There is a wind, where a wish might be

Through the leaves of the barren, in the hollows of trees

I found my wish, amongst your flames

Though the weather is frantic, your fires are tame


I saw a light, somewhere far

I whispered to nighttime, to where you are

While you’ve disappeared, and we’re so far apart

you’re always here, in the folds of my heart

Ch. 1

Once an unmitigated member of the heavenly skies, I am now bound to the Earth as if my wings are anchored to the molten rivers of the Earth’s core.

There is but one other who has fallen as low as I, but his name must not be spoken.

This all began when I fell to the ground in quiet solitude, flung from the clouds of Paradise into the dark back alley of a Toronto based Burger King. I lay covered in rain and dirt, and closed my eyes against the tsunami of despair filling my lungs. The blackness beneath my lids gave me hope that this might all be a nightmare, that I would open my eyes to the vast warmth of God’s abode.

God turned out to be a shrivelled up homeless cat sitting on my chest, attempting to chew my grime covered wings. I threw the cat off of my body with a shriek and pushed myself against the wall.

The rain pelted against the dumpster beside me as I looked up into the ever-pour. Blackness engulfed the skies as coarse thunder filled my keen ears. The zigzag of the downtown traffic filled my peripherals.

I looked down at my hands. Pale, translucent hands. Made for the clear skies, but shrivelling in the rain.

I sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating my next move. I decided to first get out of the rain. I pushed myself up onto my feet and walked out into the street. The passers-by all gawked and stared, craning their heads to get a glimpse of me.

It was then that I realized how cold, and exposed, my breasts were. He could’ve at least given me clothes before hurling me into the depths of the Fallen world.

I sighed and pushed my way through the crowd, as people shrieked at my wings or shouted at me to take off my stupid costume and find some real clothes. I shoved my way into the Burger King, dripping wet, butt naked, with a set of wings tucked against my back. They were now only visible from behind.

The folks at Burger King stopped eating to stare at me. I rolled my eyes and walked up to the counter.

“I need some clothes, please,” I said, staring into the eyes of this freckled faced elf boy who was trying his best to look me in the eyes.

“I- I’m sorry, miss, but we sell food here, not clothes,” he stuttered.

“Excuse me!” shouted a stout man as he stalked up to me with eyes pulled into slits. “If you do not leave this establishment right now, I will call the police!”

“Just try it and see, you lump,” I spat.

“Hey, hey, here, I’ve got a jacket you can borrow,” said another man, walking up behind me and handing me a jacket.

“Thank you,” I smiled, pulling it on. It fell to my knees, covering up almost everything, and had soft fur lining the hood and insides.

“I’ll help you outside,” said the boy, gesturing towards the door.

I gave the stout man another glare before following the boy out into the rain.

“Sorry, I didn’t want things to get ugly in there,” the man said, rubbing his thumb to his scruffy chin.

“That’s alright, thank you for the jacket,” I said, pulling it tighter around me.

“Yeah, about that, are you… alright? Can I help you get somewhere, or find someone?” His eyes flashed with curiosity.

I sighed. “No, I just need to find a place that will give me clothes.”

“Here, there’s a salvation army right down the street who can probably help you out, let me take you, it’ll be on me,” he guided me down the busy sidewalk into a small store lit by soft yellow lights and cluttered with boxes of clothing.

The man walked up to the counter and handed the woman behind the counter a bill. He walked back to me with a small smile.

“You can go ahead and pick out an outfit for yourself,” he said, rubbing his face again. “Including a jacket… since I’ll be needing mine back, unfortunately.”

“Alright,” I said, pulling out a sheer blouse from a basket and holding it against the light for inspection. “These aren’t very good quality,” I mumbled.

“Yes, well,” he shrugged.

“It’ll do,” I huffed, pulling an outfit together and handing the man his jacket back. I began to pull on my new clothes in the middle of the store, much to everyone’s shock and dismay. I looked down at my new tank top, jeans and button-down lumberjack shirt. The man handed me a bright red jacket from a hanger in the corner.

It had no fur.

“Well,” he said, pulling on his jacket, “I hope you find your way okay, but I’ll have to be going. Also, you have wings taped to your back, just so you know…”

As he ran his hand through his copper hair, I suddenly remembered who this man was.

“Alastair!” I shouted, pointing at him. “Oh wow, you’ve grown up!”

