Drew Douglass - CreatingDrew 🪷

Two souls, faintly visible, deep off in a dark ocean under a shy moonlight.

Poetry

Float.

Why am I in this room now? When did I arrive? My hands are shaking too loudly to know. Oh yea…my hair bands. I try twenty times, and I’m running out of time. My bun is now a startled peacock. She likes peacocks though. I hope she likes

Poetry

Eucalyptus

I park at the curb near her driveway. A brown anole boasting, getting its reps in on a white bucket. She's kneeling down, wood not yet placed across the frames. A canvas covered with spray paint. She offers a chair first, and does the same. The wood holding

Poetry

Untitled.

Crushed under the weight of empty boxes. Tears. Borrowed from the ocean. Birthed by the moon. A sign hangs over the presents. Happy in orange, birthday in blue, Drew in green. 　　　　[I see nothing happy.] 　　　　[Can I bring myself to open them?] "Maybe after dinner." 　　　　[Will I even

A watercolor night garden glows with a palm tree, surrounded by green foliage and red flowers. In the misty water beyond, a rowboat, indistinct figures move toward the palm.

Poetry

Land Well for the Boat

I will climb to higher ground, so we all will land sound. Them first, then me. Months of duty, I obliged. I will grip the palm until all of us reach the higher ground. Not one of them flails against the screaming waves; shelter we'll provide. I find

Poetry

Clay

Her paw print, laid in clay. A concave piercing, always asking... Never answering.

A lone wildflower stands in foreground shadow, turned toward a softly glowing house in the hazy dusk distance. Warm watercolor light, blurred trees, tender sense of longing.

Poetry

An Unwanted Man

An overlooked weed. An inconvenient wildflower. A bad man. An unwanted man. The car arrives. So does the heartbeat. So does the doubt. Old friends, most of them. Faces familiar as the sunflower. Some aged, some not. Ten seconds to the garage. It takes a year. Hugs. Small talk. The

A lone figure stands at the edge of cut golden stubble and tall pink wildflowers at sunset. Warm watercolor light, mournful backyard scene.

On a Sunny Day

The entire backyard is FULL of thriving wildflowers as I type this. Pollinators of all sorts. During a tough time in my life, I bought a bunch of native wildflower seeds, and chaotic-good-manner sort of sprinkled threw them all over. Just add water, ha. Slowly and then...shockingly

A solitary figure walks through a quiet dusk parking lot toward a parked car, beneath pale service lights and a vast muted sky with soft rose-gray clouds.

May I Give You This Gift?

I stopped at that same store again. Same counter, same (strangely comforting) dim fluorescent everything. The man who passed my little handwritten card to its intended receiver the other day was working. We're close acquaintances, in the small way you get close to someone whose register you keep

Watercolor of two simple thresholds in a dim neutral interior: one filled with warm light, one shadowed and empty, with a soft golden wash reaching across the floor toward the shadowed one.

An Unexpected Brother

There is a man who works at a location I drive past most days. I often stop in for some essentials. He has a name on his work badge but I am not going to write it here. I have not had the opportunity to ask for his approval, nor

A plant nursery at golden hour: stacked terracotta pots, palm trunks, a wooden bench, string lights overhead

Nothing more urgent.

Tonight I sat down at a neighbor's (beautiful) nursery that I always drive by but rarely stop. Out of respect for them and their privacy, I'll exclude their name. Their setup is the kind of thing some folks would call "super messy". And that&

A solitary figure in an indigo wrap sits from behind at the edge of a still pond at dawn.

Am I an Imposter?

Hey there, thank you for stopping by! 👋 ❤️ You are not an imposter. Not at all. You never have been. You never will be. If anyone tells you that you are, makes you feel that way, or makes you feel less than: send them directly to me. Seriously. You aren'

Ambiguous human figure looking into a tilted mirror near the seaside, roses surrounding, lighthouse in the tilted reflection.

No Rescue Is Coming.

I know how that reads. Cold, potentially harsh, or judgmental. I promise you it's not. This is not a "toughen-up" post...it's the total opposite. ❤️ When I say no rescue is coming, I do not mean you don't have friends or