Sky Full of Amethysts: Blogging Around With Rommy Week 42


I came through,
under the crust of possibility filled earth,
not quite right
for what I was expected to be.

I’ve had eons to learn
to fake a laugh
and joke loud enough
to distract from my flawed shaping.

I was told I was fated to lose 
because I'm a dull excuse for an amethyst.
I was secretly afraid
that was the reason I was left behind the others
without a chance to know the homeworld.

It’s true.  There’s a lot I don’t know.
But I’m burnished bright by my strange
and when the dross falls away, I see

I’m just as real an amethyst
as any of the others in this sky.



Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was created for Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads, Just One Word: Burnish. It is also linked to Poets United's Pantry of Poetry and Prose.

So this soon after Nerdtino (a Latinx nerd convention), I had to go with something super nerdy. This piece is about one of my favorite characters in the cartoon Steven Universe, Amethyst. Though Amethyst hatched on earth, she’s part of an alien species known as Gems. There are several other Gems on earth, but she is the only Amethyst. This piece was meant to take place just as she was meeting other Amethysts for the first time. She was very nervous about it, but according to the official podcast of the series, meeting and getting to know other Amethysts (whom she now collectively refers to as "the Famethyst") “has allowed Amethyst to define herself with more clarity, leading her flexibility to become a choice rather than a reaction.”


There are so many great moments in this show
but Amethyst meeting the other Amethysts is one of my favorites.

Speaking of Nerdtino, I had an amazing time there. It was the first time I had ever been to that convention, and the first time I vended anywhere. I was so nervous, I forgot to have tea before I drove over. Fortunately, nerves work up a fair bit of adrenaline in the system. That and the really great atmosphere provided by getting together with other creative folks who are passionate about their art kept my energy high the whole day. Despite having trouble with my card reader for my cell phone, I sold out of all twenty-five of the books I brought with me.

Yes, I crashed as soon as I got home, settling myself on the couch the rest of the night and a-better-late-than-never cup of green tea. As Khaled Hosseini wrote in A Thousand Splendid Suns, “it's better to be deprived of food for three days than tea for one.” But I am so happy I went even if I did have my first cup of tea at 7 p.m.

So let me hear from you dear Groovers…have you done anything that made you a little nervous at first, but ended up being pretty freaking wonderful? Talk to me about it in the comments section and as always, if you want to take the conversation up on your page drop a link to your cyberhome in the notes.

Song Choices: DJ Awesomus Prime kept the convention dancing to so many great songs that day, but I have to go with the two that really got me and the people around me moving. Suavemente by Elvis Crespo and Make My Story by Lenny Code Fiction (the second theme for season three of My Hero Academia).

Hunger Pains

There was no questionhis mews were less robust than his brothers’ and sisters’ from the moment he was born. And now they had gotten even fainter. None of the litter had opened their eyes yet but Mayra knew that one would not get the chance, even if she didn't intervene. She looked down at the pitifully undersized creature.

 A patched tabby strutted into the alley where Mayra and her brood lay. Lyla gave her a contemptuous look as she got closer.

“You haven’t done away with it yet?” Lyla scoffed.

Mayra didn’t look up. She continued to look at the small kitten, wishing things had been different, wishing he was as strong as the others.

Small white paws…dark fur…white patch on the throat…dark nose…Mayra tried to fix in her mind every detail about him she could.

“Oh move out of the way. I’ll do it if you won’t. It’s a shame to waste food, even if he won’t make much of a meal.”

Mayra hissed at Lyla. “I’ll do it.”

I don’t know if I can care for the others, or myself for that matter, Mayra thought. She had a hard time finding much to eat lately, even with Helia’s help, and worried if she could make enough milk for all the kittens. She had hoped for a miracle. Sometimes she’d daydream about one of the two-leggeds taking her and her children into a warm home. But she had found nothing more comforting from them than glass bottles thrown her way.

There was going to be no miracle. Nothing would help the small one now. She knew that this would give her food she desperately needed and buy the rest of her children just a bit more time. But her heart still ached. It would be crueler to let him linger like this.

Mayra opened her mouth and in a few seconds it was done.

“There now. It wasn’t that hard. You first time brood carriers, always so dramatic. You actually have tears right now! I’ve eaten at least 4 of my own kittens and it never bothered me once. They were actually quite tasty. If it wasn’t such a strain to bear the little beasts, I might have another litter, just for the chance to taste one again.”

