Writing

i'm looking through the boxes shoved in the corner of the attic

and i come across an old one marked random,

doesn't look like anyone's been through it,

but I start...

and i find that photograph;

a community of fools

given the power to combine words

and a pen

that can write so much meaning

in just two, or three, or millions of words,

and sometimes, there aren't enough

Young Writers Project has helped me discover myself and learn more about what it means to be a person.

Tell me, am I not the only one who is sick of these damn old men deciding what women are going to do with their bodies?

ywp is my home away from home

except it's always at my home

so it is my home

Ode to those that make life into gold

that bring us some sparkle as we grow old

Ode to the places, friends, and small things

to which credit's unequal to the joy that they bring