Plenty Of Fish

If you asked me then where I would be, I would’ve said alone.

Dragging my feet along the cold earth to every destination,

reaching for a hand, but not finding one.

If you asked me then where I would be, I know I would’ve said alone.

Because that is how I though it was going to be.

But here I am, every morning waking up to a face I love more and more. Because somehow fate brought us back to the same path.

If you asked me then where I would be, I wouldn’t have said here.

Because that’s what I thought I deserved, to come home to an empty house in an empty place.

You changed that, though. You made me see the world in different colors, each day more vibrant than the last. You made me see thunderstorms, although still scary, as things that do pass. But most importantly, you me see the better side of things. The world spinning and new days beginning, even if the last one was pretty bad.

Because next you I feel complete.

But if you asked me then, I would’ve said their are plenty of fish in the sea and not one for me.

Luckily though, my line was strong. But not as strong as you. You whisked me off my feet  and into a life I could have never dreamed would come true. And now out of all the fish I have the best one: you.

Killer Dog

Thank you to Rachel Wilson for this hilarious first prompt! If you have any prompts or challenges for me to write, please message me on social media and let me know! Hope everyone enjoys!

Prompt: Story about me and my dog with a plot twist of her plotting to kill me. You have 11 minutes

“Something just isn’t right.” I could hear my captor from the other room.

     “Rachel, honey, she’s a dog what could she possibly do?” The older woman scoffed, “I mean really she’s what, ten pounds?”

     Yeah, stupid woman, I maybe ten pounds but that sure as hell is not going to stop me from killing you. “Oh no,” I jumped as she came into the room.

     She yanked me from the bed abruptly, “What’s wrong, huh?” All I could do was cringe.

     Jumping from her lap, I ran under the bed to where she couldn’t reach me. Hoping that she would get the hint. But, of course, she didn’t. “Why are you being like that?” I could see her eyes peeking at me. 

     ‘Now! Do it, now!’ I thought as I looked over to the bone I had been sharpening for the last month. ‘Finish her off!’

     “Did you?” Scooter’s body was shaking from the wagging of his tail.

      Barkley rolled his eyes. “No, of course she didn’t! How do you think she got here?”

     “I wish I had.”

     “Wishing and doing are two different things.”

     “Oh c’mon, there has to be more! You had to bite her at least!” Scooter begged. “Oh, please tell us!”

     “There isn’t more,” I frowned. “She yanked me from under the bed before I could jab the bone into her.”

     “Do you think you’ll really do it, though?” Barkley’s eyes were squinted.


How Do I Feel

I constantly get asked, ‘How do you feel?’

But, most days I don’t know. And I think that

is what separates me from all of them. What

separates the weak from the strong. You see

there are days where I feel weightless and

not a single thing could go wrong.

The sky is bright. The clouds are shaped like

dogs. And the world, the world, it’s warm.

It’s welcoming.

But that’s only once a week.

Those days that fill in between are emptier

than the cup of coffee I finished off an hour

ago. It wasn’t an hour though, it was two weeks.

But like the coffee I’m beginning to mold in place.

Glued to the pot that is always warm.

Warmer than a wool sweater in June. I’m

Suffocating from this heat. This atmosphere.

God damn it!

I’m screaming, but not out loud. No, that is

something I can’t do. Because then they would

know exactly how I feel. And I feel nothing. And I

guess that is how I feel. I don’t. I’ve gone numb to

the teetering and tottering of the world around me.

Numb like the Ice that clings to the

side of my freezer. Freezing cold like

they say my heart was.

But I don’t have one.

My chest has been barren for years, or

maybe more. I don’t know, it’s all a blur.

Blurred like my vision when I cry in the

shower. And the shower is the safest place

to cry. The shower is the safest because it gets

rid of the puffiness under your eyes. The puffiness

that gives away your weak.

I’m not weak. I’m smart. I cry in the


God damn it!

I’m not smart enough. My subconscious

constantly fights back. Punching at the walls

of my sanity like an angered little boy. And

slowly the holes have become gaping nightmares.

Nightmares that I cannot escape.

And that is in fact how I feel. Trapped.

Trapped in this world of nothing.


People teach of this idea called perfect, and nothing else is good enough

Every person claiming it to be all these desirable elements

Right or wrong, perfect to you could be anything

For what is perfect to you is not to me, we’re different

Even if the package is sent and wrapped with a bow

Chintzy but loved, and it still wasn’t good enough

To you perfect is a lot more about social confliction

But to me it is so simple and clear

Perfect was taught to me as a flaw, waiting to be loved in the darkness of the world

Exhuming my emotions out on the table in front of you so you could see

Realizing that I fell in love with that about you, the closed off walls

For what it’s worth I thought you were perfect, too, at least I did

Even if the package was sent and wrapped with a bow

Cryptic and hateful, you were never good enough

To me perfect is a lot more about how you act

But to you it is so complicated and perplexed.


