Posted in story, thoughts


You drew your fist back, pausing to examine the blood dripping from your knuckles. I stood in the doorway, watching the rain slowly dissolve the blood from his face. He lay crumpled over with his nose pouring out, disfigured. You looked over at me and our eyes met. I think I should of known then that I had become the world I despised but I just turned away, bracing against the wall as I heard you swing at him again. I felt dizzy. I felt the ground beneath me lurch in fear for us all. I walked to the table, scraping the floor as I pulled out a chair. Sat. Staring. Breathing. Waiting. I heard you shouting but could only make out fragments of what you were saying, ” Dirty….. Scumbag.. your skull… I will teach you a lesson for trespassing on my land…” Then silence. Then the distinct crunching of bone? No, to firm, your feet heavy against the ground crossing the path between the house and the shed. I was almost tempted to stand up and force myself to watch from the window. Instead, I began paging through a magazine in the table, sticky and outdated. We never read anymore. Mind’s gone to mush like the molding and rotting food in the fridge that reminds me of the constant embrace of hunger. Ask the neighbors for help. I have told you a million times but you just won’t listen. Would they help us anyway. Sure they have more than enough, but why not keep it from themselves. A little wastefulness never hurt anybody. Or that is what you told me they must think with the way they scrap their plates into the trash after only eating two thirds. It is people like that who make me sick. People like that who have no regards for anybody but themselves. I thought about that yesterday also as I was brushing my hair, examining myself in the mirror. Would you believe that I considered smashing it? I knew how mad that would make you. I knew your face would tense and that ugly vein would bulge in your neck and your teeth would grind and I would watch your arms twitch and neither of us would do anything about the shards of glass lying on the bedroom floor. Yet, for a moment, I was still tempted to snatch up the sled-hammer from the shed and destroy what was destroying.

I finally get up, hearing your footsteps again, this time striding towards the house. I see the red stain the knob as your grotesque hands struggle to get a grip and turn it. You stand in the frame waiting for me to say something but what is there to say.

” Are you upset?” You finally prompt.

I can feel my jaw twitching, trembling, fighting to say the sort of things that could change the world. What would the point be though? Nothing I say could change you. I finally manage to stammer out one incoherent sentence.

” He was … I..inno..cent, you didn’t h..h have to d d..o that to him.”

I’m sobbing now, the paint in my veins is peeling off its walls. I’m on the floor, clenching my knees to my chest, and gasping for air. Your on top of me, screaming something about how it is your right, your freedom, how this place isn’t what is used to be, how freedom ain’t free anymore because of soft hearted, accepting women like me, how a man has got to do what a man has got to do to keep things running smoothly. I feel a clump of my hair rip from its roots, and your lifting my head now, slamming it down rough on the cold tiles. “You understand? You understand now?”  You spit against my torn scalp. Your knee rests in the cavern of my twisted spine and you stop. You stop and then get up and go to the sink, splashing tainted water all over the counter tops as you cleanse your grime. I hear you open the cupboard and grab a glass,and turn the water back on. I can feel your eyes tunneling through me. I know you are leaning against the counter, drinking, watching me watch myself watch the world. I can’t get up. Minutes pass. You set the glass down with a thud and walk back over to me. You pull me up, sit me in a chair and silently walk out. Minutes pass. You walk back in and begin wiping my mouth, my jaw, my head, with a ratty t-shirt. I see your hands are still slightly stained and now I add to that. I’m stone eyed. I can’t breathe. You stop. You don’t even say you are sorry. You just stop wiping the evidence away. They all do it that way. But you, you just stopped and then you kiss me. You pull away as if you are the disgusted one and leave the room. I quickly wipe the mildew from my lips; I feel you working your way into my lungs, the rancid toxicity of your saliva boring holes in the roof of my mouth.