Mayra hissed and spat again. Lyla raised her paw to strike.

“All right over there, Mayra?”

A scarred pit bull loped over to the two cats. She barred her teeth at Lyla. “You wouldn’t be thinking of hurting a new mother, would you, Lyla?”

Lyla turned tail and fled. Helia gave a snort in her direction. “I never did like Lyla all that much. She bothers you again, I won’t feel bad about taking a nice big bite out of her backside. Oh, I almost forgot. I got something for you.” Helia ran to the front of the alley and came back again, bearing a large mouse. She wagged her tail excitedly, dropping it at Mayra’s paws. “This is nothing. There’s a whole warehouse full of ‘em. When you and your babies can move, I’ll take you to it. The two-leggeds would probably love having some good mousers. Maybe they’ll need a guard dog too. I already had plenty. This one is for you.”

Mayra ate, grateful for the extra food. She tried not to think that this was the first time her belly felt full in a while. “Thank you Helia. I don’t know why you’re so kind to me.”

“Already told you. You look like the cat from the place I was before. She was the only good thing about that place and the only reason I made it out.” Helia noticed there was one less kitten curling up to Mayra to nurse. She licked the cat tenderly, deciding not to bring it up unless Mayra did. “It’s been a busy day. I don’t know about you, but I could use a bit of rest.” Helia placed herself in front of Mayra, and lay down.

Mayra picked her head up drowsily. There was something in the sound of the wind that woke her. She sniffed the air. Beside her, several kittens shifted restlessly in their sleep, squirming more closely against each other. A faint whine came from Helia, but she still slept. Blinking, she looked more closely at the shadows near a stack of slowly rotting cardboard boxes. 

Mayra never had trouble distinguishing objects in shadow before, but instead of the broken glass, mildewed rags and other assorted city trash she was used to seeing, all she could make out was an inky haze pooling around the boxes. As she watched, all of the shadows seemed to take on the same velvety darkness. Mayra shook her head as if that might clear her vision, but the shadows started to congeal into shapes with no relation to their surroundings. 

A legion of small, fragile figures could be made out, some of which occasionally shifted back to the formlessness of the larger shadow before coalescing into a tiny feline form again.

“Mama” came a tiny mew and dozens of equally high pitched mews of “Mama” followed after.

Mayra hung her head, “I am sorry, little one. You should have been born to a mother on a comfortable farm somewhere, with kind, big two-leggeds to bottle-feed you and kind, small two-leggeds to adore you. I am sorry I wasn't enough to save you.”

“We know,” answered dozens of tiny mews. “You cried Mama. Only Mamas cry. Not everyone cries for us.” The words repeated again and again like ripples across a pond.

Mayra blinked, “We? Us? There was only one kitten I…” She turned to look at the rest of her babies. They were all still there, still asleep and moving fitfully. “Who are you?”

“Ones who could not survive. Lost and found ones. We have each other. But we still need a Mama.”

“Why?”

“Feed us Mama. We are so hungry. Please feed us.” The small echoing mews filled the alley.

“I don’t know how. I wish I did. You’d still be alive if I knew how.”

“Feed us Mama! Feed us!” came the insistent mews, rising ever higher in pitch and volume. “We’re so hungry!”

“I don’t know how!” Mayra screamed.

“Whoa, Mayra. Hun, you alright?” Mayra felt a large wet tongue on her side. She opened her eyes and saw Helia’s worried face. One of her kittens started to mew and she flinched. It was a perfectly normal and healthy mew of a hungry kitten. She trembled and gave it a tentative lick. The kitten was warm and solid. Mayra moved to start to nurse her and the others started to move closer.

She looked at Helia. “Just a nightmare. I guess I knew the little ones needed to eat now.”

When Mayra was finished nursing her children Helia got up to leave. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to go to warehouse and get us some food. It’s going to be all right Mayra. Just a couple of days and we’ll all go together.”

Not too long after Helia left, Lyla came into the alley, followed by two cats Mayra didn’t know. “I know Helia’s gone. She won’t be back for a while.”

The fur bristled on Mayra’ back. “What do you want Lyla?”

“Breakfast.”

