Shannon Lemire
Bio
Writing is a part of who I am.
I go back and forth between handwritten lengthy journaling and sitting here glued to my laptop.
As inspiration hits, I write and follow the intuitive nudge.
You'll see many sides of me here.
I hope you enjoy.
Stories (22)
Filter by community
Human
Dear Friend, I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to you from far away, where I have lived for the past few months. I came here to learn more about myself and the world, to experience new things, and to challenge myself. I wanted to share with you some of the things I have learned and felt, and the joys and sorrows of being human.
By Shannon Lemire3 years ago in Poets
Nature Love
My dearest thunderstorm, You are the most thrilling and captivating phenomenon I have ever witnessed. You fill me with awe and excitement every time you grace the sky with your presence. You are the perfect blend of beauty and power, of light and sound, of calm and chaos.
By Shannon Lemire3 years ago in Poets
Hope.
Whirling, wet wild winds whispered.
By Shannon Lemire3 years ago in Poets
A Sandpit and Leather.
The night began innocently enough, or at least that’s what I told myself as we wound through the back roads with the sunroof open and the warm summer air curling around us. The sky was that soft, late‑day gold that makes everything feel like a promise. I lit a joint, and he drove with that quiet confidence he wore like a second skin, while something slow, steady, and unspoken simmered between us that neither of us tried to hide. When he turned off into the alcove of oak trees near the sandpits, I knew the place instantly. He’d spent years riding dirt bikes here; I’d hiked these trails more times than I could count. It felt like neutral territory, familiar to both of us, yet charged with possibility.
By Shannon Lemire3 years ago in Filthy
Sunday Morning Orgasm
I woke early that morning, around 4, and went downstairs to make coffee, finish some dishes, and then go outside. R.S. was sound asleep; I knew he wouldn’t even know I had gotten up. My outfit consisted of big boots, underwear, and three hoodies, and as I walked toward the mailbox, hearing the gravel crunch under my feet, I breathed in the chilly 38-degree air, immediately glad I was out there. I loved early morning exercise; it got my blood flowing and cleared the gunk from my head. I allowed thoughts to pass by without giving them too much attention and opened myself up to the possibility of all good coming along for today.
By Shannon Lemire3 years ago in Filthy
Mailbox #7205
I flip the package over a few times, hunting for anything—an imprint, a smudge, a clue—that might reveal what’s inside or who sent it. Whoever did this knows me well enough to avoid the traditional route: no postmark, no return address, no stamps. Just a drone drop and a name written in thick black marker. The clear, wide tape is laid down with care, sealing the end and back seams so neatly it feels intentional, almost intimate.
By Shannon Lemire3 years ago in Fiction
