putting feelings in books and on the internet
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)
the riot club. “The tear stained rebels are wreaking havoc again!” “The tear stained rebels are screaming to a shadow of a man in the sky again!” “The tear stained rebels are shoving their bread and wine down our throats again!” The headlines may blaze ire but our souls are forest fire, The headlines…
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…