It’s dark here now, for hours it seems. Nonna went to bed around 12. You still seem to glimmer, though, barely, yet for some reason I can make out your red hue as I round the corner; the melted wax cascading down your tall column in the stillness of night. My blindness makes you turn into an aura of hope. A hope that this darkness isn’t going to last forever. A hope that I won’t have to hear Grandpa’s snoring for one second longer

It’s dark still. But this time the darkness only touches you. Nonna forgot to smother your flame before bed. I can still smell your last breath as it lingers in the air, though, as a cry for help that couldn’t be heard. I can still see your bright light when I close my eyes, the aura of hope you were in the darkness of the night. But now grandpa is awake, mumbling under his breath as his scratch offs pile high onto the table. Quickly Nonna whisks you away into that metallic graveyard, leaving you to become a waxy remnant of what you once were: tall, bright, red, and full of hope.

The Sun Doesn’t Shine Bright For You

By day the light shines bright for you,

But when night comes you turn a dark, dark blue.

That was then though, and this is now.

No matter how much you crave your heart won’t allow,

Because as of late you are far from you.

Yet the days go by, each morning more dew,

And you continue to be stuck, stuck like glue.

You say, “The medicine wouldn’t help me anyhow.”

But the sun doesn’t shine bright for you, anymore.

Lately the sky has been shown to you in a different hue,

You can’t distinguish between what is and what isn’t true.

Behind closed doors you tear at skin like a plow.

Out and about you do anything but frown

Because no one knows what you’re going through.

But the sun doesn’t shine bright for you, anymore.

100 Pounds

When I was in fifth grade, I reached 100 pounds. And I’m not talking about money, I’m talking about weight. Weight that has dragged me down for a decade. A decade of self-loathing and regretting. Regretting the whole plate of cookies I just ate. But my God, did they taste good!

I think of the first time I ran with my dad when I was nine…

“Daddy have we ran a mile, yet?”

“No, not yet, we’re about half way there!”

And now I can’t stop. I can’t stop because I’m afraid of that weight, and I’m not talking about the fear of fat that consumes me. I’m talking about the weight on my chest because it’s hard to breathe if that scale shows one more pound. One pound too much, I’m fine. I’m fine, but not really.

I’m scared.

I’m scared of rolls and I mean carbs. Carbs that I consume on a daily basis, but I’m Italian, that’s what we do. We eat.

Eating is good.

 Food is love.

Love is great!

But when I glance into mirrors, I don’t like what I see. And I’m not talking about how pretty I am, I’m talking about the bloating of my stomach. Protruding forward like I’m pregnant with a gallon of water. I just drank a gallon of water so I wouldn’t eat.

You can’t eat if you are full to the brim.

And, me, I’m overflowing with overwhelming fear!

When I was in fifth grade, I reached 100 pounds. 100 pounds of hate and self-consciousness. 100 pounds too much, I cried. Because I let that number define me more that I let the words I write. One Hundred Pounds.

What to Expect

It is the hardest thing in the world for an author not to be able to share their work with you the readers, and that is what my goal is for this blog: to share. Now, I will not be giving out my whole manuscript or anything like that, but I will be sharing some poems, excerpts from multiple pieces I have been working on, and more personal life endeavors. If you guys have any requests or ideas for the blog feel free to PM or DM me on my facebook or instagram @lexielamonica

Hey Everyone!

Hey everyone, and welcome to my official blog! I know lately I have not been keeping up with my Facebook page, but I have created this site to be able to connect with and share some of my projects in the works.

This summer has been crazy (which has played a part in my slacking to keep up), but I have been writing and submitting work these last few months. Between getting my first place with my boyfriend, to working as many hours as I can, I am happy to say it is time to slow down and get back to you guys!

Thank you all for your support and I hope this is as fun for you as it is for me!

Lexie LaMonica


Say, you better hide your flags

Because you don’t know what’s next

There are talks of Oceania and Gilead

If they know what you are, they will come

and attack

Say, you better hide your flags

Because they are marching in the street

History is not the past they teach

If you keep your mouth shut, they’ll let

you stay here with me

Say, you better hide your flags

Because the statues are being guillotined

They are coming for the weakest links

If you aren’t careful, you’ll be the next

Piggy they seize

Say, you better hide your flags

Because the end is always getting near

Hush or they will know of our revel

If we aren’t quiet, they will write the

Anthem that we fear