The three cats started towards Mayra. She hissed at them. All I need to do is hold out until Helia comes back, she thought. I can do that.

But even if she had been well-fed and not weak from giving birth three days ago, Mayra was small and young. The two cats with Lyla were strong and well used to scuffling with bigger opponents. After the first few blows, Mayra was dizzy. The world started blur in front of her. As she fell, she could hear the kittens crying behind her.

I can’t feed you, she thought. And as soon as I’m gone they will eat you.

“We’re hungry Mama,” came dozens of little mews.

“Little ones, I wish you could eat them,” she whispered.

Immediately the shadows from the alley gathered and a sea of small, indistinct shadows crashed over Lyla and her friends. Myra heard their pained yowls but couldn’t see anything besides the forms in shadows pouncing over and over again. Eventually the yowls stopped and even the mass of shadows stopped moving. One small figure came away from the larger body of shadows, and dropped a bit of meat in front of Mayra.

“For you Mama.”

“Thank you sweetheart,” Mayra answered. 

Photo by Ricardo Tamayo on Unsplash


Song Choice: Baby Mine from the movie Dumbo

Liner Notes for this Groove: This is a slightly updated version of a story I wrote awhile ago. It just felt right bringing it out again this time of year. It also feels cool revisiting some of my older work after the amazing time I had at the Nerdtino Expo. (More about that later, I promise!)


Autumn's Breath: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 41


Autumn Breath
Jason Limberg
Used with Permission


Autumn’s breath should be crisper
than the first bite of an apple.

It should carry the musk
hidden in the heart of leaf piles.

It should whip past you
with the snap of a newly bared branch.

But when it is smothered too long
in a zombie summer’s dregs,

even the animals’ whispers will carry
across the sullen air.


This poem was created for Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads' Art Flash prompt. It is also linked to Poets United's Pantry of Poetry and Prose.



Liner Notes for This Groove: I can remember being disappointed by freezing Halloweens in my youth - ones so cold that you had to wear a big jacket and no one could tell what you were dressed as. As much of a bummer as those were, I have to say that this recent one's unseasonable warmth bothered me more. I was able to run around in a short sleeve dress without needing a light sweater. I did however have a cup of tea with me as I was giving out the candy. As Thea Devine wrote, "Tea was the great leveler. It brought calm, quiet, contentment, warmth. And it was something to do." At least I could depend on my evening cuppa to be exactly what I expected.


Song Choice: Fall on Me by R.E.M.

Moon Maiden, Blogging Around with Rommy, Week 40

Moon by Alphonse Mucha


You call me inconsistent
when my patterns are obvious
to those who bother to observe.

There is nothing irregular
in my nighttime roving.
My feet quicken and slow
with my waxing and waning.

For this you dismiss me
and say my nature keeps me from understanding
what you have deemed important.

Perhaps you are right.
I have no wish to understand
a mind so closed.

Why would I be interested
in your idea of acceptable
with the stars' kisses
still fresh on my skin?


This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads: Take A Chance and Step into the Mythical World. It is also linked to Poets United's Poetry Pantry 498.


People are not taught to be really virtuous, but to behave properly. 
Kakuzō Okakura, The Book of Tea

Liner Notes For This Groove: Sometimes peoples' ignorance enrages me and sometimes it makes me laugh. I had overheard part of a conversation where one older gent declared to younger one that women were destined to be unable to understand higher levels of virtue because of their gender. 

I've been trying to keep a promise I made to myself to stay out of fruitless arguments. And the expression on his conversational partner's face told me that there was a good chance that choice morsel of dung was not going to go unaddressed. I let it be. Attitudes like that are going the way of the dinosaur (good riddance). I see the younger generations gleefully challenging old ideas. I chose to focus on the hope I feel when I hear young people speaking up rather than despair about the remaining pockets of fossilized ignorance, at least on that day. 

So dear Groovers, what lights up your nights with hope? Let's talk about it down in the comments section. As always, drop a link to your cyberhome if you'd like to continue the chat there.

Song Choice: Bad Reputation by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

The Best Worst Thing: Blogging Around with Rommy, Week 39


When my high school sweetheart told me he wanted to break up with me "to date more classically beautiful women" it came as something of a blow. Yeah, even after people told me that high school relationships don't last, and that goes double for ones that turn into long distance things when people go off to college. What can I say? I was kind of clueless when I was young. There were warning signs things weren't rock solid between us, but it took that pronouncement to make things 100% clear it was over.