I grow dizzy again but I don’t dare stand. I hear the t.v turn on in the other room, imagine you slinking down into its rut. The murmuring news.Something terrible has happened and I don’t need the news to tell me so. I turn around and stand slowly,  walking to the window. The sky is a cacophony of purple, yellow and fading blue but underneath it all is a trickle of red. He still is lying out in the driveway but there is a finality about him now. A serenity veiled by your brutality. I don’t even cry anymore. I just hold on to the edge of the counter , rocking up and down on the balls of my feet, with the news in one corner of my mind and his dull, hollow eyes caked in blood staring at me across the drive.

– Eva M.M.

I don’t share my stories or scenes with you very much but this one I really wanted to share. I feel though it is gruesome and rough at the edges, it has some message in it for everybody. The message different people get from it may be different but I hope everybody can walk away with something.

Thank you for reading and stopping by. If you are new to 1withthepen feel free to ask me a little bit about my blog and writing. As always I love hearing from anybody in the comments.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in book review, books, life, philiosophy, story, thoughts

Book Review : ‘ The Joy Luck Club’ By: Amy Tan

One of the first book reviews I wrote for this blog was on an Amy Tan book, ” The Valley of Amazement.’ Since then I have wanted to read another one of her books so when I found myself with a new library card I went looking  through the shelves trying to remember something off of my to read list. You would think that would be a fairly easy task seeing as my to read list is up to 720 books but you would be wrong. I spent a few minutes this way and then I gave up and went up to a random shelf deciding to pull various books out until I saw something that seemed interesting to me. I happened to walk right up to Amy Tan and remembered that I wanted to read another one of her books. I looked at a few options and ended up choosing ‘ The Joy Luck Club’.  I do not regret it. Though the size may be vastly different than ‘ The Valley of Amazement’ and the story utterly different I still would highly recommend any Amy Tan book. Her stories span not only countries and long periods of time but also a plethora of human emotion and thought. One again I found that as an mostly ignorant American in regards to Chinese tradition and culture, I was able to learn both the rigidity but also deep bond of Chinese families. I acknowledge that this a story and so to some extent things are abstracted and generalized. Yet, I walked into the story in one mindset and walked out understanding and feeling a vastly different set of emotions. Tan takes your emotions and plays with your heart strings manipulating what we may think of as the perfect family picture and leaving the traces of something murkier. Family, as Tan shows us, runs deeply and you can’t change that no matter how hard you try. It is in your blood for better or for worse. However, you can change how you react to that fact and you can choose to do with it what you wish. In the end, I walked away from this book having a better sense for my own familial identity and realizing ,despite the crazy and the bad times, I am lucky for the family that I have. They are a part of me and I am a part of them and we can fight it all we want but we are usually better of learning to embrace it. So, to anyone looking for their next book to read, maybe consider reading this one especially if you are interested in Chinese culture, family or stories that you get to read from the perspective of multiple characters. Bonus, though I have not watched it, it was made into a movie as well so if you are one of those people who like reading things and then seeing the movie, this is the choice for you.

Have you read this book or another one of Amy Tan’s books? If so, tell me your thoughts on it/them. Also, as always I am always open to any book suggestions you think I might enjoy or want to know if I have read.

Thanks for stopping by. Love to all my little ink angels.

-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in life, philiosophy, story, thoughts

The irony (Confession)

The migraine pressed against my skull, slanting thought upon layered thought, together, as the wheels glide over the slick pavement. The sharp echo of road bladed against my suspended pain– I close my eyes only to open them to the jungle of civilization. Concrete buildings and the jumbled flood of that great migration, rush hour downtown, minds bustling and bumping about, pockets full of and hearts hollow.

I see.

We arrive. I stand in awe of man’s belief built, bound, contained, tainted by the firmness of stone.The chill of shy spring caresses my legs. Crossing into the haven, I dust of the cold from my chest. We sit. I study the grain of wood the knows. I glaze my eyes with the blue serenity of sacred glass.I defrost my heart with the radiance of painted purity. I do not feel the divine here– here is only respect for the divine. Bodies that stand, move down the line and settle back into the upholding bench of self-scrutiny, reflections on the muddled murk of morality. One kneels. The stifling whisper of a page being turned, divides. We move further down the line. Here, inwardly, I replay all — and

I see.

