Archive for writing


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on May 11, 2017 by bigtuna185

I am substitute
I am somehow lesser
I have more ambition and greater passion
And somehow I am lesser
I replace, I fill in, I take up space
I am matter but I don’t seem to matter
I am required to be more flexible
To take more abuse
Receive less respect
Settle for less fulfillment
And yet what separates me
Other than the thought that I am more while being treated like less
Is a plastic ID badge
A better paycheck
Facial recognition amongst people who don’t care to know me
I grind and scrape myself away
Sharing thoughts and emotions
With an audience that will forget me a moment later
Washing their memories like the tide claiming footprints in the sand
There is one fact that I won’t let myself forget though:

I am substitute
But they will not drag me below who I was meant to be


A Gathering of Exes

Posted in Short Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on September 23, 2016 by bigtuna185

“Good evening everyone, and welcome to the annual gathering of Dominick’s Ex-Girlfriends!” A voice boomed over the PA system. Applause erupted across the audience. “I’m your host for tonight, Dom’s first love, Rachel.” More stringent clapping now. A few grumbles can be heard. “Hey now ladies, no matter how it ended, we’re all winners here tonight. We’re on the same team.” Pleased with the explanation, the crowd of females clap once more. A few can be seen giving high fives and taking selfies.

“I’m so glad you could all be here today. Before we kick this off, I’d like to hand it over to our keynote speaker, Dom’s mother!” Enthusiastic cheers rise from the audience, with some saying audibly, “Awwww, I love her.”

“Hello to all of you wonderful, wonderful girls. I’d like to thank each and every one of you for the impact that you had on my sweet baby boy. I know that he’s rough around the edges, but little by little you’ve slowly been softening him up…except for you, Arcadia. I’m pretty sure you were just a phase.” Arcadia, dressed in all black, flips off the crowd with a forced smile. His mother continued.

“Who could forget you, Sandra? He loved spending time with you at the beach.” Sandra stood up.

“Uh, obviously he forgot about me. Several times actually. He called me Kendra more times than I can count.” At this, Kendra stands up.

“At least you got a full name. He couldn’t remember who was who, so he just called me ‘Dra.'” Murmuring sweeps across the congregation. Dom’s mother looked horrified.

“Well, you see, love keeps no record of wrongs, and apparently no record of names either. Luckily, I do. Like Tiffany! Your relationship was the most adorable 7 days I’ve ever seen.” Naturally, Tiffany had something to say about this.

“Yeah, that jerk just used me for my beach house during Spring Break. The moment we got home, I never heard from him again!”

“Are you sure you didn’t just change your phone number, dear?” his mother stammered.

“I didn’t,” Tiffany said. “But he most certainly did!” Multitudes of nods are seen in the audience.

“That’s a classic Dom move,” whispers Rachel into the microphone. His mother is speechless once more. Just then, a door crashes open from the back of the room. A petite redhead confusedly walks into the conference hall.

“Hi,” she called out. “I think I’m lost. A car just randomly picked me up from my boyfriend’s house and brought me here.” A hush of sorrow fell across the room.

“Oh, sweetie,” said Rachel. “Come on up here and we’ll get this sorted out.” The girl gingerly made her way forward and onto the stage. “Now why don’t you tell us your name and what happened to you,” Rachel said in a therapist’s tone.

“Well, my name is Miranda, and I’m not quite sure what to say. One minute I’m with my boyfriend, Dominick, who has been wonderful to me from day one. We were kissing in his car in his driveway, I told him I couldn’t wait to spend my life together with him, and then he told me that he just had a lot of things going on and needed a break for once.”

“Did his phone ring?” shouted a voice from the crowd.

“Did he run directly inside?” shouted another.

“Yes and yes,” answered Miranda. “How did you know?” A tall girl with a blonde bob seated in the back stood up.

“Sorry! That was my bad. He was with me after that.” The color drained from Miranda’s face. She looked to be on the brink of tears. Rachel stopped her before it got ugly.

