It's been both wonderful and terrible. I have felt both amazing triumph and tragedy, opened up to the sky and crumpled on the ground. I suppose it goes with being eighteen, the first year of art school, the seizures possible from words and people, and a dinosaur-sized belly of instinct.
What it's doing to my poetry, I am not sure, but am full of hope. Sorry I have not been writing for a while. It's been gathering speed. And changing. Like me.
And now I am in New York, living entirely on my own for the first time, working and interning and dreaming. The city is inspiring my metaphors right now and I think I'll let them take me as long as it lasts.
To whomever is reading this:
be good to yourself; allow yourself to feel, to think, to be something wonderful.








i can hear the sound of far-off bells
i lay my feet out in the reeds
and i dream of bein' somewhere else
so girl, next time you are in town
just ring the bell, i'll come let you in
i don't think you gon' need directions
just ask for the house where we all live
--
"My little old man and I fell out;
I'll tell you what 'twas all about,--
I had money and he had none,
And that's the way the noise begun."
[link]
--
"My little old man and I fell out;
I'll tell you what 'twas all about,--
I had money and he had none,
And that's the way the noise begun."
--
You prettier than all and every together sunset I ever did see.
--
To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else. -Emily Dickinson
--
You prettier than all and every together sunset I ever did see.
--
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
--e.e. cummings
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