He looked incredulously at me. “I- I’m sorry? How do you know my name?”

“How’s Shima?” I asked excitedly.

His face coloured with bewilderment.

“Are you two married yet?”

He blinked rapidly and took a step back. “Um, actually, she dumped me a couple of weeks ago, but… who are you?”

My face dropped as confusion and agony filled my insides, and my world began to flood with the ice-cold despair I had been holding back inside my lungs.

~~Ch. 2 to come

Ocean Floor

The tides of the ocean

Ebb past the sinking sun

turning to mist

devouring the Earth

Blue current fills your lungs

as the bubbles etch

and pull



until you’re floating

to the ocean floor.



I love images of water, I think it’s one of the greatest tools used in poetry – water imagery. It can covey so much. I like to use drowning as a metaphor for so many things.

Tomorrow’s a special day. I don’t know why, but I know that something will happen. I like to believe that I can feel when my life is about to change. I think that my life is about to change.

I did something this weekend, something I’m not proud of. I don’t like the anger and jealousy I feel at seeing or hearing about other girls with him. I mean, he’s not even mine.

So, I tried to get back at him. Except… he doesn’t know, and even if he did, he wouldn’t care. So really, I was just getting back at myself.

This is why I can’t be a villain. Because every time I try to hurt someone else… I just end up hurting me. Or, is that the fate of all villains?

You’ve heard it here, folks. I have declared a path for myself. I am the villain, at this current stage of my life. The other woman.


The Cold-Blooded Killer

There once was a boy of twenty-nine
His eyes were jewels and hair so fine
He smiled at me through crooked lips
My insides died when we first kissed

The wind howled strong when he walked by
He turned calm seas to raging tides
His blood could turn the world to frost
Just one touch, and warmth was lost

Then one night, he touched my face
And said, ‘Just one night, won’t you please?’
So I shut my eyes and kissed him slow
He pulled me close, did not let go

I woke to sounds of muted steps
And heard the door shut as he left
I called his name, but he was gone
And I, so cold, in the breaking dawn


I hope everyone is having a great holiday, and have a safe and fantastic new years!

Kisses and Hugs and lots of LOVE to all of you <3 :)

~Little Miss Pancakebliss

Who Am I?

Hai guys!

I know, I’m a terrible person who does not post very often.
BUT, if any of you are bookworms like me, I have written a sonnet adaptation of the book “Train Man.” Check it out!

My reflection is crooked, it hides in the sun
Who was I before I first spoke aloud?
I’ve morphed from nobody into someone
I now raise my eyes when lost in a crowd
She’s just like her teacups, delicate, rare
And mirrors don’t bend to her quiet gaze
Her smile is like stars, her skin soft and fair
The moon smiles back, at her sweet blushing face
She, unlike me, is fervent symmetry
Her slender hand in my misshapen glove
With her I stand straight, I finally see
Although we’re uneven, is this still love?
Though my hair is now short, clothes hip and chic
How much can I change? Inside, I’m a geek


And now, I shall give an update about my life.
So, I’m gonna be honest here, I’m going through a bit of a rough patch.
I think it’s mostly because I’ve lost confidence in the things I like to do.
If you asked me two years ago what I thought I was good at, and who I wanted to be, I would’ve told you that I am a good writer, and that I wanted to grow up and be a published author.
But now, as I’m surrounded by a sea of other writers, much of whom are much, much better than myself… I realize the mediocrity of my work. More than that… I realize the mediocrity of my existence.

I try SO HARD. I give everything that I do one hundred and twenty-one percent, but I feel like it’s getting me nowhere, I FEEL LIKE I’VE ACCOMPLISHED NOTHING.
It’s come to the point where I can’t sleep… I can’t eat… I CAN’T BREATHE without it feeling like a STAB in the part of my brain that’s supposed to be motivating me… a STAB of disappointment… and regret.
I wish I did more. I WISH I COULD DO MORE!

I want to be the person who gets up at 6 am, changes the world, and falls asleep at night, fully satisfied. I don’t want to be this person, the person who I am right now, the person drowning in short-comings and failed interviews and just… this miserable MISERABLE PERSON.

I’m haunted, and I can’t shake my ghosts.

I’ve also… I’ve become infatuated. There’s this guy… (there’s always a guy, right?) he’s so driven. He knows what he wants, and he goes out and gets it. He’s not like me, nervously standing on the threshold of my desires. He walks through the door, and he doesn’t leave until he’s pried what he wants out of the cold, dead hands of anyone trying to stop him.

