Designated Doodler

Your skin is a series of scars A storybook of abuse, written in fractures and breaks Everyday you wake up and wonder what it would take To gather your soul and move from this place It's a long walk And you can't breathe With the dust caked in your lungs And dried tears crusted in your eyes Floundering beneath the weight of fermented lies And the bag of broken hopes strapped to your spine Somewhere along the line You forgot what it was to be fine It's easy to step into the abyss Beneath the burning Iowa sun What makes it simple is that You're no one's son It gets old Visiting your father's grave on your birthday Coming up with good enough lies to say To an angry drunk stepfather Or a way to beg along a dirt road For a brother who's running away But the day that Danny was killed Was the moment you knew you couldn't stay With every single step Comes a flash of an indelible, unbearable past... Daddy's cherry red car slipping...

Brace yourselves, it's time for the obligatory year-end blog post. But why should I bore you with tales of my life? Because it's fun for me, that's why! I learned a lot in 2014, and some of those lessons learned were tough. As if I didn't trust people enough to begin with, my coworker at my last job snooped around my desk, read documents on my desk and told me we were never friends. Despite having invited her over to my house, bringing her cupcakes and asking her if she wanted to take breaks with us. I'm such a monster right? But you know what? It's all good, I wish only good things for all of my former coworkers. Anyway, I left that job and advertising all together. I'm not sure if I'll return to advertising or not, but I have discovered a deep seeded love for teaching. I busted my hump over the summer - going to eight hour alternative teaching classes and passing four teaching tests. Two of them were only a week apart. I have a good job, and I...

The sight of himself as a child was jarring. There was no time to think, no room to breathe. Jim’s blue eyes were blown wide with panic, his vision sending him black dot warnings of hyperventilation. He took measured breaths to slow his heart and balled his fingers into fists so hard that little pink crescent marks were forming in the flesh. Before him was the expansive window of the deck, that had become a video monitor, and behind him was the majority of his first shift crew, staring at the screen. “Shut it off,” he ground out through locked teeth. “I can’t sir…” Sulu replied weakly, frantically pawing at the technology before him - to no avail. --- That morning, despite his First Officer’s protests, Jim beamed down to a newfound Class M planet that they had been hovering over for nearly a week. The blue sphere was called Kasor, and was completely undiscovered until they shot down a Starfleet vessel in trans orbital exploration. Apparently they possessed incr...

The night couldn't go by fast enough. As soon as Jim reached his quarters, he began stripping off clothes. Garments the colors of sun and space lay strewn in a wobbly line to his and Spock's shared bathroom. This was one moment he really wished that they didn't have adjoining rooms. He punched in the settings for shower (a rare treat)…and stood with his face beneath burning water that licked hot trails down his body. He made little effort to actually clean himself, he just leant against the cool surface of the shower wall and closed his eyes. It had only been a few days since his rescue. And he'd spent a few nights in sick bay at Bones' insistence. But physically, he was fine. God, could you imagine if they'd gotten a hold of Spock instead of him? They'd never have made it past the mental shields that the Vulcan had spent his entire life building. But Jim…Jim was weak. A heavy sigh filled the small space. It was getting so humid that it was hard ...

There was never a moment of silence on the ship. It was constantly abuzz with mutterings from the crew members, the steady hum of the air circulation, the hollow clack of regulation boots as their owners strode down the sterile white corridors. Which is what made this moment so special. Alone in an observation gallery, closed for repair, Jim sat on the floor, his legs dangling over the edge of the platform where construction was halted. His bright golden shirt turned a deep mustard color in the darkness, lit only by distant unnamed stars. His arms began to grow weak from having propped up his body so long. His hands ached, his wrists burned, his whole body hurt - but not as much as his mind. When he first heard footsteps he felt tempted to turn around, but he didn't need to look to know who it was. Two shiny black boots came to a neat stop next to his right hand. "Spock," he said, still staring out the reinforced observation window. The Vulcan looked down at his...

I share too much, or so I've been told. I've been warned about internet creepers and creepers in general. But before my birthday, I like to look back at the past year and see what's been accomplished/what I'm grateful for. It's good to write this shit down now, before I forget it. 1) Landing two awesome jobs. One full time, one part time. My coworkers are awesome at my real job and at my less real job, I've learned that I've got what it takes to guide 50+ tipsy adults through a painting. 2) Getting published twice. Once in a poetry journal and once in "Review of My Cat," which you can buy HERE . 3) Having an online presence! My little baby blog surpassed 11,195 visitors this year! AND, a grand total of 48,475 have read my fanfiction, from last December to today.       My favorite drawing from this year: My favorite painting from this year: 4) Being in a TV commercial and working at a place where there is an abundance of...

Firstly, I do not own or claim to own anything Star Trek. This is just a fanfic from an admiring fan...as well as an admittance to the general public that I'm a total and complete Trekkie nerd now...and I love it. PS I painted this as well... PS please don't steal my writing or atwork, that's not very cool. K thanks, enjoy! -------- Spock's eyebrows knitted together in concern. His heart flew in his side, a furious crimson red crept into the corners of his vision. Get the captain back.  Replayed over and over in Spock's head like a mantra. He stood on the bridge as acting captain, staring at the massive screen in front of him. The window for gazing out upon uncharted worlds, now a communication conference with an alien terrorist. "You have insulted us with your terms Mr. Spock," the voice was dark and gravelly. "They were not my terms Mr. Valglad, they were Star Fleet's terms. We are simply here..." "I know exactly ...