A poetry collection of the bursting thoughts at the seams of my heart and my soul; the words I can't say to him, her, them, but think to myself. Their weight holds me down and drowns me, but I want to breathe. The collection is done. I'm spending time on myself. Thanks, everyone.
So. This is kind of scary. I'm doing something new. A new kind of poetry. One that is happier - sometimes. One that is longer. One that makes less sense unless you're me. If you're me, then it makes more sense than most things. These are strings of fleeting impressions and close-up polaroid pictures of a life. Someti...