“It looks like he was as inconsiderate to you as he was to all of us.” Her arm swept across the group of girls. “Luckily, we have a panic room filled with ice cream and various items that we’ve stolen from Dom over the years that you can destroy.” Miranda still seemed upset, but perked up at the thought of ice cream and destruction. She seemed to now wield a carpenter’s hammer out of nowhere and nobody knew how she got it.

“I think she’s going to be okay,” exclaimed Rachel. “Mama, do you have any final words for the people?” Dominick’s mother stood there dumbfounded.

“Um…well, I’m sorry for everything that he’s done to you, but now I know you’re all better off.” At these words she received a standing ovation.

“And that’s the reason we have this convention,” shouted Rachel over the crowd. “We are all better off. Now onto a special segment of the night. May I ask the first person who was ever intimate with Dom to please step forward.” Girls from all over the room stood up and started making their way forward, sparking fighting, name calling, and other colorful actions detrimental to the sisterhood. “Still didn’t figure this out from last year, huh?” whispered Rachel to herself. Dom’s mother nearly fainted.

“Okay my lovable crazies,” called out Rachel. “Everybody back to their seats.” The ladies overcame their spell of jealousy and went to go sit back down, complimenting the others on their hair, shoes, and outfits on the way. “I think we may have to cut that segment for next time. But the fun keeps rolling!” Rachel was undaunted by the mishaps so far. It was shaping up to be the most eventful gathering yet. “This is my favorite part of the night, the Wheel of Vengeance!”

A trap door in the stage opened up. A fog machine and laser lights set the mood. The music was pounding and the girls were going wild.

“One lucky contestant will get a chance to spin the wheel and inflict some sort of misery on Dom for the near future.” Rachel licked her lips in anticipation. “I wish it could be me, but I’ve saved the fun for all of you. If you could look under your seats, then we’ll find out who the winner is!” The ladies frantically flipped their chairs. Cries of anguish could be heard. One of the chairs caught fire somehow, Arcadia laughing maniacally a short distance away. Finally, a shrill voice.

“I GOT IT!” The girl made her way to the stage while everyone else clapped politely. In reality, they were just eager to know what tragedy would befall Dom. On the wheel were many options. One sliver read that you could have medical documents falsified to say that Dom had an STD (which, given who he is, might not be false). Another read that you could have a copy of all of his keys made for you. Still another was for the passwords to all of his social media and Internet accounts. Damage could most certainly be done here. The women he had wronged had used their struggles wisely, breaking into many different walks of life, which made all of these choices on the wheel possible.

“What’s your name, sweetie,” Rachel asked the lucky winner.

“Myra,” she replied in the same shrill voice from before. Her excitement was getting the better of her.

“Well, Myra, are you ready to spin the wheel!?” She nodded eagerly and gave a great big heave to it. Round and round it spun, the TLOK-TLOK of the ticker hypnotizing everyone into a trance. It seemed to not slow down for many minutes, but in actuality it was only seconds. Finally, it began to ease up, little by little, until it came to rest on a yellow slice of the wheel.

“Wow!” shouted Rachel. “You sure got a great one! Develop a pathogen to make Dom allergic to all of his favorite foods! Non-lethal, people. We aren’t murderers here. Congratulations Myra!” Myra walked away more than pleased. She had been the one that Dom gave mono to, then dumped her when she got sick. This would be even retribution in her eyes.

“Well ladies, it’s about time to move on to our sing-a-long portion…” Rachel stopped midway through her sentence. The back door was flung open once again. “Not again,” muttered Rachel. “Two in one day? That’s low, even for Dom.” However, upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a man who walked through the doors. It was Dom’s best friend, Bryce.

“Bryce, what are you doing here!?” demanded Rachel. A host of boos and hisses came from the crowd. Bryce had been responsible for many a girl being ensnared in Dominick’s web. He had a dumbstruck look on his face.

