The girl who wished to be loved Her eyes brown and glint Showing the past, present and future Long curls like mother earths grass Each strand unrefined, yet brazen Long pull of her cigarette Exhaling yesteryears The future was an escape, lingering in dreams that only she can perceive. A time capsule broken Expired memories Fingers running along each corner of her page that was once touched That heart shaped face, damp... But a soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tea

"At it’s root, creativity is not about success and not about failure. It’s not about knowing why, or what, or even who. It’s a mystery, a spiritual place to live." ― Quoted from Clarissa Pinkola Estés, in her book: 'Women who Run with Wolves' she was born a hybrid rose, tender at the touch; yet her stem was mighty strong, with petals soft-hued, & blush. under starry skies, the veil was growing thin, waiting to be treasured, her glowing, virgin skin. leaves of silken blossom,

I know you seek my words, to see if I exist - and wonder where I am, in the world of sunken mists. but darling these roots have died, my...

horizons are changing, leaves, turning... I feel light as the crisp air. I feel a change within. keep going.