I have poems in my fridge for the summer Icy cold crisp with bright biting wit bubbling nuances, steamy back lit citrus sharp, striking and fit As sweat beads down my back, I have poems for that.
It starts with an ache
So small and hidden you can whisper past it.
It grows, sometimes slowly and sometimes like a wild fire
But it grows and we either drown it, attempt to strangle it, mock…Read more
There is much to be said about the dreamer and the doodlers of the world. Usually what is said sounds a little like this. 'Oh she has her head in the clouds' 'Can't you just try and be normal?' 'Look…Read more