I love art, i love animals, i love everything that has done nothing horrible to my life. That probably includes you. You are your own artist, poet, musician, author, etc. Dont ever let somebody take away that. Not even if something bad happens, because art will make a true artist, author, poet, etc happy. ;) Believe in yourself, and anything could happen. I am sometimes, SOMETIMES a good poet. But i have a hard time remembering sometimes. So, i write it down. and here, i will write it.

Stacey Williams had always loved Axel Teller. But he had paid her no mind. She wanted more than the meaningless flings they had. She wanted her love to be returned. She wanted to be loved back. She did everything to get his attention. She had one-night stands with countless boys - throwing away her innocence - and tearing apart her reputation. All for him. But Axel didn't notice Stacey as anything more than a girl to have a fling with on the side. And Stacey watched as the boy she loved fell for another girl, and they were happy and complete. And Stacey was alone and hated. Tarnished and scarred. She was the girl he left behind. [The first book won the 2015 Wattys for the Cover-to-Cover award and 2016 Fiction Awards. Book two won the 2018 Fiction Awards. #1 in Teen Fiction and Short Story.] book two is currently unavailable, it will be released late 2023.

"What the hell?" I took a step closer to the mirror, staring at my reflection in disbelief. The person looking back was still me, but at the same time it wasn't. I had the same thick, dark, curly hair. The same hazel eyes. The same olive skin with a light dusting of freckles (ugh) scattered across the bridge of my nose. But my curls were now streaked with highlights. And not the subtle, golden-brown ones that sometimes appeared during the summer. No, these were an aggressive, dazzling blond that went from the roots of my hair all the way to the tips. It looked like I had spent a full day getting my hair done in some upscale salon. Never mind that I had never set foot in such a place since the day I was born. My eyes appeared somehow wider and more luminous. The colour brighter, my eyelashes darker up against them. And, when I looked closely, my pupils seemed to be slitted almost like a cat. I looked down at my body. My skinny arms-which had always refused to gain any definition no matter how hard I exercised-were lined with flat, wiry muscles. My bony shoulders were now curved and smooth. My scrawny legs were toned like a dancer. I reached down and lifted my shirt, revealing two subtle lines running vertically down my perfectly flat stomach, hinting at the rock-hard abs underneath. My whole body was rippling with strength. Like liquid steel.

This book has been rewritten, this book is written very poorly. I'm leaving it up so you can see how much writting can improve with practice.

PUNS!