all the words matter.
I just remembered a poem I wrote in French while attending an immersion program the summer of 1999. Like a song, I repeated three lines that spoke to how the summer had changed me and to how different I was from classmates. I wrote it during the final week of six. And then I remembered…
Want to be an amazing Administration? Okay. But you can’t also be an amazing mother. Want to get a PhD? Okay. But you can’t also have copious amounts of time in your garden.
We’re living in whirlwinds Sucking up airless moments Fleeting Gasp gasp gasping . We used the metal concert gates as stretchers for the injured for the deceased . She asks me what the red stuff is. I pretend not to know. Two year olds shouldn’t be able to identify someone else’s blood. . How was…
my pain with his fingers singing my life with his words killing me softly with his song telling my whole life with his words no wonder it’s such a great song…it comes from poetry. good words = good lyrics = great music = fantastically fun performance = fun was had by all = what i…
makes me music breaks me it’s who i am and who i never want to be yet lives inside of me what’s your music? **** wrote that poem years ago…a decade at least. there’s more to it. that part is what i remember most vividly. the words flow across my mind (why do we talk…