Resigned, a poem

I would choose to be the one he favors over me.
The one he keeps going back to.
The one he refuses to let go.
Even after promising to do so. 
She meets a need I can’t. 
Even after we kiss and they don’t.
She still holds something of his that I don’t.

Screenshot 2017-06-20 at 11.52.00 PM


It doesn’t take long

  for fleece to warm my skin

  for my head to swivel

  for my shoulders to drop

  for my mind to understand

  for my ears to complain at the loudness of the quiet

It doesn’t take long

  for the anger to swell

  for my heart to race

  for my mind to languish in mourning

  for my once warm tears to sting

  for my laughter to turn into screams

It doesn’t take long

  for my mind to wander

  for my dreams to fail

  for my sleep to skip a night (or day)

  for my hunger to pass

  for me to lose interest

It doesn’t take long


// image credit:

This Love.

This silence hurts my ears.

We scratch and scrape to fill the empty we both feel.

This love reflects our best and worst in the mirror.

This distance increases my fears.


// – the following song played in my head while I wrote this.

Music Video: “This Love” by Craig Armstrong

Unititled (11.12.16)

I am one of many.

We are occupied by him.

I know of them

They do not know of me.

A moment of revelation arrived.

He took my breath away with a gentle firm grip around my neck.

My heart is broken, my spirit bruised.

// #writingprompt via Writers Write


Together, but separate
   we shine
Next to each other, but alone
   we shine
A mini-universe within
   shines just for us.

(c) deyanira villalta, 07.26.16
#WordsIWrite   #DeyaniraWrites

// Image Credit: “Bottled Sky” by Lukasz Wiktorzak.

Dear Reader, 

This poem is written from an image prompt for #PromptsAndCircumstance  a daily writing session set up by +Bliss Morgan on Google+. If you are a fellow Plusser, stop by and say “Hi!” and maybe read some of the submissions under the hashtag. 

If you’s like to see the rough draft of this, I posted it online w/a pretty overlay of the universe. You can see it here at

Thanks for reading!

Questions? Comments? Feel free to let it all out below.

Three Little Mushrooms Sitting in a Tree.

Everything moved in slow motion.

The little mushrooms waited.

The rays from the Sun¹ brought the gift of life each and every day of their existence. The rains only showed up when it suited them. Good thing the little mushrooms could store the precious water crystals in their heads – like the brain cells we seem to take for granted. As they slowly grew up together, the little mushrooms tried to keep their space, but it proved difficult in the small hole in the tree where they lived. They knew not how they got there, but knew this is where they belonged.

They occupied their time by keeping critters out of the tree’s belly button hole. After all, that is where they were. Inside the belly button of a tree.


Trees have belly buttons holes in this forest.

The three little mushrooms did not mind their task at all since they were safe from the major elements of the woods. They did not fall victim to being stomped on like the rest of them that grew on the ground and near and around old tree roots. These little mushrooms spent their days just growing and feeling the particles of air as it moved around them. Sometimes, those particles bounced off of them and landed on the ground. As more and more of the little bits fell around them, more and more things began to grow. They made friends with the nearby mushrooms and big yellow flowers. And the purple ones too!

The little mushrooms lived a long time – at least it seemed that way to them. There they saw as other creatures moved around them. Some tall some small – and all were gentle, except for the ones that moved slowly crouching near the ground and those that moved so fast you could barely tell what they were, just stripes moving in a flash in one direction. Here the little mushrooms learned that life could be fleeting, and they were thankful they were not the food source for the gigantic four-legged creatures that roams the forest.

Once they saw a feeding so horrific they tried to turn away, but couldn’t. Those three little mushrooms witnessed life unfolding. They saw the awe and brutality that is life in the forest. Everything around them witnessed it. In silence, they stood.

The flesh tore apart a bit at a time. The bones were cracked open, and the marrow licked out. Little by little the deer disappeared. Other four-legged creatures took bites of their own.

When the rains finally showed up all they could talk about was the fun they had at sea meeting up with the violent and terrible storm. It was always a good time meeting up with such strong personalities, but in the end, it was just a headache driven whirlwind. The rains were always loud and butted up against you as they landed. They always brought way too many guests with them. Soon all too drunk to leave, would just lay down on each other and melt into one single giant rain puddle. They would slowly remember their names and begin to evaporate back from where they came. Little by little the rain puddle became no more.

The sun always shined (except for the days when it didn’t) and would always caress their little faceless faces with a warm love only felt in the magic transparent warmth of the sun.

The three little mushrooms look like they were placed there on purpose: to be forever known as The Murder Witness Mushrooms.

The End.

Footnote: ¹Mushrooms don’t perform photosynthesis; they are a fungus.


// Image Credit: ranger910 at Imgur

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed this short story. It was fun to write in a quick 20-minute session!

This story was originally posted as part of a writing prompt series called #PromptsAndCircumstance on Google+.  Additionally, cross posted at Xxculture as part of my contrbution to the site. 

Thank you for reading. Questions? Comments? Let your thoughts be known below. ~deyanira.

A Bear Named Cub

     Raising yourself is not easy.  Growing up without parents does not make any sense.  My name is Cub.  I am a bear living in the mountains that towers over a great valley.  There is a spot at the edge of the mountain overlooking a vast landscape filled with other creatures.  The chirps and distant roars in the darkness are frightening.  The sights of the vast grassland are overwhelming.

     I have been alone – well, without parents since I can remember.  My mom died in the belly of the mountain.  When I woke up with a hunger pang that I could not ignore; I wandered toward the light.  The brightness from above hurt my eyes, then I caught the scent of fish in the air I could not ignore.  I followed it to the river without looking back.  Upon catching my first fish, as the brightness above began to fade, I felt the absence of my mother for the first time.

     I looked around and saw the little bear I woke up next to.  She had blue eyes and did not catch a fish that day.  She made due with a few frogs.  Before the darkness fell upon us, we walked back to the belly of the mountain.  We both understood that mother would never leave it.

     That night we slept under the stars listening to the eerie sounds of those that roamed among the trees and beyond the forest.  We stayed together for a while but now and then Little Blue would wander farther and farther away. Some days and nights, I lost sight of her.  I have not seen her in a long while and did not know when she will return.

The End.

// Image Credit: “Shadows” by morganobrienart at

Dear Reader,

This story was originally posted on Scribd, and just recently on Wattpad. I am adding a short story section to this weblog and thought this one is a perfect way to get this started. I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading.  Questions? Comments? Let your thoughts be known below. ~deyanira.


Gently he caressed her skin.

Kissed her shoulder.

Squeezed her body with his arms.


He’s leaving, taking most everything with him.

He departs with a smile on his face – adventure awaits.

She feels a pull, a sinking feeling between her ribs and lungs.


Engines roar, tires turn, then silence.

The home they build, a piece at a time is lifeless.



by alex stoddard 02

Portrait by Alex Stoddard.

// This piece is inspired by an image prompt series taking place this July on Google+ via +BlissMorgan. If you’d like to participate in #PromptsAndCircumstances feel free to join us!