I’m coming out. I’m going to just be me. I’ve already told him everything. “I’m attracted to her” I told my husband. Why are there so many pretty women. I cannot be around them. I’m facing my demon dressed in the most appealing manner. I know it’s perfectly acceptable. It’s also acceptable to be with the one you love. I love you! Your everything is the only one I fell in love with after countless dating. I thought I was doomed with the inability to love. To have a partner.

Filled with exhaustion and a puzzeled face he looked at me to say “should I be worried?”. About what I said.

Will you have sex, get physical, or leave me for her he asked. No, of course not. Ask me all the questions you want. I want to figure this out with you.

And after an hour of questions , answers, tears and hugs. We finished. You see I think many people are beautiful. I think many have enormous capability if watered right. I also have a weakness. I love hard. I want to love those who feel unloved. Those who are rejected, ruled out, ignored, feel invisible and I want to give them what they wish they could have. Bad. I know. Yet it’s the truth. It’s exactly how I feel.

Yet there is the key. How I feel… and feelings although great are also not trust worthy. I know I love my husband, I know I couldn’t fall in love with other people even though I tried. Even the ones who came out to me like my best friend who loved me but she never went for it. Thank you because… I couldn’t feel love for you that way.

You see when a friend shared they wanted to finally have a kiss. I asked do you want me to do it? And I would if they wanted. If my friends said they needed a hand to hold, someone to hug, an experimental kiss.. I did it. I wanted everyone to feel loved even though I never did before.

It wasn’t until I met this guy who is now my husband that I finally felt loved. And yes he knew all the stories of my choices, preference, abuse, confusion, clarity and finally love. Yet here again I’m visited by this old hell bound demon dressed in beauty. And all I wanted to do was tell him. Everything all of it regardless of what I could lose. Why?

Because I have not had anything from him. Also I don’t enjoy my mind haunting me with thoughts that provoke strain. Basically no bad vibes.

Oh you want to know how my husband felt. So are you worried, hurt, sad, scared what?! I demanded. Yeah .. I’m worried. I’ll keep checking in he said. I love you, it’s ok and your not dum. That’s what I’m here for and thanks for telling me he said. He gave me a wonderful kiss and a big hug.

Fortunately we’ve been blessed with a pretty seasoned marriage. Not easy just seasoned. our friendship, companionship, love, history and commitment makes it a lot easier to talk through things.

It hasn’t been easy. It’s all been coming slowly. All that makes me me good or bad has been slowly pacing its self to my door called life.

It’s finally arrived. ©️untappedwriter


Makes me happy!

Rain, it’s that simple. Rain. When I hear it my body instantly unwinds. When I see it, my mind comes into a trance. As I feel it, I begin to sense more freedom, rejuvenation and liberation. When I smell it coming forth I get myself home as quickly as I can. To watch it, hear it and smell it from my window. The only thing I do not do is taste it but smelling it is enough. People shy away from a day of rain but for me it makes me smile. Even when It comes suddenly and all my belongings are soaked. I still smile. So yes. Rain it provides water, sustenance, cleanses and calms. Rain it makes me happy.


Offended I say!

Offended I say!
You put up the price but you seemed very nice.
Yet I am O-F-F-E-n-d-E-D.
How dare you charge for your work? Your time and talent too.
The outrage, the nonsense! Is nothing free and done for simplicity?
Dear person do not worry. My dark humor, poems, short stories and more is still free to read. I simply cannot live of your expectations. It does not provide food, think what you may. I am but a writer echoing the voice of the voiceless. Yet what is mine is mine and that is worth every dime.


Black Bird

Plague they screamed! Hide, run, cover it is coming for all. It does not distinguish between status, gender or intelligence.

Ca ! The sound of the dark feathered birds. Any diseases, any weak, any with undiscovered illnesses run as fast as you can.

Ahhhhhh! My head. Help its eating my nose.

Get off my arm.

The black birds came out of no where. Crows they said. But these birds come to point out where the hidden illness lies. The target the true points of illness, corruptions, lies and the parts that stink of dead flesh.

