Recently got back into my creative flow and here’s a little something I’m working on about feeling stuck while everyone keeps going and all you want to do is press pause on life, but you can’t. The flowers keep blooming, the birds keep chirping each morning and evening routinely day in, day out repeatedly like…
Another poem, this time written in a raging storm of spite and anger at men and what society has made women into. She is beauty, She is grace. Yet if she speaks out of place, She is a sententious, smashmouth, silly schoolgirl. *** She is elegance and taste. Yet if she is no longer innocent…
A poem written on an obscure, thunderous day in the comfort of a ginger cat at my feet and a hot chocolate in hand, after a meagre day of incessant learning. Ghosts are not only the spirits of those whose consciousness leaves us, And depart into the red lands. Nor are they merely of those…