Shadow Poetry


shatter me

against the wall

but I’m already broken

some days

breathing is hard

and the only way

to keep the ink flowing

is by stabbing

the source until my hands are raw

i’m supposed to seem

like a porcelain doll

some days i don’t have a heart at all

by daphne shadows

Stream of Consciousness


Oddly enough, I’m having a really good day.

I’m in pain. A lot of pain. A new pain on top of my normal gut pain, head pain, nausea, dizziness, fatigue, aches, eye pain, jaw pain, brain fog, depression, and anxiety.

But I’m in a really good mood.

It’s almost as if I’ve stood back from my physical and mental pain – and can somehow enjoy simply being here.

I haven’t disassociated. I know what that feels like.

Maybe it’s that whole mindfulness stuff. 


But there’s a sadness to it. A bitter sweet tinge that I can’t actually taste. I know it’s there, but I don’t feel it. 

What is this sadness? This bittersweet sensation?

It’s reality.


I guess I tweeted it best, a few minutes ago. Just tweeted my thoughts without thinking about it.

(pity party alert) 2020 is destroying me. I had to quit my job due to health. Now I’m stressed about money. And to top it all off, I see fellow ASMaRtists getting so many subscribers in such a short amount of time. I’ve been at it for 1.5 years! Do I just suck?

I’m just so tired of none of my hard work paying off. Whether it’s my health, my writing, my ASMR channel… I work my butt into the ground to fix all of this, to grow, get better, and nothing is changing in a healthy direction.

It makes me so happy and raises my hope to see fellow writers and ASMaRtists succeeding. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say it makes me wonder if I’m NOT succeeding because I don’t have anything to offer that people want. And my health issues just get worse, no matter what I try.

I don’t mean to complain, but writing & ASMR? These things are what make me happy. I put so much effort into them & my health gives me very little to work with. I HAVE to make money. But its looking more & more like my health won’t allow for both creativity & financial security.

Some days I wonder if I’ll be able to keep writing or doing ASMR. Why have a life if I can’t do anything with it that I enjoy? I want to thrive not just survive. But the problem is always money. Some days I feel like the game is rigged against me.


Today reality hurts, yes. But it can’t hurt me.

Somehow, I’m happy. Somehow, I’m okay.

It’s an odd distinction. I don’t know if I can even describe it entirely. 

Almost as if I’m looking at my life from a distance, even as I live it.



Stream of Consciousness

Write What You Want

…. yeaaaaaaah…


Okay, I know, I know.

That’s my problem.

I’ve been writing for others for so long that I forgot how to spin a story from my own mind.

And now that I actually want to write for me

I don’t know what story I want to tell.

I could literally write anything. About a pear that hitched a ride with an outer space alien and robbed a liquor store. Only, turns out that outer space alien had been living in pear’s backyard as a stalker for seven years, isn’t an alien, and definitely kidnapped a real alien in order to steal it’s intelligence and technology. And who knows what the fake alien wants with pear.

But do I care?


Let me tell you, no, I do not care.


And I don’t know what I want to write.

I don’t know what stories I care about now.


Interesting thing is

this doesn’t bother me.

It’s a stepping off point.

A cliff that isn’t actually a cliff.

It’s a new beginning.

A blank page.

I get to do whatever I want with it.



Stream of Consciousness

save a nightmare, feed a shadow

and by feed, i mean throw $3 a month at her OR pass her patreon link around like its a joint on 4/20.

I live in Mendocino County, peeps – those are some heavy duty miles.


How about like it’s an STD… Yeah, nope, definitely not.

News about Kim Kardashian’s bum? 

Never mind.


(just had the Cali fires and I live in Cali….. sooooooooo too soon)

The Good Word?

*head desk*



Anywho, I started a Patreon! I’m so excited! I got the advice to start a Ko-Fi, Patreon, or Buy Me a Coffee from a few YouTubers and Bloggers.

I like options. I’m an options kinda gal.

So Patreon it is.

What the frick frack knick knack is a Patreon?

You know how painters like EONS ago would get paid by an epic rich dude to just, like, paint? I’m sure it went something like this:

Painter: *starving* *really good at artisting*

Rich Dude: “Hey! You! Take this-” *shoves money and food at Painter* “and go paint.”

Painter: “Yay, life!”

Also Painter; *paints and doesn’t starve to death, spreads happiness through art and does weird artisty things*


I’m telling you, it went JUST like that.

But I digress.

A Patreon is an account where YOU can pay ME to survive.

Which sounds FABULOUS to me.

But what do you get out of it?

Well – stuff. Let me just show you part of my Patreon Page:


Screenshot (6)


Screenshot (7)

If you want a bigger view or if you’re interested, check my Patreon page out here:

Daphne Shadows’ Patreon





And yeah, pass this link around like it’s a message on a pigeon from a cartoon!


