We write for the same reason that we walk, talk, climb mountains or swim the oceans - because we can. We have some impulse within us that makes us want to explain ourselves to other human beings. That's why we paint, that's why we dare to love someone - because we have the impulse to explain who we are.
Maya Angelou
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Ghetto Rose
Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?
Provin nature's laws wrong it learned how...
His Thick Queen
"To some, You may be ordinary, fat, and weird. But to me , Lauren, your a radiant star. Your unique, kin...
My Foolish Heart
My foolish heart it made me fall in love with him.
I know it goes with how it's feeling.
Oh Oh Oh.
My foolish...