Writing

Camp was almost over for the summer. Kids were running around on the lawn, playing foursquare, swinging on the swings and building fairy houses.

I have always loved art.

All different kinds, painting, drawing, and literally anything ...

I have even been told I'm like a graffiti artist, because I draw over EVERYTHING

“I didn’t mean to upset you” 

You truly didn’t, did you 

I’m not placing the blame on anyone but myself 

You did this with who?

How come when i do something right the only thing they remember is the thing i did wrong?

How come when i tell someone my opinion its wrong because it's not the same as theirs?

I gather hope in my pockets.

Shiny stones

smoothed by time.

I think of the bird

that flew free from her cage one day,

warmth,

pumpkin spice lattes

hot, spice-soaked coffee drizzled with a splash of cinnamon

coated with half-melted whipped cream, nestled by the delicate fire,

comfort,

your favorite cardigan