“I don’t know what happened,” he started. “I was hanging out with my boy, Dom, doing guy stuff. Next thing I know he’s kicking me out of his house and there’s this blacked out car waiting for me. Now I’m here.” He stopped to ponder his surroundings. “Man, a lot of you girls look familiar.”

A chorus of “Oh’s” escaped the crowd, in sudden understanding of who Dom really was. Rachel was quick on the draw.

“Oh sweetie, why don’t you follow those girls to the back to get some ice cream.”

Bryce was puzzled, but went along with it. “Okay, yeah. That sounds pretty good.”

“That about wraps up our annual gathering of Dominick’s Ex-Girl…sorry, Dominick’s Exes. Stay tuned for the newsletter coming in the mail with changes about next year. I hope you enjoyed yourselves. Be sure to take your complimentary gift, a book detailing all of Dom’s strategies for getting to women called ‘Dominating Dom.’ See you all next year!”

Wash your Hands

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 3, 2016 by bigtuna185


All we are is mud and I don’t always feel dirty

With the caked dirt falling from off of my hands

I am falling off of myself

Every day rising out of filth is a new day to wash myself

I am a part of the earth and the earth is in me

Pushing me out of my cocoon

Metamorphosis ripping the old me to shreds

Organs and bones shifting

My exoskeleton keeping me from harm

Please don’t touch my wings for I want to fly someday

Soaring over mountains and valleys and landfills and sumps

Rolling around the grass with childlike ignorance of all that is coming

What is coming, I don’t know

But they’ve told me it’s bad

Unless you’re good

Then it’s good

But there’s no measurement of good to keep you from the bad

And of course I am dirty and so I don’t want to be dirty when the bad things

Wait, I mean the good things, come my way

And it’s so hard to be clean when everyone else doesn’t want to be clean

The faucet is drip drip dripping down the drain

Keeping me awake at night and I can hear humanity drowning drop by drop

And all I can think about is the mud on my hands and the blood in my veins

And the blood on my hands and the mud in my veins

Because you can’t escape the curse of your ancestry and so we would all be doomed

If it wasn’t for His blood shed for my muddled affairs

We are all blind as the clay has hardened around our eyes

We try to mold our own destiny and shape our lives the way we think is best

But we have cut off our own hands

And we have no feeling

So we die


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on April 15, 2014 by bigtuna185

I want to write you bad poetry
Not because you don’t deserve good words
Nor because I lack the capability to do it
Or that you are not inspiring enough to stand as my muse
But when I was writing poorly,
I was feeling purely.

I want to go back to my teenage years
Ruled by emotion, steered by desire
And let passion dictate my actions
Not yet jaded by experience
Still fresh to receive and send out
Signals of admiration
Devoted enough to sacrifice it all
For a smile
A kiss
An embrace
A sense of being wanted

I want to stay up until one in the morning
Thinking of synonymous phrases to let you know
I care, and I care deeply
Although it’s three in the morning back home
And two in the morning where you are
I suppose I’ve figured out a way to travel back in time after all
For when I finally come to you
It will be like journeying to the past
And getting another chance for something great.

Unfortunately there have been others who have received
This scribbled and scrawled gift that
I painstakingly scratched out
They did not deserve it, but they needed it
Through necessity I flourished
Their pain was inflicted upon me
And thus I bled on the page
Crafted my soul into words
And it became something more beautiful than I ever dreamed of
But it hurt so much to amputate that part out of me

This seems different though
You seem different
Such an interesting dynamic between the two of us
You are distant, yet we are close
Connected more in mind and spirit than in body
There will be those who will cry out that it’s wrong
That it’s weird
That it’s not normal
That it can’t end well
But I wave away those projections and cast forth my own

This is different, yet it feels so familiar.