Thank you. 😁


*This message is Certified Panda Approved by my manager. 


Micro Stories

fleshing it out

i can feel it, swarming just beneath the surface of everything i am and everything i am not. it lurks in a non-committal tone, hazy and misdirecting. there isn’t much to say about it.

it hasn’t yet decided syllables or meaning. context or form.

but it watches. it swims closer as if to break the surface, only to dip back down in a meandering swirl, nothing but the vague tail end brushing up against the topside, sending ripples of possibilities down my spine. sitting on the tip of my tongue, in the curve of my lips.

it won’t leave me alone, yet i cannot name it. it slips through my fingers like so much smoke, a dizzying tease that drifts into


sometimes i realize i’m the one staring up, up, up at the sun’s dance as it shimmers atop the waves above my head. waving frantically for my attention, choking on lost words and hopes, dreams i’ve forgotten and silly little stories i can’t quite let go of.

other times i find out too late what it was trying to tell me, only to be sucked into the depths of an unfathomable creature, ten times the size of myself. smothered in the debris of what could have been.


and yet, there are times…

there are times that we meet in the middle and i can begin to make it out, my eyes opened, the ever shifting shape coming into focus. i reach my hand out and

all is right

i live for those times


Stream of Consciousness

Kill Your Darlings

It’s a popular writer phrase. It means to get rid of prose, characters, or scenes, etc. that you really, really like, but have no real reason to keep.

That’s NOT what I’m talking about here.

Today, I axed another social media platform I was using. I had two YouTube channels. But I realized that I could achieve what I wanted in just one, so I killed off the second one.

I am now down to:



This Blog


And that’s it. And I gotta tell you, I feel a whole lot better.

I’ve recently had a lot of things remind me that spreading myself thin destroys me. It makes me want to take a look at my life and see if there are any other darlings I need to slice out of my life.

We bog ourselves down with unnecessary weight all the time, putting pressure on ourselves that has the potential to suck the joy out of our daily life.

We deserve better.

I know spring cleaning is only supposed to be once a year, but I think taking a good hard look at life more often – and deciding if something is pointlessly draining me – is a good idea.


There’s so much to deal with in life, as it is. We’re constantly busy, busy, busy. Rarely do we get the chance to sit down and breathe, relax, enjoy.

I don’t want to add running arounds to my schedule. I don’t want to try to force something that just isn’t going to work.

And most of the time we know quite a while before we give in, that we need to let something or someone go. I’ve been entertaining the idea of killing my second YouTube channel for almost a month now. I realized very quickly that it wasn’t for me, but if there’s something I’m great it – it’s not trusting myself.


I’m off to create and order new business cards, since my old ones have incorrect social media info on them now. 😑

SO here’s to trusting ourselves. Here’s to relieving some pressure by killing one darling at a time. 🥰

What are some things you need to cut out of your life or simply let go of? What are you trying to force that isn’t working? What hasn’t turned out the way you expected and now you need to reevaluate? What do you know, deep down, just isn’t working?


Micro Stories

naked sky

there’s a hollow, past what is known.

you took me there. we danced with the flames, shimmering darkness cloaking us from the whisperings of the trees. the wind howled its sorrow and we fed it tears, embracing the brilliancy of knowing what if feels like to be alive.

drums played deep beneath the ground, reverberating through my chest, blinding me to what held me back. the death of what came before fueled our heels, hitting the ground to the sound of our hearts.

they sent their hounds into the maddening circle of treachery, trying to sniff us out, drag us back. we turned them, opening them up to the truth. they sang with the thunder and ran with us through rainstorms, no owner to tame their souls.

the creek rushed up to meet our waists. the pebbles drew us deeper, deeper, until we spread our wings and let the waves carry us into the hollow where day break licked the water droplets from our skin. slipping into a warm slumber, the sky danced behind our eyelids.

we awoke to silence. it told us everything.


Stream of Consciousness


I’m not sure I have a voice.

You see, there’s a slumbering trembling that takes a step into something warm and inviting, like the sun, but with training wheels.

And every time the light of day hits it, someone comes along with a sledgehammer and takes it all away.

I keep lying there, catching my breath. Before sitting back up, playing with my fingers in the sand, writing maps no one understands but me.

It’s lonely.

But I can still feel the pulse of it in me, thrumming into a hurricane of neediness, ready to explode and take everything in its path with it. Down into this desert of warmth and cool breezes and nothing that really belongs in these flat lands.

Do you remember the first time you felt the sun’s heat on your flesh? I think I must’ve had a hand over my mouth, but it wasn’t mine. I think I must’ve had some words fall out, but they came from another tongue.

So I grab my shoes and shake the dust out and, what do you know?, I’m still entirely ready to get the wind knocked out of me by hope.