i am unfurled unwrapped by life’s hardships, joys and mysteries. without understanding why, i have lived without a name. Unfurl
i’ve decided that i don’t want to write, not with my hands anyway. i want to think words onto paper and screens and leaves and
i am the stream… of consciousness. it is 2:38pm, monday, the In The Beginning day of the week august 14. twenty seventeen, whatever that means
i will save words for you. bottled and pickled words for you. then feed you synonyms of me, so you will always remember my taste.
I had a satchel filled with poems that I tossed into the sea. I wrote them on tiny circles and squares and rectangles woven with
I spilled ink across the blank pages of my notebook. It was then that I decided to write stories with my fingers.
The words spill from my pen, blood red, no longer wanting to be ink, but to be life. The words follow me into my dreams.
We all seek freedom in one way or another. But in the end, we live in an age where none of us know what true
i hide inside myself, in the dark corners of memory, in the light of a thousand what-could-have-beens.
The words leave, drifting atop my misconceptions. I am looking backwards. Why did we come here? Was it only to see if being human was
In the space of memory resides the fence we stand atop, teetering on the edge between hard ground and water. In that space we remember
Your lies won’t save you from death. You will die anyway. Death is the great truth teller. When it comes, all you will know in
Writing Prompt: Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt. Expectation. I am sometimes filled to overflowing with a cauldron of expectations. Ideas
The silken network of threads thin inside me; those webs that stick to everything that I am. They thin, inch by inch, but strengthen, holding
i am split apart, opened wide like the Nile and equally as filled with memories of life and death and history flowing through ancient cities.
I have lost the words, their life force spilling at my feet after slipping through disconsolate fingers. The letters tumble and roll, trying to find
The Spring 2017 issue of Goddard College’s peer-reviewed literary journal, The Pitkin Review, has arrived in the mail! My story, The Highway, is looking mighty
Good day folks. For those who are unaware, I am also a website and graphic designer. Below is my latest creation, a movie poster; my
I do not celebrate culture created holidays. None of them. I celebrate each day, all 365 of them, and find ways to make them beautiful
I have an edible lover. We intertwine, this lover and I. We meld and spill like a waterfall into each other. We become…