Sometimes I imagine someone. It turns out to be no one. Unless...
As an artist, I'm going nuts.
Everyone is the hero in their own story. But what about the stories other people tell?
Womanhood, and my struggle to contend with its many definitions and impressions on my life. Honest reflections on girlhood and growth, and the revolution of the sacred feminine.
Looking back, learning, and laughing with love. How do we relate to who we once were?
I've imagined and caught slivers of miracles. But I want a full-blown miracle.
Bad treatment brings challenge, adventure, and humor if you open your mind.
I know Gershon Legman held the opinion that limericks were not meant to be clean, but this is a family post, so, sorry! Or, you're welcome!
This one goes out to all the people just trying to get through it