Of course I cried. I raged. My grades wobbled (the death blow arrived right before finals). Meals came and went untouched. Then one day I took a deep breath and looked at the new reality I found myself in. I didn't have to run back home every weekend anymore. I could be part of college life on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights. I started to realize there was a whole side of myself I never let myself explore, because I had made some pretty big assumptions about what I thought my life was going to be like. 

I took art classes. I liked them enough to decide to minor in them. I started learning about religious traditions other than the one I was born into. I kept exploring them for years afterwards until I could admit to myself my path was more something to be sought by starlight than from a church pew. I started talking to the guy who lived one floor below me in the dorms. He was funny, sweet, and always had a mug of coffee ready for me. Dear reader, I married him. Today we're celebrating the birthday of our oldest child and we'll be married 25 years next May.

That I ever hoped that I could patch things up with my ex seems hysterical now. The other thing that's funny--he's the one who wanted to be a writer back then. Yeah, sometimes your world ends, but that can end up being the best worst thing that can happen.

Song Choice: So Much Better from the musical Legally Blonde


This article was created for Poets United's Moonlight Musings. So dear Groovers, care to talk about some of your best worst things? Let's chat about in the comments section!

Our Own Hallelujah: Blogging Around with Rommy, Week 38


Photo by Diego Morales on Unsplash


It starts at the core of us,
in that layer resistant
to all attempts of taming.

It’s in the way we sway
in that roll of hip and tongue
in that part that rejects respectable
straight jackets that flatten us to one dimension.

Our authenticity is dynamite
ready to blow up outdated definitions.

We sing our whole and holy words
punctuated by hallelujahs
for all of our possibilities.

This poem is linked to Poets United’s Wild Friday and Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads: Just One Word—Dynamite



Liner Notes for this Groove: I’ve read a lot of poetry collections that have moved me. But when I picked up the Poet X by ElizabethAcevedo it was like finding a long-lost family member. All I needed was a can of Inca Cola and a plate of lomo saltado nearby to take me completely back to my childhood. Ms. Acevedo finds so many of the words I felt but couldn’t say as a kid. I have to say I felt a little Molly Grue when I finished it (where was this book when I was young and hungry for something like this?), but I am truly happy to have encountered it at any age.


These Things of Fall

October is my best month, Miki reminded herself, trying to forget the ways that fall was the worst. Her heart thudded as she crossed the graveyard with slow, measured steps that kept pace with the rhyme she repeated whenever she was nervous.

These things of fall make me feel tall
Apples, pumpkins – I love them all
These things of fall make me feel tall
Hot tea, bonfires –I love them all

“How many fall things have you added to that rhyme?” asked Mrs. Donahue as she got up from her morning chore of shaking her head at the condition of the floral arrangements on the graves.

Miki let out a deep breath at the sound of her voice and relaxed her grip on her backpack’s straps. “31 so far.”

“Reverse 13. That’s quite lucky.”

“I know,” Miki beamed.

Mrs. Donahue looked at the position of the sun and looked back at Miki. “You may be pushing your luck if you don’t quicken your pace. Won’t you be late?”

Miki retightened her grip. “I’ve worked out the timing. Even if I’m late it won’t be by much.”

“By much is usually too much for principals, unless things have changed since my day. You wouldn’t be trying to come in late enough times to get your privileges revoked, especially ones that involve public speaking.”

“I didn’t ask for it! I just wanted to submit a piece to the school’s lit magazine. If I knew I’d be reading it in front of the school I wouldn’t have. It’s going to be a disaster.” Miki pictured the mixture of bored looks and sneers in the school auditorium as she read.

“What if it isn’t?”

“I have 16 years of experience that say otherwise.”

“Maybe. But that’s not much when there’s a lot of life ahead of you. Would it help to have some friendly faces there?” Mrs. Donahue motioned behind her.

“It would,” Miki said.   

“Done. Hurry along now. And do tell that groundskeeper to weed this end of the graveyard.”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Donahue faded back into her grave.

Miki left, continuing to sing.

These things of fall make me feel tall
Odd friends who believe in me—I love you all


Art by Sunshine Shelle from her 29 Faces Series in Feb 2015
Follow her on Instagram for more of her delightful art.


