writing, poetry, & art
I've had little life experience in comparison to some other poets but in the culmination of 19 years, I've been able to produce over 80 poems which as I write that right now strikes me as WILD. That's a lot of poetry. And that doesn't mean it is all good or publishable poetry but it…
Today I wanted to start featuring poets I've met through Instagram who I have reached out to collaborate with. One such poet that I am always inspired by and excited to see content from is eighteen-year-old Leah Anne from England who is probably the only poet you'll ever follow who writes poems FOR and ABOUT…
As some of you may know, last September (2018) I published my first poetry collection Essence of An Age which you can read a whole post about its creation here. Long story short, I wrote the collection because I needed to. Writing it reignited a love for writing that I had lost and allowed me…
As some of you know, last September, I published a poetry collection that encompassed a season of my life in which I found everything changing. Some of it was bitter and some of it was sweet. I wrote and published the majority of that collection last summer before its publication in the fall. It seems…
mango street. The pink-tiled bathrooms and velvet robes have been traded in for patched-up aprons and flour-dusted hands. Where names were once stitched into lilac silk, the phases of the moon are inked across collar-bones. The wives drink wine from mason jars, prune their ferns and poplars. The children sing to the sidewalk songs…
Hello all! I hope this Friday is going well for everyone midst going back to school or whatever it is that life is throwing at you! On Monday, I featured four of my online indie/aspiring authors so that they could share with all of you the stories they are currently working on. Today, I want…
Continue reading ➞ indie and aspiring authors share their WIP’s (pt. 2)
prologue. I first felt myself on the cusp of exodus when monsters beneath my bed became a matter minuscule to monsters in my head, prowling atop a back-burner of my mind, at 3 a.m. in a kitchen glowing dim. I felt it when I saw my chest as a cello, with too…
