Forgetting the past with every mile.....
"Never let a stranger in your car, even if they look like your dead grandma". He left my car, in a hurry to fetch a bus . In a hurry to his roses.
Our car was blasting down the freeway. There were banners along the side of the road advertising a yellow faced dog. My stomach squirmed. We passed over the top of a hill and suddenly the skyline of...
Mary and I got in the car and started driving up the street. Mary was being so friendly by driving me to all the houses of people that had fed me at some point in my life. I was going to thank them al...
there are things in this life we all want to do before we die. here's some of mine :)
Don't let depression and the pressure take you off the road. Gauge what the world needs. And that's you!
It’s another beautiful sunny day in Cali Home of the flames and the burnt valleys
my siblings tell me often that I fit the "writer" aesthetic. I'm not really sure what that means. and I'm not sure I'm a writer. you tell me
The escape of Sisyphus. A poem about coming to terms with your own reality and learning to slow down to regroup once in a while. Let me know what you think 😊
"Never let a stranger in your car, even if they look like your dead grandma". He left my car, in a hurry to fetch a bus . In a hurry to his roses.
Our car was blasting down the freeway. There were banners along the side of the road advertising a yellow faced dog. My stomach squirmed. We passed over the top of a hill and suddenly the skyline of...
Mary and I got in the car and started driving up the street. Mary was being so friendly by driving me to all the houses of people that had fed me at some point in my life. I was going to thank them al...
there are things in this life we all want to do before we die. here's some of mine :)
Don't let depression and the pressure take you off the road. Gauge what the world needs. And that's you!
It’s another beautiful sunny day in Cali Home of the flames and the burnt valleys
my siblings tell me often that I fit the "writer" aesthetic. I'm not really sure what that means. and I'm not sure I'm a writer. you tell me
The escape of Sisyphus. A poem about coming to terms with your own reality and learning to slow down to regroup once in a while. Let me know what you think 😊