creative writing · Uncategorized

poem: blood

they hurt the same as me

they are not my blood

or are they?

for i feel we are one and the same

creatures born of the same catastrophe

breathing in and out

feeling with every bone in our bodies

the somehow universal pain

feeling it hurt in places we did not used to hurt

feeling it heal in places we did not even know it hurt

inhaling the air of a shared place

bleeding into each other

as i realize that,

in some unique way,

we are blood


– Lexie Brooke

creative writing · Uncategorized

poem: colored heart

all of the colors inside of me

are screaming, pulsing, bursting at the seams

the pieces of my heart,

treasured and cherished beyond all else

these pieces, minuscule in size but mountainous to me,

popping out in blinding yellows and soothing greens

the bits of my soul the most prominent,

and yet the most private

are dying to escape,

to live in a world less sheltered and harsh

are dying to be free,

to live in a world that will accept their varying shades and hues

and i am afraid that i cannot give them that,

but i must try.


– Lexie Brooke 🙂

creative writing · Uncategorized

creative writing: let them in

I live alone in my mind. I do not let anybody else live there, or even stay in the guest room for the weekend. Nobody comes in and nobody comes out. Maximum security. This is my policy. I do not let anybody in.

I do not share my thoughts. My deepest passions and darkest secrets are mine and mine only. The thoughts that I think the most are never more than thoughts; I never turn them into words. I will not let anybody in.

I talk to myself when I am alone. I voice my opinions in the shower, in the car. Always alone. Then, I get out of the shower or the car and I laugh and chat with my family, my friends. I am happy, but they do not know me. I can not let anybody in.

I dream of another world. I think about what might happen if I could say anything that pops into my head right as the idea enters my brain. I think about what might happen if I did not wait days or weeks or months or years before sharing my ideas. I want to let somebody in.

I long for some company in my mind. I want to open all the doors and windows, to make my mind an open house, to decorate with my thoughts and ideas instead of pushing them out, to let my neighbors in. My neighbors, who have been wishing for just as long as I have to open their minds to me.

I will not wait.

I will let them in.


– Lexie Brooke 🙂

P. S.  Never forget to share your magic!!

creative writing · Uncategorized

poem: your name


do I keep


your name?

your name,

that I said between giggles

showing each other

pictures on our phones.

your name,

that I cried out in frustration

lighting the Bunsen burners

in a science lab.

your name,

that I whispered under my breath

sneaking in a joke

between the teacher’s lectures.


your name,

that I say with a small smile

speaking calmly

though I feel like screaming.

your name,

all that is left

besides the pictures

and the now one-sided memories.

your name,

that will never again pop up on my Google Drive

that will never be put on a high school diploma

that will never again say mine.

your name,

a never-forgotten memory

of a life well-lived

always on my mind.


– Lexie Brooke 🙂


creative writing · Uncategorized

Poem: broken scale

A life measured in numbers,

two days here, then three there,

basing my schedule on the clock.

Split the holidays, the weekends,

alternating school breaks,

basing my life on legal agreements.

Every Tuesday, then every Saturday,

packing my bags up once again,

basing my calendar on the cycle.


My bags strain my back,

full of my favorite clothes and stuffed animals,

who are forced to move around with me.

They are a physical reminder,

of the weight I constantly carry

on my shoulders.


I see a family in the street,

a little girl swinging on her parents’ arms –

arms with hands that hold each other,

and hands with fingers that hold rings.

And all I can think is

that used to be me,

that could be me,

that would have been me.


All I can think is some variation of,

why can’t that just be me?


How can I feel homeless,

when I have two addresses?


I guess that’s what happens

when your family portrait gets ripped in half,

and you try to piece it back together,

but the parts don’t match anymore.


I guess that’s what happens

when your support system is irreparably shattered,

and you wish you could fix it,

but the sound of the glass breaking is too much for your ears to bear.


I guess that’s what happens

when you try to maintain two separate lives with two separate families,

and you try to balance your disjointed life,

wavering on a forever broken scale.


– Lexie Brooke 🙂

P. S.

Just want everyone to know that I’m perfectly fine and happy, and I love both of my parents very much! This poem is somewhat based on my life experiences but is also definitely a big exaggeration from what I feel 🙂




creative writing · Uncategorized


My “blog ideas” list is bursting with hundreds of perfect topics. I want to write about all of them. They are all beautiful and they are all wonderful. It takes a while for me to decide, but I settle on a topic. This should be easy now, right? I have the whole idea envisioned in my brain; all I have to do is write it out.

New document created. I just need a title, and that’s pretty simple. Except, it isn’t. I can’t even think of what to call my piece. I decide on “Untitled” for now. It’ll come to me. I promise.

Now, on to the piece. I had this all planned out. Well, not exactly. I had a vision of what it would look like, what it would feel like. I just have to translate that into words. I type an intro, go back to edit it, and then hit DELETE. I’ll try again. This one goes straight to DELETE, too.

Maybe I should try a different topic.

Alright, moving down the list, that’s okay. Next idea. I had the vision for this one, too. The last idea was just a fluke.

But, no, I can’t get this one either. Everything I write is wrong. It doesn’t fit my beautiful, wonderful idea. It’s not what I was thinking when I added it to the list.

Where is my mind? The mind that writes pieces so easily, so smoothly, so effortlessly. The mind that knows exactly how to translate my thoughts into words. Most days, anyway.


Maybe another day.

– Lexie Brooke 🙂