New artsy dining tables,
blue vintage-ish sleeper sofa,
An apartment on the river,
A new star delivery,
My favorite parts of town,
And just so much more beautiful serenity twined serendipity.
Counting the dreams until settled.
I’m going everywhere it calls ❤
You coming? 🙂
Present to myself goal in 18 months as I sing the end of the dead breed and learn to be a sinner saint.
Wicked red forty eight special fits baby. Watch the dust, please.
Black velvet hair and first time banshee bangs sound divine in the mean time.
Don’t think I’ll recognize myself either. Good thing,
I’m going to outrun the bounty you think you still have on me.
Ooo oui ooo 🖤
I believe he holds all his favorite skylines in the recesses of his heart
A safe vibrant, little, large, brilliance given away by his laughter.
So, the clovers rise from beneath the cool earth.
I wait for the roses that grow from his sorrows, his doubts, his overthinking,
his words, his hold, his holy grins….him.
The day away even if some think I don’t belong there.
Or if it even exists.
It still entertains me beyond most everything.
And a Fatalist walk into a bar…
So a Nihilist hits them all with chairs before buying the first round.
And it’s a Stanford rendition
With an Americana dance floor ❤️https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/time
Conversations with stars when the grey winter clouds hide awhile ❤
Forgive me, this is now months old. I felt cleaning drafts was due before years end. Interesting topic, as I, myself date older men. But there’s a line somewhere in 2016, no? Here’s to thinking one grew out of his teens just because the years passed and someone that would never ❤
Start tyrate after a 6 hour drive and too much time to think with my beautiful daughter next to me:
What sort of man incites such malice with in a kind heart like mine? One that thinks it’s funny to hit on my 15 year old daughter. One, that expects me to buy him unending beers. One, that leaves me in front of a busy hotel to meet a gaggle of men asking me why I’m an irish girl in part of town I don’t belong in, alone outside. The sort, that sits in a car silently, phone in hand, as I stave off a 6’3′ man accosting me in a parking lot I also didn’t belong in that all the while pretends he loves me. But mostly, a 40 yo man wanting a child. I will always protect before I partake in anything selfish. If two 15 year olds had children, You’re practically old enough to be her grandfather. Get it now?
So, enjoy the reality. The true one, not some I’m misunderstood delusion. I wonder if there is a public list for this man’s kind. Stop coming here as well. You are also not welcome to steal my writing for your own inspiration either.
In the meantime, perhaps a decent girl proving her point can be finished with a disappointment beyond imagination. Thanks for the momentary loss of faith in humanity. Good thing, I know how to make it, share it, give it, instead of take it.
This years best season,
Ending on such sour notes,
Giving way to good harvest,
With a lesson-remote.
Curled lying lips corrupt,
Never makes for loving so much.
Faded memory still passing like thinning fog
Only at the bottom of mountain tops on Tuesdays-
Leaving room for another’s endless hope I collect
Like the sun’s rays beaming trust.
So sorry for that luck,
I’m bundling up:
Piled on the porch untouched.
And I am returning to sender,
A forked tongue and angled tail benders.
All the stagnant,
Three soul mates a year sort of romantic love.
Along with the hateful glances of a barely mortal man’s drunken red anger
Based somewhere in the what I have’s-
What you should entail,
And the what happened not’s.
I leave it world’s away
Trying to control so much while-
Fabricating nebulous notions
for ornamental pickles.
Dangling for the sake of art’s sake.
Emotional courtship only,
Floating the bragard’s specter boat-
Like it’s a hold you up crutch keeping hope afloat.
So it’s my serendipitous road from here on out,
To the golden ocher leaves of real adoration
And undying crimson devotional lust-
Hidden In his soft kiss and rough handed soul
Plucking strings like Santana,
Healing the troves of
And just his burning blue eyes,
Making diamonds out of my scars,
Between the planks on ocean pier moonlit walks.
Life Is Beautiful
It's all about you and me
We are talking about something we know nothing about.
embrace the impossible
"For your born writer, nothing is so healing as the realization that he has come upon the right word.” —Catherine Drinker Bowen
(...and some I have)
I’m an artist, an illustrator, a photographer, a tinker, a tailor, a mother, a spy
Exploring Rhymes, Reasons, and Nuances of Our World