there was something about
that barefooted madness
something about that wistful
waist-high wishing and wooshing
in the woods,
Running to the water,
Running from the sand.
One always dreams of brighter skies
when toes are tickled-
but when hitting the water-
one always feels they
are just a blade of grass.
Tickle your toes. . .
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...
July 12th My love's hands and eyes so full of surprise! he sees nothing wrong with giving me a synthetic strawberry.
July 9th i feel like running again. it's either that or swimming in a valley of tears. July 10th you couldn't tell by looking at...
stuck-wallpaper, tickled, matted-madness, in the morning before matinee wallflowers at school dances just want to be asked. ask them. they...
July 7th the face of a rose deflates our windowsill- not much of a garden. July 8th after the party- a painting is crooked I think someo...
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...
The one day that I am home sick is the one day that everyone goes on a balloon ride. Just my luck. You know, it's funny how they always...
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...
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...
I took a week off from writing this lovely, to take a bite out of a creamy, syrupy, delicious chunk of my memoir. I have begun to tackle the...