Posted in Poetry, Random Thoughts with tags , , , , , , , , , on January 20, 2014 by bigtuna185

There is no poem for the mediocre
For the contented masses
For those skating by
We have verses dedicated to depression
And inspired by joy
Yet nothing marking the plight of the average
I think it might be because
Medians tend to be boring and uninspired
And those things hardly bring a picture to mind
If I were to tell you about
A girl with an okay face
Or clouds that screamed neutrality
What would enter your brain besides
Muddled nothingness
These are the rumblings within me right now
I am okay and things are fine
But my content suffers when I am content

I’ve Got Some ‘Splainin’ to Do

Posted in Random Thoughts with tags , , , , on December 6, 2013 by bigtuna185

Hey there loyal followers, and I mean that in the most humble way possible. I’m still relatively new to this online community, so I’m not sure if I’ll get responses. I realize that I haven’t posted anything in a while, so I think it would be appropriate to update the people who care about what’s been happening.

Before I do that, I just want to extend some gratitude towards the people who regularly peruse and look through the things that I write. I don’t do it to please other people, but it’s nice to know that “strangers” will look at something I’ve created and find something to relate to in it. It’s very encouraging and I love the feedback I’ve gotten so far I hope to get some more the more that I write. So in short, thank you.

As for what’s been going on with me personally, I’ve been exhausting myself with work. For a little bit of background, I graduated with my BA in English this past May and got certified to teach high school English in New York. The job situation isn’t what I’d call ideal, but I managed to land a TA position at an elementary school for the time being. It isn’t what I ultimately want, but it pays well, the hours and work aren’t difficult, and I have a job in my field. I can’t complain about that.

In addition to that, I’ve kept my retail job that I’ve been working at for the past 3 years to make some extra cash on the side. As you can imagine, Black Friday was no picnic. In fact, it was probably the worst that I’ve seen so far. Between my two jobs (one working with young children and the other working with people who act like children), I’ve been exhausted and trying to use any free time I get to relax.

So the question becomes, why do I need to post this then? Why should you care, and more importantly, why should I bother to say it? I suppose there’s a small part of me that likes to think that people may have looked forward to my poems, haikus, short stories, and the like. In reality, this is a way to hold me accountable. I want to write more, and if I make my claim public, then that means I must follow up with it. Right now I should be able to manage at least once a week. It isn’t that I’ve been without inspiration; it’s more that I’ve lacked the will to take the time to sit down and write it.

I also want to put out there that if someone ever has a request for a story they’d like written or something of that nature, I’m game to take on the challenge. I wrote one for my friend for his birthday because he expressed to me that a gift like that would be one of a kind, and much more meaningful than anything manufactured. The story Capsule is the result of that endeavor, and he loved it. I figured I would open it up here for anyone that felt moved to give me a challenge.

That’s more or less what’s been going on in a nutshell, besides anything that has happened romantically, but that’s a story for another time in another post. I don’t expect responses, but I’m looking forward to the possibility of something new to put out there. If you’ve made it this far, know that I appreciate your attention span and initiative to read more than just a paragraph. I’m long winded. It’s a gift and a curse. Thanks for caring.



Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , on October 3, 2013 by bigtuna185

Unbridled, untamed, and free
Sprinting unashamed in the wind
Twisted wild mane flowing
Soft grassy hills imprinted with footsteps
A trail to be tracked by bold explorers
A dangerous prize awaits at journey’s end

You reign over your territory
Like a paranoid queen upon her throne
Eyes darting crazily
Expecting sabotage
Awaiting assassination
Sentencing hearts to their doom because of troubled pasts

Where is your saintly knight to ease a sorrowed mind?
Where is the whisperer to break the shell of mistrust?
To gently brush your hair?
To adorn you with the fittings suitable for so majestic a creature?
Bestowing hushed tones and hope to break a haughty spirit

May he always nobly serve you
In humility, in gratitude, in encouragement, and in love
The whisperer will never forsake you, troubled maiden
For he will forever be the voice in your ear
The song in your heart
And the light in your soul.