Song Choice: Get By With A Little Help From My Friends covered by Peace Conspiracy and Meja 

This flash fiction piece was created for Poets United's Pantry of Poetry and Prose: In October...

At Home in the Dark: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 37


Dear daylight blushes
at night’s dark revels. I see
truer by moonlight
where there are no barriers
and the masks are dropped away.

Commissioned Piece (Untitled)
by Mc Monster 
Used with permission
This piece was created for Imaginary Gardens with Real Toad's Art Flash prompt.


Liner Notes for this Groove: While I’m partial to warmer weather, I’m someone who finds the beauty in every season. Fall has its way of thrilling me, especially in October as we get closer to Halloween. It’s nice when my oddness feels fairly normal as people start to get in the spirit of the season.

My inner introvert agrees with the sentiment voiced by Alan Clark, “There are few nicer things than sitting up in bed, drinking strong tea, and reading”. The colder weather does lend itself to that. This darker time of the year usually has me becoming more introspective as well. I often find I get a little more creative as a result. I’m not sure what weird notions will sprout from my head as I stare into the dark, but I am planning on being quite ruthless about safeguarding my time to create.

Are you feeling the shift of seasons where you are Groovers? What’s your favorite thing about the time of year you currently find yourself in. Talk to me about it in the comments or feel free to drop a link to take the conversation deeper into your cyber home.


Song Choice: This is Halloween covered by Marilyn Manson

My Own Legacy


Tell me, why did you make me from half hate?
You could not have made your disgust clearer.
I was wanted only as your mirror,
so long as I reflect what makes you great—
a legacy I don’t appreciate.
Though others exclaim at my raw power,
I shut that side away, spurned that “our”
to define “me” and shun ideas of fate.

But isn’t that “our” already “mine”
when I wield it with a strong will to serve
humanity, not just my own ego?
Parts of me I thought were you can align
with my scarred self to be a true hero
and at last find the wholeness I deserve.

Song Choice: Numb by Linkin Park


Shoto Todoroki


Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for my prompt at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads where I encouraged everyone to get out of their comfort zone and try something new, either in style or theme.

Soooo...I probably should have realized earlier on, that meant me too. 😂

I racked my brain to come up with something and made a face when it hit me. As I'm not super comfortable working with rhymes and meter, never had I ever attempted a sonnet before. So I looked it up, and decided on a petrachan sonnet with CDECED form for the last part.

This was pretty tough! But I did make things easier for myself picking a subject I was comfortable with--anime, specifically, My Hero Academia. For those unfamiliar with it, it's a series about a bunch of kids with super powers in an elite high school learning how to become heroes. Shoto Todoroki, isn't the main character of the series, but he's an engaging side character. The son of the number two hero, Endeavor, he's easily one of the most powerful kids in his class. But he relies mostly on the powers he's inherited from his mother (ice) because his fire-flinging father is a cruel jerk, more invested in his image as a powerful hero than in any actual ideals of heroism.


Maladroit: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 36

Sunlight's surprising
to green that's only known shade.
New growth is awkward
until gawky stems find strength
inside their curious selves.

This poem was created for Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads' Weekend Mini-Challenge: Maladroit. 



Liner Notes for this Groove:  One of the realizations I made after BookCon was I could be doing something more to promote my book, The Trouble with Wanting and Other Not-Quite Faerie Tales. Besides the fact that talking myself up feels about as pleasant as a sandpaper massage, there’s another barrier—I’m a survivor of an MLM

I don’t want to go into which MLM it was, but direct sales make me feel as cheesy as a car salesmanI worry I’ll sound like thisBut the good news is I’m not operating as part of a company with dubious business ethics. As awkward as I feel about selling, I have a little more faith in what I have to offer this time around. I’ve not only gotten some really positive comments about the book, I've already had several requests for autographed copies, one from as far away as Finland. (Thanks Khaya!) 

So after imbibing a steadying cup of tea (because as Cassandra Clare said in City of Bones, "Tea. I find that both settles the stomach and concentrates the mind. Wonderful drink, tea.") I've decided a couple of things. First, I've signed up to vend at a Nerdtino, a Latinx themed comic book and geek convention on November 2nd. Second, I'll be offering autographed copies directly for sale from this site. Use the Contact Me section on the side or write to me at kestrel dot trueseeker @ gmail dot com 

Both of these things are new and somewhat unsettling for me, but you've got to get through some awkwardness to get some growth.


