i feel like running again.
it's either that or swimming in a valley of tears.
you couldn't tell by looking at us,
but I am certain my sister has a
blotch of red nail-polish on her back
that distinguishes her as
the better daughter.
the daily grind and wrench
does not tap the waterline
of my personal happy.
Tickle your toes. . .
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...
In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across...
where are my garden gloves to weed out your evils? where are my rubber gloves to scrub off your stupid? where are my surgical gloves to cut ...