The confessional door opens. An elderly man hobbles out renewed, a fresh flower among wilted roses. I enter the booth and tentatively kneel.

” Bless me father for I am sin.”

I stare through the screen in front of me trying to puzzle together the mysterious face that calmly tells me to take my time and list my crimes.

  • Humanity
  • falling into my all consuming void
  • knowing
  • fear and cowardice
  • hatred
  • tainted love


  • breathing.

My mind wanders to the drive there; To my mother turning the steering wheel in her jerky, fast-paced life style and a man sitting on the side of the road with nothing more than time on his hands.

Help. Anything helps. Hungry. Homeless.’

The agonizing moment of noticing poverty before you can ignore it. We have somewhere to be. We hunger for god. He hungers…

I see.

” I absolve you of your sins in the name of the father the son and the Hol- ”

-iness is just an illusion.

I emerge from the booth heavier than when I entered.

We kneel.

We stand.

We walk.

We fail to see

that love isn’t love without loving.

She drive. I open my mouth. Tell her to stop. We must have something to give, even just words, they help, but we have somewhere to be.

We hunger…

He hungers for love.


I fall asleep thinking one day I will be brave enough to tell her,

” Practice what you Preach.”


We arrive


pockets full


hearts hollow.


-Eva M.M.

Thank you for stopping by and reading, commenting, giving me your thoughts and feed back. Love you all, my little ink angels.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”


Posted in fragments, life, Poems, story, thoughts

oblivious ( i gave you…)

” I think I just might hate you for peeling away everything I thought I knew –but — but how would I know, after all, I live in deceit.”

He stands, stretching his legs. Oblivious.Goes on another day. Oblivious.There is always work to be done and dreams to be caught.

There is always the sweet kiss of oblivion

against your ruined skin.

I think I just might  love you

for stripping away everything I thought was there to protect me from going after the power of flesh.

And was this just another game for me

and another life lesson for you.

I am always wishing you all the best

and letting you hold your hand to my throat

while I cry and try to help you all the more.

Maybe I am better off admitting that I was never here to heal you

for how can I heal you when all I do is hurt?

Why am I always chasing after people who only spit in my face and tatter my skirt?

I gave you my words.

I gave you my mind.

I gave you my heart.

and after all of that

you left


that I had also given you

the only thing I cannot regret giving you.

-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in life, Poems, story, thoughts

The fallen and the sullen.

He says, “Trust itself is gangrene.”

I watch him cry, tucking his fingers within his palms, clenching, releasing, uncurling, repeating—Being. I want to reach out, brush aside his downpour but my joints are clogged and my heart is heavy. I blink. Then I force myself to breathe. Still. Still my parched lips will not dare to speak.

He continues,” I let her corrode everything I was,” and angrily in midst my storm, I want to scream at him, “You are corroding me now, you hypocrite.” I remain silent. His voice like acid against my skin. I let him empty himself to me.

“You are such a good friend.” He says, “friend…friend,” a dagger to me. I blink. I force myself to smile lightly, reach out, wrap my arms around him but still my lips they will not part.

“Everything she told me, I let myself think that was what I really was–” He pauses, “–am.” He pauses again, “but I’m not and it took you to show me that. I think that is why I met you, You were sent to heal me, You’re—You are an angel.”

I curl in rage, wanting to lunge at him. Kiss him. Wrap my hands around his neck and hurt him. Conflicted: I remain silent.

“You just somehow understand. I’ve never had that before, you know. I have always felt so belittled—insignificant, like a speck in everyone’s eyes. You taught me I am spectacular. You, just so gentle and non-judgmental. You’re an angel.”