Crows they said. Afraid of the vicious, important part of nature. They where made for a reason. Soft, forest smelling, flesh eating, quiet but loud, majestic and eerie black birds.

We fly in groups and expose as individuals.  We are polite but not domesticated. They judges us because we are different. Unloved, undesired odd and very unusual. However,  we are a necessity. Always around , some where one of us are watching. You will hear us ca!

I am the writer, the voice of the unwanted and the one sitting in the silence on your shelf. You may have seen me but you do not know it is me. We may have had coffee or tea or beverage in the same vicinity but you do not know it’s me.

My elongated mouth , black, hard and crushing. They call me the plague dr. I must correct this. I am not a dr but one that will release the truth. Exposing the lies. I’m not hiding. I am right here. I am near, you will hear my ca! Tonight.

I am the untappedwriter. My beak is long, my feather soft, I expose the truth and you may know me. I am sitting on your shelf or not. Share my story if you please. Share if you dare to want to see me©️untappedwriter


How did I get here? This body. It is stretched, curved and elongated in ways I don’t understand.

I see the silhouette of the body I now have but even that I can not stand.

Squish, squeeze, tug, pull, cover, hide but I still know inside. I am not what you see.

How did I get here, where did it start? I can not correct it not by my hand.

Sweat, run, eat, limit, one meal or two. Dizzy, clumsy that will not do.

So healthy I get but the pounds do not shed.

This body, it’s what my mind lives in. It’s not just a shell.

It’s meant to carry me. Take me places and grow in the right sort of band.

Cut the hair, shave, buy new clothes, hide, repeat but inside and underneath I’m still beat.

In the ring we are on one side the champion on the other side the fallen. Doing ding! Ring the bell.

Smile, smile it’s all worth while. Burning sensations, heat elevations and check.the blood Doc.

All is fine.

How did I get here? It is far from fine. Far from where it should be. No tugging, no wrapping, no clothes can hide it.

I’m stuck in this body.

How did I get here. ©️

I hope you enjoy. Happy writing.


The cry of my ancestors wake me at night. I’m not of one kind but of many. My make comes from years of tears, joy, loss and growth. We began on the land decades ago. We where free to fish, gather, grow and birth. We respected where we walked and cared for the hurt living. We know that there is life in everything that breathes. People, plants and animals working together. I’m made of a mix and not one hundred percent but I’m still part of it. My grandmother raised me like her flowers. We spent hours in the park, garden or forest. Picking through flowers, plants, insects, reptiles and fruits. We would take a cloth bag and a plastic bowl. We where often ready to bring a hurt animal home to help them get better. If a baby bird fell from its nest we would carefully put it back. If a pigeons wings where hurt we would help it heal and put it near where we first found it. All this the remnants of what was and what my grandmother was taught as a little girl. I was never told by my parents why my grandmother slathered my hair with natural oils and put into braids. I was never told why I wasn’t allowed to cut my hair short. All I knew was that it was something my grandmother did.

Now as an adult I know. I know why. My parents feared the hurt I would experience so they began changing how I dressed. They cut my hair and kept me away from nature. I embarrassed them and apparently myself by being too distracted with helping bugs, animals and plants during recess at school.

Today although it hurts to hear my ancestors. To remember the stories, to dream and to heal. I’d rather remember.. because everyone else forgot. I want to recall with out the hurt. I hope from now on we can all just be kind.

Dedicated to orange day. Please remember.


#orangeday2021 #bekind #writing


She is beautiful. Very pretty.

Did you hear she is athletic too?

No, I thought she was a brainiac. Just really smart and pretty.

She doesn’t talk much hu?


Look at her posture she sits straight up. How is it that she looks like a porcelain doll? So, flawless.

I wonder what she thinks about.

She –

This hair needs to go down. I refuse to go to school if my hair isnt they way I want it.

Mom: hey I just got a call saying you missed 1st period. Why?

Well, my hair and makeup isn’t as I want it. I can’t go to school feeling off. How will I smile? You need me to smile.

