Write Pad

Read my chicklit and speculative fiction flash stories straight from my write pad.

I asked the heavens and they let me.

I picked out two stars,


I put one underneath the ruby on your crown.

The other silver one I dipped into the prayers your mother tossed into the sea.

Slowly I crumbled gleaming stardust.


On you, your skin, your soul.

When life is deem and you are sinking into darkness.

Brighten! Hug yourself. Shine through.

You have always been a star.

I asked the heavens and they say you brew stars in your skin.



Once i curled my tongue and dipped its ticklish tip into my soul. I wanted to know what my eternal immortality tasted like. Would I recognise it when I shared it? Is it’s depth truly as endless as the fiery, bright, hope-giving soul I give out?

So when my tongue is burnt while I’m sharing. I dip into my soul. I lap up my own healing. Then note my depth swirl higher in abundance.

So still raw, I open up and share. Because closing up bitterness and pain makes my soul drown them. Then I feel myself choke on overflow.

Springing forth, I share. Because a few of us are here to pour, illuminate, fill and exude glory and indescribable joy.