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Whatever you describe to another person is also a revelation of who you are and who you think you are. You cannot describe anything without betraying your point of view, your aspirations, your fears, your hopes. Everything.

James Baldwin (via keepcalmandwritefiction)

Honestly kind of mind blowing, even though it feels like an obvious point. Be passionate about what you discuss!

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I’ve conjured my defenses:

Tiny archers await to loose their arrows,

Perched just above my widow’s peak.

Sentry guards.

Deep, murky pits with sharpened pikes

Conceal decayed bodies in the shadows of my eyes.

Trap doors.

A dragon breathing bitter flame

Curls between my cheeks, around my teeth.

Scalded tongue.

I pour sizzling tar and sticky feathers -

Bleeding, burning obsidian from crown to chest.

Tarnished gold.

A cavernous moat, stagnant and cold,

Intently coils around the softest parts of me.

No trespassing.

Boulders with intent to crush bone wait patiently

For release from catapults mounted on my shoulders.

Target practice.

Weaving tendrils of poison ivy and rose thorns -

A looming hedge growing across the moors of my skin.

No-Man’s land.

I am no damsel, never a princess, I am the Castle.

My fortified bones form the walls and pillars, stone and oak.

Empty halls.

This is how I will outlast the war; unaffected, untouched.

The Lordless Castle, never invaded, never conquered.

Better off.

- c.v. 2019

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reflect

He’s my mirror He shows me who I want to be Our potential selves dance in tandem I carry his guilt when it gets heavy

I’m his mirror I show him who he deserves to be Our lives align before the planets do He holds my smile for safe keeping

c.v. 2019

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When Alone Came To Visit

I thought I’d met Alone before, I think we all believe so until we actually do come face-to-face. Until now, Solitude was the welcome guest I mistakenly named, “Alone”. Thinking back, the difference is staggering; Solitude could never inflict pain the way Alone had.

It was a chilly December day when Alone arrived. Had I been more aware, a cold day in the Arizona desert should have been my a warning. A soft knock on the door, not unlike Solitude’s call, awoke me from restless sleep. Eager to greet an old friend, I opened the door with a warm smile. My face fell as the cold gust of wind wafted Alone’s sour stench into my home. For such an egregious smell, Alone was a tiny, almost unassuming creature. Another warning.

Faster than I could react, this inky, black slug of a creature began to pour and stretch itself over my kitchen floor. Like slime or mud, Alone found it’s way onto my foot, as I staggered away it tracked onto the carpet, the furniture, and eventually my clothes, hands, and hair. Alone had expanded and stretched to swallow me whole. Trying to rid myself of it only made it spread, soaking in to every part of me and the corners of my apartment.

How could I misidentify this creature as something pleasant? How could I have thought for so long that Alone was a friend?

Soon, I was consumed by this insidious, uninvited house guest. Alone did not speak, it did not make a sound; it only warped and expanded to fill the space we both occupied. It was like a viscous liquid, easily forming to fill the vacuum between my body and the walls of my living room. Alone was just as frigid as the stiff wind it arrived with, sapping the heat from my skin until we were the same temperature. Once this was achieved, neither of us could tell where one began and the other ended. I was trapped, but somehow felt an endless sort of expansion, a grand hollowness.

Soon enough, the empty cold had me drifting off, so heavy and binding I couldn’t move. With one final push, Alone poured itself down my throat and nose, oozing like tar until my core was numb as my skin. It still baffles me how binding the pressure was, how I could only feel the heavy weight of nothing around and within me.

For weeks, Alone told me when to sleep (which was often) and when to eat (which was not). Alone dictated my thoughts and actions; I did not cook, clean, shower or speak for so long. Alone was dissolving me from the inside out, like a venus flytrap in my own home. My skin dry and pallid, cracking and shriveling, I was the fly.

What Alone could not plan for, or control, was you. You, my sweet friend, must have sensed something was wrong because you simply arrived one day. The final day before I was be crushed for good. 

I’m unsure if Alone is unable to confront two people at once, but it snapped back like a rubberband from my body once you knocked on my door. I believe Alone is intimidated by companionship. My body still aching and heavy, unsure how to move without guidance, I was a marionette cut from it’s strings. Finally able to rise from the couch I’d been existing on, I gingerly stepped inch-by-inch to you. I opened the door to find a brightness that I forgot once existed in my life. I had to squint at it, but I didn’t dare close my eyes. Your immediate, rushing embrace was nothing like the heavy, intrusive wrapping Alone offered. You were the cleansing waterfall washing over me that freed me of my binding chains. I fell apart in your arms because of how light I felt, and you held me up.

Looking back, I’m not sure where Alone went. The memory is foggy, but after Alone and I separated, I never saw it escape. I believe that your presence must have caused it to shrivel-up again, so quick and small it slipped out the door past our feet without us noticing. Or, maybe it dissolved under the immense light of your arrival.

Regardless, I will never again confuse Alone for Solitude; boundaries have been set to protect me from making that mistake again. As for you, you are always welcome.

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bitter/sweet

Writing Prompt: 

Recall a memory from your life as it relates to a specific food or drink.

“bitter/sweet” by Chalcie Vance

I’ve always had a love for coffee; Starbucks, Folgers, it’s never mattered what the brand was as long as it tasted good. Never a purist, only a loyal fan. When I was young, my Grandparents lived in our basement. Every Saturday morning, Gram would wake and brew enough coffee for the whole family. Granted, this had been her habit for years, but I was seven years old when I got involved. As early as five in the morning, I was always the first one up to get my cup, the first one up to see my favorite person. I had a claim on those mornings.

At first, my mug was always more milk than coffee and enough sugar to coat my tongue. Because of the copious amount of milk, my drink would get cold too quickly; but Gram’s warmth still radiated out to me from across the room. In retrospect, this warmth may have only been the caffeine and sugar making my little heart race. I remember trying a sip of Gram’s preferred plain black coffee and scrunching my nose at the dark, bitter taste. I couldn’t imagine liking coffee without sweet cream then, but now my distaste for it has little to do with flavor and more to do with spite.

Seventeen years later, I am twenty-four and my coffee preferences are entirely unique, I’ve had more than enough time without Gram’s influence to develop them. My Grandparents live on their own now, and so do I. There are nearly two thousand miles separating us, though sometimes I could swear we inhabit opposite poles of the globe. Gram’s mornings are now made bitter by a selfishness I couldn’t have noticed as a child, contrasting the sweetness I revel in because of the loved ones who keep me close. Now the only time I see her is when she comes to the desert to thaw, though never in the morning; mornings are for coffee.

This short story is about the strained relationship I have with my maternal Grandmother, or “Gram”. In 2013, when this was originally written, Gram was still a shining star in my eyes; though that light was dimming, she still had gravity that pulled me close when I felt alone. Now, five years later, I have rewritten it knowing who she really is - a lonely, raging asteroid on a crash-course for any poor planet that may be in her way. Unfortunately, asteroids can’t tell the difference between planets and family members; an obstacle is an obstacle. But I still have coffee!

Thank you for reading!

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"Set your life on fire; seek only those who fan your flames." - Rumi

My trouble is lighting the match because I fear the burn.