Open a vein, see what flows. My Greatest Hits, Trust Me. Age 11 swinging a bat in our backyard.

When I wake each morning,. I gracelessly pry my eyes open one at a time. Even the dimmest light is still too bright for me. It is always the right one first,. For no real reason,. You are uncomfortably, perfectly warm. You rub the crust from your eyes,. As do I, leaving black smudges on my fingers. As I erase what remains of yesterday.

DeeJourney of a Fab Writing Mom. A blog about freedom, expression, love, God, thrifting, beauty, writing, and all things according to Dee. The truth about my city. Baltimore, the home of the Wire is what most people acclimated the city to be about before. Baltimore the home of the Freddie Gray Riots is the culmination of who you think we are now. For starters, anybody who was there, and breathed it would never call it the Baltimore riots.

Dark poetry with glimpses at light. She turns the key, unlocks the door. Trying not to creak the floor. If she is found to be home late. Blood and bruise will be her fate. Attempts to leave without a map-. No plan or goal makes her turns back. The house is filled with battered fear. A life of pain in sixteen years. Her father died when she was three. Consumed, he ran into a tree. He slept two weeks without a wake. Her mother took on his full plate.