Statement of Purpose

I arose from ash––from the culmination of violent love, custody documents, and broken traditions. In my small-town’s Indian community, I was told that I came from a broken home. A girl raised by her mother has no right to believe she’s granted any value if her father hasn’t done it first. I’d read about outcasts, family turmoil, and every epic adventure that happens for a kid who doesn’t belong. But never one like me.

Meadowlarks and Marigolds

There’s a meadowlark in the marigolds
Its speckled feathers caress the petals
Tinged in the yellow fabric of sunlight
Doused in the burning orange of its heat

Pandemic From California

August. The haze in the sky is thick, like a slate smog stretched thin over a blaring sun. It looks as if heat will rain. I can picture it: sizzling bolts of light touching down, the earth jittery from its touch. Some gnats collide into the glass of my window, as if they seek shelter with me.

Birthday Yellows

My mother says that when I was born, I was born yellow. No doctor could tell her what my gender would be, so she ignored the pinks and blues and bundled me in my first yellow cloth.

Why She Loves the Night

Where her heart had cracked, she believed it broke. Swept away by the breezes that ruffled the wood She’d trekked through in her own front yard Her hands would slide along scarred bark Where the splinters pierced her flesh  When all she’d touched was palm   When she felt the pain, it didn’t stop her…


You’re at an airport. You emerge from the metal detector. No sounds. No flags. No worries. Wrong. Your hands get “randomly selected” to be checked for bomb residue. Your skin is brown. Your eyes are wide. You’re 15 and your palms face the ceiling as a pale, overbearing stranger brushes your flesh with powder. With…


The door is open. The wind howls, aching with every breath that knocks the wood against the wall. The thuds of every exhalation resound throughout the empty house. The sky rumbles, with flattened clouds that blur and drift like phantoms with no purpose. And as the rain begins to fall, there is no distinction between…

A Vision

It is in my heart to think how I may envision my own future. Should it be as vivid as my mind attempts to make reality now? I’m certain of what I want. I close my eyes and envision interwoven threads atop grass of a deep green. The sky is overcast, making everything clearer and…


Recollection is like a sea of various shades washing on the dull gray sand of daily living. Nostalgia, or the concept of memories flooding one’s mind as they are triggered by trivial things––like cake crumbs, fine china, or even the musky scent of an old love’s cologne––is the sentimental impact of adventure come and gone…

Heart Alight

Along the frame With heart alight I hope you too Can see the night The wisps of cloud  Like orchid smoke The little suns  That dance with hope Silhouettes of trees  Like strokes of ink On that navy dusk From sunset’s pink The touch of chill That warms you most The sound of chirps To…