Sleepless Sunflower (poem)

Sleepless sunflower
Where do get your life
As you turn your face toward darkness
Shying away from light
Your best friend is the moon
You keep company with the stars
As you go against your nature
And, in loneliness, stand apart
What are you waiting for
As you stand sentry in the night
What are you afraid of missing
As against your name you fight
Are you looking toward tomorrow
Are you living in the past
Are you missing someone left behind
Are you living life too fast
Oh, sleepless sunflower
Hang your weary head
Leave the ghosts of night behind
As the sun rises on your bed

Heather L. Flood


Midnight Carnival (poem)

In the emptiness of the night

where shadows linger long

where imagination runs frantic

and memories sing their song

When silence is loudest

screaming its haunting refrain

Giving voice to dormant thoughts

bringing them to life again

When the mind races a thousand miles

in the blink of an eye

And seconds pass like hours

In the dark there is no time

In the vacuous shell of today gone by

lingers only what could have been,

what perception allowed to be remembered

and what hides in the heart as sin

So get lost in the darkness

close your eyes and buckle in tight

and join the midnight carnival

Your darkest memories are the ride

Heather L. Flood


Solace searching


How do I write about you when I’m not allowed to even say your name?

How can I pour out my heart in the only way I know how when I have to guard my heart against you?

How can I speak of your eyes or your voice, your smile or your laugh, when the joy they bring me has to be held as a secret?

How do I voice what my soul is feeling when I’m not supposed to feel this way?

How can I look at you, speak to you, when it’s you I need to be running from?

How can I reconcile what is a desire to the reality of life?

How do I let go of the dream when it was never mine to begin with?

How do I bridge the gap between what is and what could be?

How do I turn away when you unknowingly keep me turned toward you?

How do I live a life with you where you aren’t all that I see?

How do I end what should have never began?


That’s my favorite clock. I love Elvis. He is my favorite solo musician. At this moment, though, that clock is not my favorite simply because it is an Elvis clock. It is my favorite right now because I can actually hear it ticking.

No, I am not, nor have I ever been, hearing impaired. Life has just been so busy lately that it has been an assault on all of my senses. Sunday night my husband and son were in bed and I was alone in the living room. The whole house was quiet. There was no television, noisy neighbors, not even the sound of the refrigerator running. It was silent in my life for the first time in weeks. The only thing I could hear was the soft ticking of that Elvis clock.  I closed my eyes, laid my head back against the couch and just listened.  I concentrated on the sound of the tick-tick-tick and it was so relaxing.

My life is filled with noise.  Everywhere I go.  My ears are constantly taking in the white noise of life.  So much so that silence seems to almost be a foreign concept.  To hear the ticking of my clocking on Sunday night took me by surprise, and honestly I was a bit saddened that it seemed like such a new thing.  That clock has been hanging in my living room since November, 2016.

I never take time to be quiet, to be still, to listen to the silence that can surround me if I let it.

Do you ever take the time to be silent?  Do you ever take the time to sit down and listen to nothing, to let your ears rest, to let your mind empty, to just be in the moment of actively doing nothing?

Shhhhh . . .

Until next time . . .

Is there anyone out there like me?

I have a Dr. Seuss quote on the back window of my car.  This quote is also on my Facebook page . . .

dr seuss

We are not created to be clones of each other with the same personality, and wearing the same clothes, and going to the same restaurants, and driving the same boring cars.  Life is meant to be lived and experienced while embracing the full uniqueness of ones self.

With that being said, sometimes it’s lonely here in my uniqueness.  Is there anyone out there like me?

A Tale of a T-Rex does not exist to wax poetic about exotic travel destinations, the latest beauty trend, gourmet recipes that you absolutely MUST try, or even to show off some fancypants photography that you and your Instagram filters captured (says the woman whose front page photo was taken and filtered with Instagram because I liked the way the clouds looked).

A Tale of a T-Rex exists to display me.  ME!  The real me.  Not the me that I want to create and manipulate for you to see.  Here is my heart.  Here is my soul.  Here are all the little bitty things about me that make me Heather.  Yet, as I search for others like me, people that I can connect with, blogs I can delve into and see that I am not the only unique person here, I find that most posts are exactly like everyone else’s.  They are khaki-pants-wearing-prius-driving-falsely-intellectual, and they have absolutely nothing to say about anything that is important.

I don’t want to hear yet another opinion on sports, politics, or global warming.  For that I can turn on any self-righteous news channel.  I want to find posts from people that are being honest and real.

