– artistry –

Look at me So even-tempered these days  Fearful that my inner peace Might poach my creativity But is that such a blemish If I remain alive To feel the breeze on my skin For another cycle? Creativity need not be born From despair. I eschew that tired narrative. That stereotypical trope. What good are creative... Continue Reading →

love confessional

I trust nothing anymore. No one. Myself least of all. My history is less than reliable, and my instincts clouded by years of traumatic response. Why should I believe anything that I interpret to be true? I’m eternally hopeful, wretchedly searching, begging for the scraps of love that any careless encounter might accidentally offer. It... Continue Reading →

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