California-born Writer, Musician, and Grad student.
I woke up from the night before
Still a little drunk
Stomach a little heavy
My eyes a little hazy
My life is lived between cups of coffee
She’s a wild spirit
A place no one has ever called home
They like to talk about her wings
A blank canvas
Do I really have a say as to what is put upon it?
Does pushing ink inside reveal the point of the needle,
Or the creases of my skin?