When darkness comes,

The street lights come on,

All night long

Till the break of dawn.

Good things come,

Then they're gone.

Just like a song,

It doesn't last long.

Or a full moon,

It's over too soon.

Just remember

Nothing is forever.

I recently created a community page on Facebook called ' Holly Writes: An Emerging Writer' and my goal is to grow an audience so I can host daily writing prompts and writing contests with cash prizes, and much more fun-filled entertainment I can't do this until I have enough followers to give me a thumbs up to like the page. I uploaded a photo of exactly what the community looks like on this title. I'm not sure how to add a photo to a post here, if that option is available on here and someone knows how to do it, please enlighten me and explain how to post it. If anyone here has a Facebook account, please check out the page, I'll post the title again at the bottom of this post. Please feel free to share my page with others, this community page is going to be a very entertaining and I promise you will love it once I get it going. I'm in the beginning stages of building the page up as we speak and I hope you will check it out, it will be very much appreciated. I will be sharing short pieces of fiction, creative nonfiction, personal essays and poetry. It will become a writer's arcade as well so let's get this party started! I also added the link information as well

You can also find my personal account under the name:

"Holly Writes from Pittsburgh, PA."

And again, the community page:

"Holly Writes: An Emerging Writer"

https://www.facebook.com/Holly-Writes-An-Emerging-Writer-111233057124332/

My ultimate goal is to advance into a proficient writer and has been since 2016, following a brief moment of self-reflecting on my past. It was right then and there when I realized I had a story that was screaming to be told. A book of blank pages where the chapters already exist, but can’t be filled in until the ‘chapters of life’ have been been experienced. My ultimate dream is to write a memoir, but again, my ultimate goal is to make a career as an every writer. To write short pieces of nonfiction as well as my own personal essays that are based on realistic experiences and true events that transpired in my life. Topics including addiction & recovery, mental health disorders, my encounters with brain injury, near death experiences, not once or twice, but three different times. The pain I endured, the challenges I faced and the tears I cried for years on end. Last, but not least, the outcome and results that shaped my life today. First and foremost, to inspire others who are sprinting through the flames of hell in the same shoes as I did. My ideal career of becoming an established writer is to not only do something that infuses me with pleasure, but to make a difference in the world. Whether I leave a positive impact on one life or one million lives, then I fulfilled one of my purposes and reasons for breathing.

I'm just writing because I can. I'm not plotting or planning, I'm just writing any random words that come to my mind. Today I wrote a dumb ass poem about cherry blossoms on a tree outside my window, you know what I mean? Now we're in quarantine we can't actually go outside and enjoy the beautiful springtime weather. No, we are all on the inside looking out and I'm feeling a little boxed in these days and I just need someone to pull me out of this awful nightmare that won't end. I feel like I'm stuck in an ongoing episode of the the Twilight Zone, in fact, I can hear the theme song playing over and over again in my head.

Cherry freeze,

Lemon tea,

Cold breeze,

Light squeeze,

Sweet cherry twizzler,

With a lemony flavor.

The ghost sat morose on the tree bough, a white rope swaying in a breeze that blew a hundred years previously. Fabric that had long since decayed into the soil beneath her feet swayed with a white shimmering beauty about her legs. Her bones, her flesh had been decomposed and had become part of the tree. Indeed her spirit wasn't in the apparition at all, it resided in the heart of the trunk. On the night she died the tree's spirit had reached out for her and taken her in, guarded her from harm. There were evil spirits abroad the mighty oak had no intention of giving her up. She had been his daughter for longer than she had been the child of her human kin. This ghostly girl was happy, content, her memory of life erased to return her spirit to the pure state.