Mom: ok, once your done go to school.


I didn’t do any of my assignments again. I guess no lunch again.

Oh no. I’m slouching. Mom says it’s not good to slouch that she’ll put a metal harness on me if I keep doing it.

Why are people always staring. I’m always doing everything I can to fit in.

Oh no my sweat is making my hair frizz. Miss miss ! I need to go to the bathroom. Ugh…. hair oil! Ahh there it is, uff that was close.


Hi, my name is Zach. I sit behind you in math. I’m new to school so I just wanted to introduce myself to people.

She- why is he talking to me? No , one talks to me. I only really have one friend. What do I say? I wasn’t ready for this. This isnt what I do everyday.

Hi, I am chi.

Chi turns around and starts walking to the math room.

Zach: oh hey, can I walk with you. Like I said I sit behind you in math class? Well, you dont have to answer. It’s my class too.

She: he needs to leave me alone. I dont have what I will say. I dont know what he will say next or do.

Zach opens the door for her. She goes under his arm and doesnt give any eye contact to him again.

Zach to his friends- who is she? Why doesn’t she want to talk. Is she just shy? Dude stay away from her, shes dated some guys and well she must be single for some reason now. Wait! Are you guys friends with her? No, man. We’ve just seen and know enough about her. Shes a little strange.

Zach – yeah ok but does she have friends?

Yeah, man she does. Dont worry about her your wasting your time.

Chi- turns around in her desk facing all five boys and says. I can hear you. That’s not nice and you dont know me. We never talk.

Rad- oh she speaks. Half a semester in this class. You never answer class questions but she speaks.

Chi turns around and continues listening to the teacher.

Rad and the gang keep talking about her to get her attention.

But it’s too late Chi.. is sitting there but not present.

Chi has been described as beautiful, slender, kind, honest, quiet, funny, good in basically everything. Great at acting, singing, art, fashion, drama, english, history but she never speaks up during math. She is on the honor role, has been voted best smile, secretly girls envy her and some even want to date her. The same stand for the guys in her circle. They either defend her, like her or write her off as strange.

No one knows Chi’s truth. Unknown to her even until the day of graduation.

Chi had always been either too good or a little bit off. Always put together and found her self in front of the mirror everyday. Practicing how to smile, say hello. Everyday with people she associated daily be it teachers, her friend, family or her cat; chi had something planned. Chi always had a conversation for each person. Little did she know it was called a script and the reason she would dump the guys she dated was because she had nothing to say past her script. Right before going to university Chi found out she is autistic. On spectrum.

This post is dedicated to those with autism on spectrum. You matter, you are accepted as you are and there is nothing off with you. You are beautiful, wonderful, intelligent and anything you want to be.

Happy writing and remember be kind.

The truth

I didn’t say that.

No I didn’t do that and that never came out of my mouth.

I’ve given all my life up for you.

I did this for you.

I wasn’t talking about you I was talking about me.

I work my arse off, so if I want to throw my close on the ground; you clean it again.

What can you do without me?

I love you.

Did you see your cousin? They didn’t even say hi to me. They should at least..

Why dont you do it the way I say.

They are suffering because they didn’t do it my way.

You need to acknowledge me always.

I’m not upset. You are, I didn’t start this conversation. You did.

How did I lose my phone I have 4 pairs of eyes (to the children) and its lost!

I want.

I said.

P says theses things often and whenever there is an issues against then its never p’s fault. P talks to the dead parents often and spends nights crying. Telling themselves they haven’t done anything out of the normal or wrong to be ignored. They run the biggest cult at night. Then turn around and cry. P.. lies, manipulates, cheats, turns family, friends, neighbors against each other and is always the victim.

P cries in front of strangers to feed on sympathy and gain control. P is beautiful, wise, experienced but not perfect. Although P believes they are internally perfect, they will never announce it. P is an angry-perfectionist. P refuses help, therapy, criticism and never is responsible or takes blame for anything.