I want to find people that are opening themselves up to others and displaying their own heart and soul, their brokenness, their sadness, their joy, their tears and laughter, their real selves.

But instead I see nothing but people who post just to have posts, rather than posting something of quality.  Today I unfollowed somebody because their most riveting post in the past 24-hours was about what is coming to Netflix in October.

Who are you?

What makes you, you?

Are you unique?

What makes you unique?

If you are willing to lay yourself out for the written world to see, then I want to follow you, because that is what A Tale of a T-Rex is.  I have little to hide.

**knock knock**

Is there anyone out there like me?


Gone in the blink of an eye


Today is not a good day.  Nothing bad has happened.  I am just not dealing well with recent events in my life.  I find myself drowning under the downfall of working with your best friend, and I can’t manage to find my way up for air.

7 years ago, the very day that Michal Jackson passed away, I met the man that would become my best friend.  He and I have been through ups and downs, joy, sadness, laughter, anger, and heartbreak together.  I “knew” that this would be a friendship that would last until he and I were old and grey.

I got thrown away.

A few weeks ago his behavior toward me completely changed.  When I confronted him about it he rather brusquely informed me that “my personal life will remain my personal life from now on.”  In other words, I was no longer welcome in his life, a life that he brought me into by his own choosing on more than one occasion.  Fine.  I totally get that.  What hurt was the fact that I had to go to him to find this out.  He didn’t have enough respect for me, enough respect for the past seven years, to come to me himself and tell me.  He simply turned his back and shut me out.  It hurt.  I felt like he punched me right in the gut.  When he said that to me I was, for once, speechless.  After all, what can you say when your best friend tells you that he is done.

I got thrown away like the wrapper off of a cheap value-menu cheeseburger.  It hurt.  It still hurts.  I can’t breathe.  I can’t smile.  Even now I am on the verge of tears, because I would rather have one minute of a day when he was angry at me than feel the way I feel right now.

Too make the fact that my best friend broke up with me even worse, we work together.  I can’t escape him, and seeing him everyday simply rips that wound right open again.  Too see him so nonchalant pours salt in the wound.  My anxiety is so high.  And then to have to put on the false smile and sound perky and happy  while I’m on the air.  I am strong enough for this.  I feel like I have been reduced, emotionally, to a little kid.  Over the past seven years, when something was weighing on me, he was the friend I would turn to for advice and guidance.  Who do I turn to now?

What made me so easy to throw away?  What made the last seven years so inconsequential?  How do I get past this and let that friendship go as easily as he did?


Until next time . . .

Introvert Insight

My pastor recently said that when searching for a way to serve in the church you naturally wouldn’t put an introvert on the host team.  I am an introvert and I am on the host team.  Being introverted doesn’t mean that we hide in a hole of shy loneliness all day.  We just don’t need to constantly feed off the attention of others to maintain our happiness.

Julia Shappert | Official Blog

It is no lie. I am an introvert. I don’t think there is anyone I know who wouldn’t consider me quiet, reserve, and introspective. In many cases, this is true but definitely not all the time. Sometimes, I feel like introverts are viewed in a less-than-positive way from the more outgoing crowd. It is a shame that we (on behalf of introverts) are easily misinterpreted as shy, antisocial, and even snotty. But, hopefully this article shows our side of the story. 🙂

1.) We over think things…a lot. It’s almost like we are living in a separate world where all of our thoughts just explode and evolve into millions of deep scenarios, which can lead to anxiety. We might be silent on the outside but our brains don’t seem to relax.

2.) We speak up when necessary. If we are passionate about something, there is no stopping us voicing our…

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Road To Tomorrow (poem)

Consumed by fear

The world, so dark

A voice that echoes, alone

in a future so stark

Reach out for help

but nobody is there

Drowning, suffocating

Fighting for a breath of air

Twisting, spinning, turning

A frantic, racing heart

Closed eyes that can only see

that everything is falling apart

No hope for tomorrow

Barely able to see today

Living in days gone passed

Nothing to lead the way

Lost, scared, desperate

Ready to give tomorrow away

No road out of the dark

One way to stop the pain

But then . . .