I boil, instinctively placing two fingers against my wrists, nervously wondering if he can see my fury. Racing, I surge to myself, “You know nothing of me. Can’t you see the wickedness in my eyes? Can’t yo see I am pain?” He can’t see a thing, red-rimmed eyes full of release. I force myself to stare into them but all I see is my own grief; And my lacerated lips bitten bare, they will not speak.

Dawn sounds of death,

Spring smells of decay.

He speaks till dewdrops descend. We sit together, the fallen and the sullen drowning in the deafening horizon of being.

He stands, stretching his legs. He holds out his hand to pull me up, a morphing soul peeling apart at the edges.

“So this is goodbye.” He says. He leans in, kisses my cheek, Pulls away Walks away. I stand staring at his back, receding, falling from view, until he vanishes.

-Eva M.M.

Thank you my lovely ink angels as always for reading and sharing your thoughts and feedback with me in the comments!

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in story, thoughts, Uncategorized

Brianna ( Part 3)

Brianna ( Part 1)

Continued from Brianna ( Part 2)

Back to school that year did not feel the same. There was no joy or excitement at finding new ways to irritate my teachers.There was only a constant pounding against the back of my mind and a chill around my heart.I must have stood in front of my locker for twenty minutes before I heard footsteps approaching.

” You alright, Brianna?” It was the principal doing his social duty.” I know our loss of Mr.Jones has been really hard on you.We lost a great man. Take it easy and if you need anything let us know.” He said it like he cared ; like he hadn’t wanted to expel Zack all along; like his life was not easier with Zack gone.Out loss, it was my loss ,not his!Mr.Jones,Zack hated to me referred to by his last name. Before I could stop myself I blurted out angrily,

“Don’t pretend to give a fuck about him. You never did and you never will so why don’t you leave us both alone.” I turned to walk away to class, not even knowing where class was: I had not even bothered to look at my schedule yet.

” Brianna, we do care. I understand the pain you are feeling. I will let you attitude slide for now but in the future remember we all hurt but we don’t have to hurt all because of it.“He left me to stare back at my locker for another twenty minutes, even after the bell rang and class began and notes were passed about who kissed who. I just stood –staring–and wondered how I would survive without Zack, his free steps, his long legs stretching out before him as he strode down the hallway and arm around me possessively.It was not till half way through American history that I looked at my schedule, grabbed the first notebook I saw and groggily edged into class.Mr.Bunter, in his monotone voice ,squawked , ” Pass!” When I nodded no, feeling the unsympathetic , gossip mouth  eyes boring holes in me, he said, ” You need a pass next time BriANNA,” over annunciating the Anna part as if he was just learning to speak English.

Time passes even in the reflections of times past. When the bell rang, I shot out the door before he  could pull me aside and ask me “how I was handling things.”The truth was I was  very uneasy around those adults who yelled at Zack for playfully swatting my butt in the hallways and now acted as if I had been united to him in holy matrimony for years. I grew angry when people would pop up chanting the social chant of , “I am sorry for your loss.”Though I had gotten angry at the principal for referring the Zack as our loss , I now realised that was closer to the truth.Yet  he was not our loss or my loss; Zack was the loss of the entire world and nobody seemed to grasp the genius–the intelligence–the promise of freedom in those green eyes.Nobody could see beauty when it was strolling in front of them with mud encrusted boots and a leather jacket.How blind can you all be?  He was– He was– but I could not finish that sentence , even to myself. So ” He was–“, hung silently in the air, like earth in space–


— as I ran to the bathroom and wept.I did not stop, even when Samantha walked into reapply her face and glared at me  whispering ” Why are you dressing so covered now?” I did not say anything. I did not stop crying. I just let me sorrow soak my clothes then I picked myself up and walked home.