Photo by Alexandra Gorn on Unsplash

So dear Groovers, can recall any times you've gotten out of your comfort zone and it ended up being a good thing? Share your story (and boost my spirits a little) by telling me about it in the comments section. As always, if you want to continue the conversation at your cyberhome, feel free to include a link as well. 

Song Choice: Lose Yourself by Eminem

There Must Be Some Misunderstanding: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 35


My second biggest fear in writing was being misunderstood (my first biggest was being afraid of it stinking). It’s understandable. I think a lot of us express ourselves artistically to let loose some part of ourselves. So people sometimes see misinterpretation of their art to directly equal a misinterpretation of who they are.

It’s fair to feel let down. On the other hand, when we share art we have to expect people will view it through the lens of who they are. For example, the thought of tea parties gives me the warm fuzzies, but to Virginia Woolf “even a tea party means apprehension, breakage”. People’s first (and sometimes only) responses are usually tied to the emotions and thoughts most familiar to them.

Do I like it when people overlook some of the bleeding heart bits I season my work with? No, not particularly. But do I like it when something I wrote really touches a reader, intentionally or not? Heck yeah!

I’ve written things that are 100% true, but phrased them in a way that could have multiple interpretations--Honey for example, which a lot of people assumed was about an affair. Debra from She Who Seeks got the closest when she asked if it was about Winnie the Pooh.

It was about my husband – and how his formerly out-of-control sweet tooth led to his diabetes. I’ve often said I’d trust the man in a house of ill-repute, unless the house of ill-repute was loaded up with baking supplies, in which case he’d spend the whole night preparing culinary masterpieces so the ladies could carb load for energy.

Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

My husband’s response to the piece was eye-rolling and saying, “At least you didn’t kill me off again.” He insists that some of the poems I’ve written make it sound like he’s dead (to which I respond that the petite morte poems I’ve written have a solid grounding in fact, thanks to him). It just goes to show that even someone close to you can see something wildly different than you intended. 

Being misunderstood isn’t my number two fear. Persistent typos after several rounds of edits take that spot.


This essay is in response to Moonlight Musings Interactive Edition over at Poets United 


Emilys Twinkle: Blogging Around with Rommy, Week 34

Emily Dickinson wrote tons of wee bits of poetry on the backs on envelopes 
and other assorted scraps of paper. A bookful have been collected in

Atoms need no excuse
to rock out and pulse
at the heart of their star.

Let Emilys twinkle
and weave groovy
spectrums of hues
to preside over
ever expanding universes
with no limits.


This poem was created for Sanaa's Wild Fridays at Poets United. The unfinished poem I chose to respond to was “Excuse | Emily and | her Atoms | The North | Star is | of small | fabric | but it | implies | much | presides | yet.” by Emily Dickinson. It's also linked to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads, Just One Word: Groovy.



Liner Notes for This Groove:

It is a singularly daft person who even partway believes their four year old when they insist they will always want a bright pink bedroom. OK, perhaps I didn't entirely believe my youngest child's declaration of undying love for pink, but I did throw myself into making it super frilly, complete with light and dark pink stripes of paint, little rose door pulls on crackle-painted closet doors (pink underneath!), with a canopy netting festooned with flowers.

So yeah, twelve years later Rose prefers to be called Rozz. And can I please move out the Tinkerbell stuff to make room for Stranger Things, Green Day, and Captain Marvel? Of course it makes sense that the mom in this scenario is going to be a little more nostalgic (and less mortified) than her kid would be.

But I got to thinking it might be a little more than that. So I took Charles Dicken's words to heart (“My dear if you could give me a cup of tea to clear my muddle of a head I should better understand your affairs.”) and after many conversations with Rozz over gallons of tea, I figured out something. Creating the perfect be-frilled bedroom was something I always wanted as a kid. 

I had a boring bunk bed I shared with my little brother in a very sensible room. It gives me a giggle to think that room might be Rozz's dream room (complete with it's now "classic" rock and pop posters). Teen Rozz deserves a perfect place just as much as pre-school Rose did. And none of that has a thing to do with grown-up Rommy's preferences.

