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Pages and images of imaginations,give me peace. Thoughts and words never break me into pieces. The nib of the pen is connected to every inch of my soul. I crumble and mumble,through pages and prahses. I scatter and gather my thoughts into Poems. I cry and shy when I write something that is close to my soul. I wonder the encounter I had with my dark part,.
Raising my son, carrying a gun and being comfortable with my buns! Not Everyone Wants to See That. Of July in Washington, DC. We watched the Independence Day Parade in front of the Archives building and then headed over to the National Gallery of Art.
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