P is your covert narcissist. The one who brings the homemade cookies (bought in a store). Whom nods their head and making eye contact. Saying “mmhum” but is actually thinking about anything and everything else but you. P is the guidance, leader often very extroverted and welcoming. P is the grandiose type. Talking often about the riches they had or have. The important people they knew. The position they obtained.

P could be a mother, a sister, a friend, a child.

All i know is that if you meet p. Give her my regards by sharing this letter.



Thank you all for coming tonight. I know you. Would have much preferred to sit at home, in your favorite couch and with a book. As most of us would want. Yet, you are here. Let’s raise our glass to you. Our success is in the minds of each one of us. Cling – cling , here here to us!

Alright, I’ve gathered us for one more competition. The challenge is to write a one page story. No word count limits, no font limits and most importantly no creative limits. Winner will have their work published in all the news letters, newspapers and heard on the best podcasts.

I want you to write your hearts out. All the dark, sad, trauma, gloom,joy, fear, thrill and honesty out on this paper. The host personally hands papers to the two hundred VIP guests.

Three, two, one and begin . You have one hour. I am looking for elegance. Sexual content unfortunately even if it is about trauma cannot be aired and maybe best to sit this one out. Sociopolitical and governmental rules I sadly have not overcome yet.

But if you feel a burning desire to write this content I suggest you do after our contest is over and burn it or hand it over to the vigilantes.

Fifty minutes left. Might I add that winner also leaves with two thousand dollars. As the host walked around in the room. The smell of fear and excitement took over the room.

For once writers of all types, hand picked, screened for deep and meaningful writings. All in one place being celebrated.

I know that as writers we are filled with more than just stories. We are many times creative creatures, misunderstood, rejected, neglected, ignored, ridiculed and very few times accepted with open arms. Tonight that changes!

Those who do not win will still have an opportunity to have their work published but in a less traditional form. Our secret weapon is here tonight and they will be your brand leader. They will take your work and make it explode. Fifteen minutes the server yelled.

They will take your work and get it into emails of the best agencies, authors and writers. Posters of your work will be planted. Yes, all of you get that opportunity tonight.

As for me, I personally wanted to congratulate, celebrate and honor all of you tonight. Why? Because I have seen the cafe’s with incredible writers who never publish. The web is full of deep, emotional, creative and outstanding people. Who have hidden their work, talents because of fear. Our pain, journey, failures and rejections are what make our stories better. It is our secret power! We allow our readers to feel hope, joy, love, courage and fearlessness. Some of our readers, followers of community have no escape. They cannot escape their life, culture, trauma, traditions or evil that befalls them. Yet, as we write, we provide a brief moment of rest.

Time is up! Oh, great, good time is up. Bring them to me. As the night went on the host disappeared. By three in the morning the host had a winner.

The winner is (drum roll) who ever wrote “Unforgettable “.©️

That thing

I’m assuming you want to know about that thing I did. Oh hoping you remember who I am. Maybe after I explain that thing. Then you will recognize me. Well It was two thousand and ten. I was lost both figuratively and physically. Some how I ended up at a tattoo parlor after my Noona had died. I wasn’t on anything. I just slightly recall leaving school early and feeling empty. I guess you could call it a stage of grief. It was more than denial it was more than loss of someone I loved. It was a loss of self. I ended up at some well known tattoo place. Although highly reviewed for great safety, cleanliness and good staff. It was dark and dingy. The waiting room was black, as in the whole building was black and there where stripes randomly allocated.

As I waited I recalled of a design that captured my attention years ago. It was an insect. I don’t like describing it in detail because well it would take to long. Anyways, that day I shouldn’t have done it but I did. I got that tattoo. Little did I know what it would do to me. Yeah who thought a regular gothic tattoo would cause trouble. It is just ink right? No, wrong. I was wrong and you are wrong. We are incorrect for assuming all tattoos are just artistic work that can be slapped on like a sticker. Now you know what the thing was. It wasn’t long until that thing made my nights worse. Specifically witching hour. ©️

#shirts #story #fiction #2021