Poetry is like a muse of words twisting away from our mouth. We are the weavers of our own design. We are the weavers of our soul. Here lies my story spoken in the words of a unique unicorn who strayed too close to the sun.
The little white lie like a dying rose is that your writing does not matter. Don’t listen to the birdy…
Dedications page because one line is just not enough to explain who inspired me in life.
“It is not our nightmares that haunt us, but the decisions that hold us hostage.”
The pretense of love If you are anything like me the thought of being in complete and utter infatuation with someone else…
I have yet to take up a challenge up that is about bettering the world for the thirty days. Surely…
Hello fellow writers of the week. Today, I am going to help you uncover the secrets to capturing a…
Today, I am going to build along the post I did yesterday about the Pulse Nightclub. We as a society are…
Yes. I am going to rant about a subject long dead in my town. Its like digging up a grave with your hands feverishly tossing dirt…
Fear is like balloon that inflates the more we feed it. The more fear we have the more we quake in our boots and forget to…