Posted in Being Vulnerable


I use to believe I wasn’t creative

But now I know my mind is my color

My paint brush and paint

It helps me draw a world full of pain and love.

Hopes and hells.

It is my art.

And I’m grateful

For its existence.

Posted in My Poetry

He is heaven in a body

Sweet perfume

With those pleather alligator boots

I’d ride him like a gorilla

Smashed against the glass

But I can’t seem to reach him

With that dimple

His face becomes too alluring

That I get lost in the wave of women

Waving for his attention