My mind is fuzzy, the last remnants of a dream being chased away by the realisation that I am awake again. It was a nice dream, something about sitting in a huge oak tree in a meadow full of my favorite flowers ; daisies. Listening to the blissful sound of a classic Nina Simone song, "my skin is black, my arms are long, my hair is wooly, my back is strong..." But the details are fading fast as I try to recall them.
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insomniac thoughts/poetry
PoetryWhat I think about when I can't seem to shut my eyes from this gaping hole of my existince. Poetry, coming from the side of me that I do not share w/ people, because I'm afraid of what they'll think of me. I'm okay w/ sharing the hidden parts of my...