OK, as an adult I absolutely do not want a pink on pink striped bedroom. But I'm getting more comfortable in indulging myself in frillier personal things (and gothier things...my upbringing wasn't exactly conducive for embracing my inner goth either). 

As for Rozz, breaking in a new pair of Doc Martens is on the to-do list and Tinkerbell is on the donate pile. The pink paint can stick around because it's just a backdrop for the new posters and shelves. But can we please do something about those pink curtains? 

So talk to me dear Groovers...do you remember any moments where you embraced your individuality, either as a child or an adult? Let's discuss it in the comments section. And as always, if you want to bring the conversation to your site, drop your cyber address in too.
Song Choice: Pretty in Pink by the Psychedelic Furs

It's OK to Not Like Things: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 33


You don’t prove power
by hitting the defenseless.
Strong people punch up
and don’t hide in fake kindness
to justify their cruelty.


This poem is linked to Poets United's Poetry Pantry 492.

Liner Notes for this Groove:

“Sir, I did not count your glasses of wine, why should you number up my cups of tea?”
― Samuel Johnson, The Life of Samuel Johnson, Vol 2

There’s no question we are living in some serious rough times. A lot of us often rely on admittedly goofy things to cope like indulging in silly interactive memes because holy fuck, people who look like me are getting caged and shot.

So I found it more than a little distasteful to see someone who has set themselves up as something of an advisor or a guide of people to purposely use belittling language to describe others who engage in the sort of thing I described. There was the tiniest bit of back pedaling when confronted with the fact their words were insensitive, but ultimately they reaffirmed their phrasing, hoping its aggressiveness would get through to people.

Yeah, I guess that’s one way to go with it.

But how about this…how about not going out of your way to shame people for harmless things they do to deal with the daily suckage that spews at them constantly? How about seeing that any form of lighthearted human connection, that involves nothing mean-spirited or blood pressuring raising, is a good thing, even if it isn’t your thing?

I think the world could use more of those moments of brief connection. Admittedly, there’s a decent chance it won’t be all that deep but a.) maybe the equivalent of a sugary bon-bon of interaction is all we need or can handle in a particular moment and b.) very deep and true friendships have had their start in silliness. All I know is that when I’ve been the goofball comedy relief a friend has needed, we both came out feeling better for the experience.

So dear Groovers, do you indulge in goofy little things to get a smile going on those tough days? Tell me all about it in the comments section and do be sure to drop a link to your cyberhome if you want to keep the conversation going there too.

These little crows have the right idea.
Bloom by Magic Love Crow
Follow her blog for more whimsically fun art.


Song Choice: Smile from My Little Pony, in English and Spanish because I can.



Keep Away


The overripe fruit burst under her finger in a splatter of pulp. Ilva curled up like a bug at the sound, counting to 10 before she lifted her head.

The field was still the same—vines heavy with rotting fruit, their sticky smell, and the quiet undisturbed by even the sound of a fly. Ilva looked at the meager collection of fruit in her basket. It had to be enough.

The plop of a fat raindrop on her hand startled her again. But this time she smiled, looking up at the darkening clouds. Heavy rain would muffle the sound of conversation. Taking it as a good sign, she scurried back to the crumbling building that served as her latest home.

Ilva, along with several others, made it in before it really came down. The tense lines around everyone’s mouths eased the longer it went on. Except the Keeper’s. She had her usual sorrowful expression on her old-young face.

Ilva hated her eyes. They always looked seconds away from tears. But what she hated most was the Keeper’s cheeks, plump from eating the best of everyone’s harvest.  When she asked Pa about it, he shook her until Ma stepped in.

It was her turn to take the best from each basket and feed the Keeper. Ilva grabbed what she could and walked to where she sat. Her fingers brushed up against a fruit spotty with mold. Before she could think about it, Ilva popped the rotten fruit into the Keeper’s mouth.

Let her see what it’s like, she thought.

The Keeper began screaming when Ilva turned away. Someone ran to the Keeper and shook her hard enough to crack her head on the side of the wall. But it was too late. The luck keeping them safe fled along with her life. The Finders had certainly heard the noise. And they would be coming.


Photo by Del Barrett on Unsplash


Song Choice: In Hiding by Pearl Jam

This flash fiction was created for Poets United's Pantry of Prose. This month's theme is gothic stories.