it’s not all sunshine and rainbows like it was when we were all but children. it’s dark and mysterious. you hear ominous footsteps in several pitches and consistencies. you never know what’s around that corner or behind that tree. maybe it’s a pitfall? or maybe it’s the portal to a better, much happier place.

we never know what’s lurking in the dark so be careful, and become the bad girl you were raised to be.


swirl your pencil like a broom

and write your magic spells


isolation became my friend, as i wove  spells with graphite. all my life i was told, witches burn by firelight.


don’t listen to what they say

gathering together a witches hunt


hiding in silence stuffy and stiff, i heard the crowds pass by. i could tell them i wasn’t a witch but that would be a lie.


stir the pot carefully

don’t let it boil over


the first spell i ever brewed, was a casted charm of invisibility. but i’ve gone too long without writing, so now they’re gonna catch me.


i was branded with a witch’s mark

for casting a spell on him


i never wrote a spell for him, he fell all on his own. but for all the witch hunters, i was destined to me alone.


one less witch

one more light in the world


stories never told how i gave in willingly, realizing the differences i had wanted to make, could be made by just being me.


they gave my ashes to the king

and claimed that the witch had burned

but the stake was empty that day

because as a witch i burned up from the inside out

(unwritten spells are magic of their own)

until the fire was afriad of me