I am the dream you’re afraid of.

The proposition you don’t want to hear.

The heart that presses against your rib cage.

The beat that won’t stop inside the music.

Pieces that weren’t meant to fit existing.

Both sides of the coin landing at once.

That each of us holds our passions with random needs


And have no use for the oppression we resist

While everything brings tears upon our cheeks releasing emotions

I’m unable to speak.


First posted on FB, content edited.

Hiding scars

I am lost, and I can’t give you anything. I’ve handed over so much of myself already. I give out hope like candy, treat others with as much dignity as possible. I’ve only lashed out when harmed, or to defend my heart. Yet still, I feel as if people walk over me, stomping on me without having to use a word. That I can be there for everyone, do the right thing at the drop of a hat, and when I turn or point it out they just walk away. Afterward, I’m the one who is playing the victim, caused the problem, created a violent act. This why I keep silent even when in pain because they would say it was bullshit; me hiding because I know your words and reaction will hurt me.
Angela K. Crandall

Questioning moments

Sometimes silence is a great peace as you listen to the wind roar, rain pour, and smell the earth. Other times the quiet is an overwhelming sense of loneliness. No one is there, nothing, and emptiness surrounds you. Two feelings invoked by the same circumstance. How do you explain that?
Angela K. Crandall


All that remains are people who want real conversations.
The depths that were once there before the age of computers.
When you could sit out the back door and neighbors would walk by and wave hello.
The sound of children running down the street as they rushed to their best friends house.
Now it’s cell phones out and heads down, its words typed on computers, not on paper sent as letters.
And while some of the technology has brought us closer together, it can tear us apart.
I’d still rather you text then call because solitude is often better than always trying to keep up with acquaintances.
Although I know who is really there, who certainly do care.
I’m grateful not a punk, but I do like Punk if you are wondering.
I miss the 80’s; 90’s and sometimes even the Beatles.
It would just be nice if once in a while people still hung out to watch films, choose conversations over coffee, and set their phones down.
Because memories are not of phones, computers or technology, but ones we make together face to face, present in those lives we cherish.
Angela K. Crandall


Iridescent dreams
Glass floors
Swimming fish
Moons shining upon ponds
Waves crashing onto shores
As I sit contemplating time
It never was a friend of mine.