A glimmer that can barely be seen

In the distance a flickering light

Drawing hope slowly forward

Tentative steps out of the night

The path becomes less rocky

The steps are more sure

As fear is left behind

and hope in tomorrow is secured

Don’t turn around

Don’t look behind

The dark path once traveled

has no power in the light

Let yesterday go

The gifts of today, enjoy, rejoice

Tomorrow is another new chance

Tomorrow is filled with hope

By:  Carrie Leigh


Cigarette Light (poem)

Sitting in the dark, alone, awake
A cigarette casts the only light
Swirling thoughts in a racing mind
Keep me company in the night
Words and pictures fill my mind
Of what has passed and is yet to be
All the things that I have done
All the things that still are dreams
What are the words yet to be written
In the dark nights still to come
Words written by sleepless cigarette light
When everyone else’s day is done

By:  Carrie Leigh

Music in the shadows (short story)

The sidewalk was cold and unyielding.  She was supposed to be at the grocery store, not sitting on the sidewalk outside of a downtown bar.  The sound of music filled the air and her head.  She could hear it from where she had parked her car two blocks away.  It drew her forward to the outdoor bar like a pied piper.

She had no urge to see him, or for him to see her.  She just wanted to hear the music.  She missed sitting in the audience and listening to him play.  That was the only thing she still missed about him.  She had spent months getting him out of her system, untangling him from her heart, but that one thing still remained . . . her love of watching him get lost in his music.  So she sat on the sidewalk just listening.

The street was dimly lit and shadows filled all the corners.  She had found a shadow to hide in so that he wouldn’t see her.  The street still teamed with late-night, weekend revelers enjoying the fading moments of their Saturday night.  Usually anxiety made her unable to be around crowds of people, but on that night she was thankful for them.  The constant flow of sharply dressed men and women acted as a curtain obscuring any view he might of had of her.

She lit a cigarette, inhaled, and let it out slowly as the notes floated through the air to her ears.  They surrounded her like a comforting blanket.  Her eyes closed as she let the music hypnotize her.  The air was cool and damp and the first hints of fog were starting to roll in off the river, but in that moment for her there was nothing else but the music.  The keyboard was light and joyous as the guitar played improvised riffs that drove people from their chairs to dance.  The bass was deep and subtle, like a whisper in her ear.  Driving it all forward was the him, the drummer.  His sticks flew over the cymbals and drum heads with lightning speed in a pattern that was simple but elegant.

Behind her closed eyes she replayed all the times she followed him from show to show.  Bars, restaurants, parks . . . anywhere he could set up and play.  For months she was faithfully in the audience until the night that she realized that he had become more important to her than anything else.  She had spent months spinning endless lies to her family, friends, and coworkers just so she could sneak away to watch him play.  He welcomed her in the audience and over time came to expect her to be in a chair clapping and cheering for him.  She let herself believe that he needed her there more than he wanted her there, but deep down she always knew that she was only lying to herself.  One night after a show she knew she had to unravel the web of lies she had woven around herself and she had to leave that life behind for good.  The music was the last vestige of that former life.  It was the one string she hadn’t gotten strong enough to cut.

So she sat on the sidewalk, her cigarette burning down to the filter, as the music wove around her like a spell.  Minutes passed unnoticed as the song continued on.  The voices of people in the street went unheard.  All she could hear was the music as it carried on and on through the night air carrying her with it.  The speeding notes became a frenzy tightening around her body like a vise that she welcomed.  Her heart and her memories raced with the speed of the song.  She didn’t need to see him to know that he was as carried away with the music as she was.  She knew that his body was no longer moving under it own accord, that it was the music that was moving him, just as it moved her.  That is what she missed.  She welcomed it the way a drug addict welcomes that first taste after a glimpse of withdraw.  She could feel the music taking her higher and higher.  She needed it.  Her body longed for it, and she let it carry her away oblivious to everything else around her.

Then it was done.

A blur of sticks flying over drum heads and a final crash of cymbals brought it to an end.

She sat for a few more moments on the sidewalk, reluctant to open her eyes and break the spell.  She didn’t want to give up the shadows and the anonymity that they provided as she allowed herself to get as lost in his music as he did.  But the music was over.  The spell was broken.  The chill in the air replaced the warmth of the music.  The voices of weekend revelers filled in the emptiness left behind by the music.  The forbidden high had already begun to wear off, lasting only as long the music carried through the air.  It was over.

She flicked her burned-down cigarette into the street, slowly stood up from the sidewalk, and walked away.  She had briefly glimpsed him, but he never saw her.  He never knew she was there that night.  It would be a secret that would remain forever between her and the shadows of that cool, hypnotic, downtown Saturday night.