When I was younger I was a writer and I would write letters so I am writing this one to the writing inside of me: Dear Writing;
The Dead Man Walking BY THOMAS HARDY They hail me as one living, But don’t they know That I have died of late years, Untombed although? I am… Read more “V&E Poetic Therapy: The Dead Man Walking”
It is said that diamonds are made under extreme pressure. Me = diamond. Last year, I decided I would give up my home, my community, my comfort… Read more “Making Diamonds”
My Forgiveness Story He was my high school bully, he was one of many. He stood out because he could reach the most vulnerable parts of me,… Read more “I Once Forgave Someone Because of Stars”
Originally posted on Ebben Wilde:
Ode to my lost child What was it like? It was like my soul cramping and ripping itself from my body. It…
Spring I welcome spring wholeheartedly, the thaw followed by nature’s regrowth, and renewal is always a beautiful comfort. There is a hopefulness in Spring. The longer days give me… Read more “Spring, Growth, Expansion, and LuneInnate”
If you’re asking yourself that question, then the answer is likely: because you’re a writer.
For writers, the act of committing words to paper (or screen) is not a choice but a compulsion that cannot (and should not) be quelled…
BY ELIZABETH BISHOP
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master…