My name is Chelsea. 22, collegiate life. My weaknesses include craft beers, bearded men, and the Oxford comma.

There was this kid in my seventh grade shop class who thought he was a real “gangster.” He more or less tried to act like a mini Eminem (no pun intended). One day, at the end of shop class, his baggy, low-riding jeans just fell down to his ankles. I think I was the only one who saw. He and I made eye contact. Neither of us said a word. After a few moments, he reached down, pulled up his pants, and walked off (In my mind, to go consider buying a belt).

The moral of the story is: don’t let people who try to act “cool” intimidate you. They’re just as big of idiots as the rest of us.

(Source: postbluebeats)


I want to wade into the blackest night.

The cool distance breaking against me like

The slow-rolling tide of the Lake.

Stars surf- waterbugs flickering on the meniscus.

I want to swim in the midnight

Blues of depths met by my treading toes

New moon’s sky and the river road

Blending into the same hue

Until I lose touch with which way is up.

I want to catch pneumonia from the hooting of the owls

And drown in coyote howls.

I want to float

And absorb the darkness.

Or maybe I want to it

To absorb me.

I invented a superhero

Last night I watched both Iron Man’s and Thor and when I was in the shower today I invented a superhero complete with a name, back story, nemesis, a mission and even a brilliant woman associate with whom he exchanges witty, flirtatious banter.

This is what normal people think of in the shower, right?

Beach House

Propelling my suitcase onto the vintage mattress,
I realized too late that I should have held my breath.

I coughed and choked as I dug through my belongings
In search of my insipid inhaler,
(Which I had almost left out in the car, if not for Dad’s reminder.)
So I tucked it for safe keeping in between my pink beach towels.
Ah, that’s where it went…

I clutched the smooth plastic to my face
and took a deep and refreshing gulp of the cool vapor.
My sputtering settled with a welcoming silence.

The smell of dry, sandy wood washed over me,
The air was hot and extremely stale,
And the old-fashioned air conditioning unit in the window
Was missing a knob, so I had to settle for an antique ceiling fan
With two pull-chains
Like metallic garland.

The dust from the fan spiraled slowly around me like snow,
Caking the already-dirty wicker furniture
With a blanket of soft filth.
I smiled a small smile.
The thought of freezing snow at the beautiful coast seemed like such an oxymoron.

I then braced my lungs for another attack.
My inhaler would be getting a lot of use these next few weeks.
But hey,
That’s what you get from these Carolina Shore beach houses,
There’s always a little adventure beneath the charm.