“Shrapnel and Ice” by Mar G.-Amorena



Your soul… my soul… just black stains in a cold, empty space.

Breaking pieces, a million crystals. A bloody explosion, uncontrollable.

An spiral, dark like a throat, melting around shrapnel and ice.

An unbearable sound, imploding among our ruins and ashes.


Before the thunderstorm.

Where are you? Here, all the time.

You… your soul… mine… just black stains in a cold, empty space.


I’m Mar.
Head of The Bold Mom.
Promoter and compulsive thinker.

“A filter for quitters, a fence for the scared.” by Mar G.-Amorena

Image source https://es.pinterest.com/pin/476396466804583327/

She said she didn’t feel the galaxy outside, because her mind was chaotic enough as to get lost into.

And growls, howls, aches. Crawls, yells, cries. The mud is thick and your energy tears off.

And the obscurest night demolishes any kind of doubt. Because in the deepest dark, you can feel nothing but peace.

A filter for quitters, a fence for the scared.

Only the brave. Only the bold, only the blind… Only the blind… and the Fierce.

I’m Mar.
Head of The Bold Mom.
Promoter and compulsive thinker.

“Today, Tomorrow” by Nicole Heinz

Image ownership: Frank Machalowski


The day begins,

the sun is set

Yellow rays filtering

through a blue horizon

Thoughts align and don’t

to make moments

appear and disappear

Hello turns to goodbye

Afternoon headed towards

evening tables and soon-enough

night stars light the windows

All is done

All has passed, all that can

or will, today

Yet, before that time encroaches

we had that could be, what if

Why did that happen, maybe tomorrow

we’ll know the answer

Rising and creeping through our minds

“Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.” Edgar Allan Poe

“Criticism and mental well-being” by Joseph Vasquez

image source https://es.pinterest.com/pin/746542075701538129/

Trust me, I’m no Doctor or Psychologist, but I believe without a doubt that constant criticism is a mental disorder.

I understand the basics. Eg; I didn’t like the movie, the food wasn’t good, but some people just can’t accept reality. Eg; The team I rooted for lost, they must have been paid off, or the Refs wanted them to lose

It’s like some people live through a brand or a team, that’s no way to live.

I do criticize myself often. Eg; did I respond to this reader’s email fast enough? Am I insulting reader’s intelligence with this chapter? Why am I lying down when I could be working for the lifestyle that I say I want?

Criticizing yourself too much is bad for your mental health. It can affect your thoughts, it can make you second guess yourself, it can drive you crazy.

I want to challenge the world to stop with the constant criticism, you don’t like the way your team played? Go to tryouts and do it better, don’t go online and say what you would have done, go do it.

Criticism leads to excuses and excuses are dream killers. So I ask, what’s more important to you, building your dreams, or criticizing the way someone is building theirs?    

I live in beautiful, sunny Southern California, the longest I’ve gone without a dog is two weeks, and I’m going to write until I can’t anymore.

“Clocks” by Nicole Heinz


When I was a little girl, I used to admire beautiful clocks.

Hanging, standing, all colors shapes and sizes. They are forms of art, and they make time seem beautiful. Time is beautiful, but it’s also fleeting. I realize that as we get older time changes our perception.

The yard we used to play in as children no longer seems so big or welcoming. Thoughts of invention don’t seem so realistic. Fairy tales seem made up stories meant to rob us of reality. The blankets that used to cover us as we slept no longer offer protection. But time is real. So, when I see a beautiful clock, I stop.

I still admire it’s beauty, and I know this life is too short to not take chances. Our perception changes but time doesn’t. We may stop admiring all this beauty, but it’s still there.

This knowing lives inside us. It is us.

“Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.” Edgar Allan Poe