This is kind of like my double page collage. It talks about what I want to do with my life.

Erasure: "The story of a woman's pain came and went, and remained forgotten and she did not cry."

​This project represents what I want to do with my life. I want to be an art teacher and help people learn how to hone their own skills in art. The erasure explains that I don't want to be famous or anything like that. If I can just impact one person, my life will have meant something.

"Count sand grains be impacted. The pressure of a human could destroy mysteries, now solid rock."

This is about my battle with paranoia and how it destroys everything fun in my life.

"the devil called the sea and declared it a peculiar river. I now experience violence in order to fear disappointing the moon."

This is about my relationship with one of my close friends.

This was my very first erasure poem.

A cool blue blanket. A soft white pillow. Birds create patterns on my quilt and trees make the border. My head is quiet, my heart is calm.

I want to sleep forever.

I want to leave forever.
A small insignificant dot lays under the blanket, swallowing the speck whole. The speck squirms and wriggles, but does not try to fight.

I want to let go.


I want to be free.


But I can’t.
That’s not how this works. It’s not my job to press quit.

I am not allowed.

I cannot hit delete.

I am too important.
So the speck crawls from underneath the big blanket and pushes away the pillows. The birds and trees part for me.

I am more important than a heartbeat.

I am more than flesh and blood.

I am a soul, I am a life.

I am an impact, however small.

I am someone’s lifeline.

I am their joy.
If their joy leaves, then they will be another speck, underneath the big blue blanket overhead.

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Like stardust waits… so does a man. He waits. And waits. And waits. No one really knows how long he’s been waiting. Some say hours. Some say days. Some say he was born on those steps. Everyone is curious, but not courageous enough to ask. So they talk amongst themselves. Sometimes they hear him muttering. Muttering about stardust. Other times he cries. His tears sparkle like stars… like stardust waits.
It was cold. It was so very cold. And he was there. Sitting. Muttering. Crying. His tears were sticking to his face, making him glisten. Making him glow. I had an extra cup of coffee from a date where my other half didn’t show up. It was warm. It was steaming. He was cold. HE was crying. So I sat down next to him. He didn’t flinch. The only reaction that I got was that he went quiet. He sniffled. He wiped his face. We made eye contact.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello.”
“Would you like some coffee? I have an extra cup.” He took the cup. He smelled the cup. He looked at me. He took a sip. I have never seen someone gulp down a hot cup of coffee as fast as he did. I thought he was going to burn his throat.
“My name is Stella,” I said.
“Mond.”
Excuse me?”
“My name is Mond.” What a strange name. We’re silent. I sip my coffee.
“Ask me,” he said.
“What?”
“You sat down to ask me something. So ask me.” I didn't know what to say. But he did.
“I’m waiting for my stardust. She left a long time ago. A very long time ago. But I know that she’ll be back. She always comes back. We’ve met in different lives, in different worlds. But it’s never taken this long. She’s never waited this long to find me.” Silence. I shake. He shakes.
“What does she look like?”
“Like stardust.” He gently puts his palm to my forehead. Energy. Light. I feel a warmth unlike any I have ever felt. Almost otherworldly. I close my eyes. I open them. I see him. Almost like it’s for the first time. But it’s not. It’s never been. He takes my hand in his.
“My stardust.”
“My moon.”


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