He inspires me.

Although, we get into a lot of fights… he’s a classic Politics major, full of bullshit and only thinking about the cold, hard facts. I, on the other hand, am your classic English major. I am also full of bullshit, but my bullshit is actually legitimate, and am more driven by artistic inspiration and things that make you go ‘aweee’ than cold hard facts. I could care less about the facts.

He’s a numbers man. I am a woman of words.

But what I would give to just tell him that even though I think he’s an absolute DICK, he still inspires me, and his optimism, and his enthusiasm make me want to be better.

… and then, after I’ve tried to be better, and I’ve failed …I feel like crap.

Is this his fault? Am I comparing myself to him so much that I’m hating who I am?

There’s this line in a Hedley song (Johnny Falls) that goes, “I won’t hate myself to be loved by you.” I think it is the most beautiful line I have ever heard in any song ever.

I just… I never really realized how truly mortal I was… how short my time is… how much I want it to mean something. And how much I’m just failing at every aspect of trying to be something bigger than myself.

I am inspired by many things, and now, I just want to be inspirational. I want my existence to mean something. I want to feel like I’m not your average Plain Jane girl, walkin’ down the street, doin’ nothin’ with her life.

Will I ever figure out who I want to be?



If the road to hell is paved with good intentions

Then how do I know

If I’m the


or the


of my story.

~am I a demon

am I not the person, who I thought I was?


His lips so soft and ruby red
They kiss the hollow of my neck
I watch his eyes glaze over mine
They watch me every time I cry

His fingers lace and intertwine
Within his hands are all that’s mine
I close my eyes to muffled sounds
He never says my name aloud

His bristled cheeks brush golden skin
The dawn breaks crisp as life begins
The door groans soft as he steps out
I curl inside my dark grey clouds


Summer, summer, what a bummer. How I wish I were a drummer.
That last part is true, though. I do wish that I were a drummer. I think that I’d be good at it. I just need to take the time to learn. Isn’t that true of all things, though? We can be good at anything, can’t we? If we only take the time to learn? Maybe that’s true, but to truly excel in something, some sort of natural gift is required. I believe. Talent is so random, though, people are good at the strangest things. Oh, that first part is true too. I hate summer, it really is a bummer. I hate work, ew. I hate summer school, ew. I hate trying to socialize with old high school friends, ew. The only good part is I get to hang out with my sisters. I miss them a lot when I’m away, especially my little sister. She’s so small, and she loves me so much. I don’t think anyone will ever love me as much as she does. Except my mother, of course; but she’s a different story.

On a different note, I just wanted to give a shoutout to a special youtuber named Emma, who recently visited my blog! Here is her channel, so all of you can check it out: http://www.youtube.com/Thatglambrunette
She’s pretty awesome, so you better show her all of your love and support! :)

Moving forward, I would like to talk about this latest poem. I think you can pretty much figure what it’s about. It sort of sucks being the girl sometimes, doing all of the loving while the boys take, take, take. It’s not like that for everyone though. I just realized recently that younger people visit my blog, like Emma, and I don’t wanna give you guys a false perception of relationships. It’s not always take, take, take; usually it’s nice to have someone in your life. Someone who shares your life. But sometimes, you can come across these boys, who don’t understand us. Who just don’t get it. What they really need is the right girl to come along, and help them understand. But usually, that’s not me.

I’m gonna talk about me for a second. I’m gonna tell you how I’m a little obsessive. I’m a bit like Hamlet. I’m very in my own mind. Thus, it’s not hard to take me by surprise. It’s not hard to sweep me off my feet. I do, in fact, get tricked a little bit, because I am, sometimes, naive. I don’t mean to me, I just am. This poem is just a reflection, maybe even an introspection? It’s a reflection of the process of being used. I’m not talking about rape, that’s definitely not what this is about. This is just about feeling like another conquest for the guys; another name for their books, you know. This hook-up culture that our generation has made so nonchalant kills me every day, it’s killing me inside. I hate it, yet, I’m right in the thick of it. I’m no victim, I’m a facilitator, and sometimes, even a tease. I help perpetuate my own disgrace.

Don’t take me too seriously, though, I exaggerate for your entertainment.
Make it a cold one,



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