To be continued…

Thanks as always for reading and sharing your thoughts with me in the comments. I have a particular question for you guys today. In the writing above I used this line ” remember we all hurt but we don’t have to hurt all because of it.”, givean the contexts and the feel of the story as a whole , do you think it is best as is or do you think this other version that I also wrote out is better: ” remember we all hurt but we don’t have to hurt.” OR  this third versionremember we all hurt but we don’t have to hurt others.” To be honest, I actually prefer the second one because it is saying that we all hurt but we don’t have to and also at the same time saying that we don’t have to hurt as in we do not have to hurt others. Yet, I ended up choosing the first because I felt it would be more readily understood. What are your thoughts? Thanks for letting me know.

-Wishing the brightest of day,Eva

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”







Posted in story, Uncategorized

Brianna ( Part 1)

I have not ,until now, shared with you any stories I have written just thoughts, reviews, poems and other forms of writing. The other day though this all began to unwind and I was thinking about typing it up to keep on a flash drive instead of losing it in the abyss of papers I have of stories told. Instead I thought I would take a bold leap of faith and share it with you in sections until it was done and get some feedback on a very new style of writing for me to be showing you. So I really do hope that after reading each section you will leave a little comment for me  about how you like it and how you think it compares to some of my more poetic works. Also, a quick note on naming my stories. I have never been good at naming them until I am done and I reread and know what is before me. With this story in particular I did not really have a name for it but it is a story of somebody I have known in my mind for a really long time, Brianna or Bree. I hope you get to know her as well as I have. Thank you and enjoy.

 ” Why is your hair purple?” He asked as if it was the simplest of questions to have traversed the human mind in all of history.I laughed, ” Because hair dye exists and I was feeling rebellious.”  He laughed back , ” You’re always rebellious. That is why I love you.     ” I love the way your nose twitches when you talk , I thought , sinking further into his arms.   ” Well lucky for you I don’t plan on following the rules anytime soon.”                           ” Not even if it means getting a scholarship to college. I mean, think about it Ree, your behavior– don’t you think it might come back to haunt you ?”                    ” Most definitely,but I don’t mind being haunted as long as the ghosts don’t pray. I never liked the mumblings of prayer-kinds of eerie you, you know.” he brushed aside a lock of my lavender hair.                                                                                                          ” I don’t know Ree, it is kind of comforting to me. Isn’t that kind of the point. To be comfortable?”                                                                                                                                                ” Yeah, for Them ,” I emphasized the them just enough to make it clear I wanted nothing to do with religion, ” but people who always want to be comfortable make me severely uncomfortable.”                                                                                                                          ” Oh Ree–, ” he sighed ” sometimes I am not sure who you even are.                              “Me either.” I mumbled as if in prayer.

Tornado watching from an abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere is only a good idea if you are on a date with your boyfriend and sporting lavender hair.I suppose we should have been more worries about the twister pirouetting towards us.It’s odd how we could be so calm when we were minutes away from being sucked up and dismembered by the wind.Yet, Zack had a motorcycle and we had this theory that nothing could get us if we got on that motorcycle and sped away.We climbed down and hopped on just as I saw darkness like never before  reach out to grab me. Funny, how it was only then that I couldn’t hear. The wind sounded so shrill like all I had ever wanted being vacuumed out of the atmosphere. It was only seconds or at least it seemed like the compression of who I was only felt like seconds until I slammed into something and woke up three weeks later in the hospital.” Zack’s dead, ” the first words out of my mouth. It was strange how it took me a day to even remember how I came to be in that situation yet knew before I was even told that Zack was dead.                                                                                                                                            ” It’s spinning.” I said like a little girl pointing out a pony. Then I collapsed and choked on my tears, the heart rate monitor beeping in between my feverish gasps.                                      ” It is going to be okay honey.”My mother’s voice lying to me somehow made it all hurt more.                                                                                                                                                                      ” It’s my fault– it was my idea– storms,” is all I said before I fell asleep for another whole week, in which I dreamt dreams of Zack riding away from me on his motorcycle: leather and cologne.

…. To be continued…

-Wishing you the brightest of days,Eva

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”