pain?

Why is it so mundane?

Do we live for love?

And if so what kind?

Do we want passionate, romance, sweep-you-off-your-feet

Or something in between?


Never worth it

Always forfeit

To second best

Can’t give it a rest.


I’m tired

Can’t keep it up

I try so hard

Just to give up


Why am I always trying so hard?



Do we live for love?

Do we live for success?

Do we live for the hunger, the pain?

Why is it so mundane?

Do we live for love?

And if so what kind?

Do we want passionate, romance, sweep-you-off-your-feet

Or something in between?


Always giving up

Always getting in my way

Never get a chance to say what I want to say

(What I want to say)

But it’s too late now

Missed my chance

Want hard as hell

To get it back

(Can’t get it back)

Can’t change the past

Can’t go back

But where am I supposed to go

When I’ve messed things up this bad?


What am I here for?


Am I here for love?

Am I here for success?

Am I here for the hunger, the pain?

Why is it so mundane?

Am I here for love?

And if so what kind?

Do I want passionate, romance, sweep-you-off-your-feet?

Or something in between?

Inspiring Blog Award


Rules to this award:

1. Thank the person who gave you the award.

2. Tell 7 things about yourself that will not have come up in your blog entries.

3. Pass it on to 7 blogs you find inspiring and explain why.


Thank you to ‘Nessa (Bluesander) for nominating me for this award! It means so much and frankly I’m not sure what to say. In truth I think you are the one spoiling me 😉 Your posts are equally relatable and inspirational to me which makes this award all the more special. I am just overwhelmed with pure joy, so thank you so much!!!


My seven things:

1.) I really like fashion. I love dressing up and down in quirky things, so much so that my art teacher told me to go into design.

2.) I collect monster high dolls. I planned on giving them to my future child but I think they’ll just stay in the box where they’ll be safe.

3.) I hate cheese. As well as many other things, I’m very picky.

4.) I collect asian doll necklaces from Forever 21 and just about anything else that looks asian.

5.) When I was a kid I used my birthday wish to wish I could become a lion (lion king was my favorite movie)

6.) I love the taste of pepto bismol (don’t worry I don’t take it unless I need it)

7.) my favorite anime/graphic novel/light novels are chibi vampire.


My seven nominees:

Elyas ( Kweschn!) because not only is he a good friend of mine, but his poems are divine and I love that he writes about other things going on as well.

Mark Stevensson (Mark Stevensson’s Poetry) because his writing never ceases to amaze me. He writes poems about all sorts and it just seems that his words are magic. With every poem he takes my breath away.

David (Thoughts From The Outdoors) because his poems are not only great but when I read them I can see them from his point of view, and sometimes I feel like it was something I could have seen/felt.

R.L. King (75 Kaleidoscopes) because she really has talent. I also love her choose-your-own-endings for her poems, I suggest you check it out ;]

Ermisenda and Eliabeth are coauthors of Ermiliablog where they do all sorts of amazing things! They do book reviews and my favorite activities such as picture it and listen & write. They are always encouraging others and are very supportive. Ermisenda even has a book out called Blind Sight I insist you check it out!

The Tale Of My Heart, he has been there from the very beginning of my blog consistently supporting me. His posts are inspirational, funny, and moving. I want to thank him for being by my side from the start and ask him to keep up with his great posts!

If Only‘s sometimes dark emotion-filled poems unhinge something inside me and I admire the way they say what they feel.

A Time


Once upon a time
An angel flew into my life
She walked among you and me
Her wings disguised
To took my hand
And taught me to fly.

A time not too long ago
I met her
I met you.
And you showed me things I never knew.
I had never known
When you chose me that day
I was meeting a soul-mate.

There was a time
(there still is)
When I realize
I want to be your angel too.
I want to show you grass that is blue
A sky filled with light
And give a wide smile to you
my friend.

Once upon a time
I met my best friend.

In Case…


In case you wanted to know a little more about me, here is an essay I wrote in HS:

Life is like a movie montage. I lay back and watch the clips of my past play on the back of my eyelids like a film. Some memories are a blur, and some are vivid. All are significant. All have shaped me into who I am today,

I’m three. This isn’t my first memory, but this is where my movie truly begins. I don’t see the police charge into my grandmother’s kitchen; but I can see my mom with tears cascading from her eyes. I cry too as she speaks words I don’t understand. Now I’m in bed. Dad is leaning over me, saying his goodbyes. I’m numb. When he leaves, I pee the bed. I still don’t feel a thing.

I’m in first grade. My dad is in jail and my mom has a new boyfriend. I hate him. I walk past him as I get off the bus. He yells my name, but I keep walking. I walk into my fifth grade classroom. My curly hair is in knots, sticking up above my head, and apparently I smell. At least that’s what my teacher tells my mom during our parent teacher conference. Mom cries, what can she do to help me? She doesn’t know what to do with dad in jail. Is it affecting me? It hurts to see her cry like that. I want to comfort her, but I don’t know how. I look at my teacher who looks at me expectantly, like “what do you have to say for yourself?” I look back; back to fourth grade when mom gets a call from my dad’s fiancée. He was arrested again, and deported to Jamaica. His last chance to see his only daughter and he failed her once again. I look down to the table, at my project. It looks terrible, and I’ll probably get a seventy on it; but I don’t care. Who needs school anyway?

It’s my first day of middle school, and I’m nervous. I walk into my English class, and my teacher is kind. Maybe school won’t be so bad after all. We’re on poetry week, and I’ve found my calling. As I express my thoughts with a pen on lined paper, it feels right. I start off by writing poetry, but as we work through short stories I realize I’m good at those too. That’s when I knew I wanted to be an author.

When seventh grade comes, I give up again. My hair is hidden under a bandana. I wear one every day because my hair has become un-tamable, and school became unbearable. I wanted to leave. We do. I’m in a new school, and my step-dad is not going to let my grades slip again. I’ll hate him for years. Soon I’ll be thanking him for pushing me.

As my memories flash on the screen, I read my dad’s old letters. I cry and I cry. Through the tears I see, that in a way he was like me. He could write poems that spoke from the heart and gripped your soul. I wanted my work to be that powerful. I take them to school with me and read them in the comfort of the library. I feel calm. It feels like I’m at home as I sit, surrounded by books. I wish to feel like this for the rest of my life. At first I think that I want to open my own library; but then I realize that’s not right. No, I want to open my own bookstore.

With my curls pulled back into a pony-tail, I waltz into the Village Book Market and ask for a job. The owner can’t afford to pay for a real employee, but I agree to help out any way. I sit down at her computer and she teaches me how to catalog books, and the technical terms for describing their condition. It’s not a real job, but I know this is the first step I must take before I reach the second landing.

I open my eyes. The movie is not over, the rest is still being written

Child of the Sea


It ebbs onto my skin

Covering me:

Its kin.

It swarms into my soul

Its mysteries

Make me whole.

We breathe in unison



It draws itself across my body



I beg it to take me with it.

Let me be a part of you.

A storm swells deep within it

Come my child

As it falls over me

Like a tsunami

Taking me adrift.

Taking me home.





Congratulations for stumbling upon my blog! Let me introduce myself: My name is Mercedes. I am eighteen-years-old and fresh out of HS. For almost as long as I can remember, I have wanted to write. Even as a child, I didn’t want to play with dolls but with pieces of paper. I like to think I get my creativity from my parents. My mom, who doesn’t write much but when she does it is brilliant! She’s got the best imagination I know and I go to her for advice on my latest projects consistently. Then my biological father also wrote me poems when he was in jail… but that is a different story entirely.