You, look out the window.
See that there is more to life
than what bangs around in your brain
These frustrations in me coarse
from there to my feet and back
again, And oh how it burns, red
I want to take flint to the
rocks in your head.
But I stand beside you,
I stand waiting,
no longer negating,
I ignore the dirt lining the sill
I forget that I have a separate will
and I stand beside you.
Tickle your toes. . .
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Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
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Recently I have been really attempting to delve into what it means to be a poet. Jim Morrison once wanted to be a poet, and look where it go...
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Though it hasn't been months since I have written and attempted edits within my memoir, it has been quite some time since I have reflect...
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I thought it would be fitting to do an original of mine, but one of it's earlier drafts. I have recently reworked this poem so it includ...
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sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
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My latest endeavor is to begin reading "Tell it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nonfiction" by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paula...
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I was just awarded the Stylish Blogger Award! (awarded by John Evans ) I was asked to write 7 things about myself,and to award 10 ot... -
We're both writers but, why is it that we cannot truly express what it is we feel without the recommendation of a movie reel- We're ...
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Cal, For Elizabeth Bishop You are American gossip, Didn't anyone have the heart to tell you? You said yourself, you are fantastic and u...
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Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
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