An eclectic mixture of personal essays, stuff about writing, stuff about books and far out philosophy from an old baggage in a book-tower. Godmother and I agreed, there was something spooky, even gruesome about it. The fact that associations like this are made my mind is shocking, even to me.

If you want to be a hero well just follow me. I woke up with no memory. All alone in my bed. I stared at the mirror. A strange feeling in my head. An ant crawled up to me. You must be The Giant Ant. She led me to her home. Too small for me to fit in. She gave me a potion. To help me slip in. I drank it all at once. I remained a giant ant.

Inspiring personal growth through poetry and writing. Sign up for a newsletter. Is made of tears,. No bricks, no wals. And recklessly try to climb. But day retreats, cowardly, in guilt,. Quilted with shy stars and mourning moon. And I say, restore and watch. Like fireflies caught in the rain. Distant, but intense,. Snow rolls in between breasts. Of this curvy city,.