LITERARY CONTENT
My creative writing journey extends all the way back to 4th or 5th grade when I would spontaneously write short stories or even full books, sloppy as they were. My writing always seemed to impress my peers and family, a skill that I have obtained through years of telling fantasy stories, writing poems and essays, and taking numerous English classes. I have always liked to write in a way that is both atmospheric and impactful, captivating emotions and inspiring creativity in others. My literary background has been incredibly beneficial to my journalism endeavors, from both creative and technical aspects.
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Below holds some of my favorite works of literature over the years.
Essays
2022 Southern Miss Honors College Application Essay
2021 Final Dual Credit English Composition II Essay
2021 Dual Credit British Literature I Essay
Poetry
RCSD Young Writers' Workshop 2018
Featured in Hometown Rankin Magazine
August 2018
Garden of Light
My mind is a garden.​
Every day it is watered and grown​
It thrives with color and foreign lands​
And galaxies unknown.​
With every new book and story, a new flower grows,​
Painted with dreams of beasts and myths and drifting white does.​
A quiet mind mine is, filled with roses and trees​
Watered with fantasy tales and stories.​
I am a reader and a writer, with imagination of different shades​
Of colors and thoughts, a garden of light that never fades.
Genevieve
I watch as she bends over her work,
Brown hair spilling down on a stash of
Papers, curled at the tips and worn
From hours of attention.
She pays little notice to the
Dust coating my pink lungs
Or the shadows shifting over my
Shimmering tulle and cotton skin.
My charcoal button eyes continue to stare,
Watching as anguish bunches the muscles
In her face.
She used to play with the silver key
In my back, which would sing
Soft melodies to accompany
Her tinkling laugh.
Now, she plays with her hands,
Dancing a pencil between
Her fingers as she sighs.
The sound is but a whisper of wind,
Of flowers longing for spring,
Stretching their petals
Up, up
For the honey sun.
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My peach legs stay crossed,
Wrapped in blushing pink ribbons.
I wish I could give her spring,
I wish I could give her the youthful
Embrace of sisterhood and
Freedom she so craves and misses.
Yet I can only sit here and watch,
Watch as she withers with time.
Some may think me dead,
With my dust coated lungs
And shadowed pink gauze wrinkled
Over my small body.
In reality, I am as vital and vibrant
As any soft spring bud.
I am livened by her past,
The tinkling laughs and
Warm, cupped hands that held me
So long ago.
I am the inner child that never
Leaves her, despite what she
May think. I am always there,
Watching, waiting for spring.
Cobwebs and shadows.
Not forever forgotten,
Just a recoiled flower in winter,
Waiting for the chance to bloom.
Second place Poetry Division II, 2022 Mississippi State Beta Convention
Home
Winter’s frigid grasp of death
Slowly begins to that
With the ripening of spring.
Trudging along the dirt road,
With the piercing wintry mountains
Fading behind my weary back,
I finally see home ahead.
All around me flourish orchards
Of golden gleaming fruits
And sakura blossoms of the lightest
Shades of blushing pink.
Lads with their freshly sewed
Velvet vests call “Bread, bread for sale!”
Into the streets, as the warm aroma
Of wheat wafts from their woven baskets.
Gentle turquoise waves lap against the harbor,
Washing away the horrors of war and the brisk
Nights of loneliness that lived
A parasite in my mind.
Persephone seemed to have
Kissed the land with her lips of
Spring, the naked flower blooms
​
Promising a new start.
Hills rolled far into the distance,
Framed by tall evergreens and
The sunset’s golden glow.
The quiet bustle of the town
Reminded me of youth,
Of sun-filled days
And meals of cherry pies and
Hearty meats.
Tears spilled down my cheeks
As I shed the burdening
Travel sack from my back.
Gilded wings of white broke through
My torn skin, and for
The first time, as I
Ran up the road towards
My home, I felt I could fly.
And so, winter bled to spring.
Fourth place Poetry Division II, 2021 Mississippi State Beta Convention
Icarus
dark souls and worlds of chilled winter,
bright moons and fruitful orchards of spring,
the darkness is too heavy,
depths of murky water,
of endless mazes and bloodred apples and
grails of poison wine.
and so i fly instead, my cold breath
warming with the ecstasy of light and lavish.
yet suddenly the light is too bright,
the apple too sweet,
and so i fall.
i now look upon my reflection
in the murky water surface.
as warmed wax drips from my back,
the darkness swirls like billowing ink,
a black swan shadowing over my reflection.
and yet the light warms my face,
a luminous painting of melodies
against the heavy darkness above.
as tears spill to the grass below,
i wonder have i truly lost my wings
or have i found my feet?
Sands of Tme
memories crumble to ashes
starlight and melodies
incinerate to crumbled sand castles
and red-tainted dreams.
fresh picked strawberries
and fever dreams burn to fire,
leaving behind only blooded hands
and the heavy weight of a heart,
smoldered to resentment.
as i look back to those days of golden sand,
i am left with only a sense of abandon,
as the world burns away in my grasp.
Primavera
her skin was as smooth as caramel
her eyes, a hazy rich brown that seemed to warm with the sun.
in our corner of the world, life was a painting.
with our stars and silks we seemed to have won.
only the welcoming animals in the endless forests greeted us.
and yet, even in our hideaway of thriving gardens and shimmers of stars,
in time winter thus withered our love with its frigid jaws,
and her warmth little by little slipped from my grasp
until only left was a trace of her petal-soft aroma.
and that night, while the city men clinked
their crystalline glasses and caressed
their pampered wives,
i sat in the expanse of stars and seeping darkness,
and felt nothing.