One person's trash is another person's treasure... and that's ok.
I've written novels and stories because I need to and want to. But lately, I feel like I'm defending my humanity as much as my craft.
I find myself
feeling new things
and seeing new sides of myself
in the mirror that make me think
who is that?
The truth of the matter
is that when I look into my own eyes
I don't know.
There's so much behind the eyes
staring back at me
that it's overwhelming.
So I ask myself:
what do I do?
The only answer that makes sense
when I ask
is to live my life
and see what
comes of it.
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