I am not cool...don't care to be. I'm not all that pretty....don't care to be. My mind is sexy as hell.
My Mother would take out a little note book since the time I could speak, instead of bedtime stories I spoke the pictures in my mind with the limited words I could find and she wrote them all down as I desperately kept one foot in this realm and the other slipped into dreaming and then one day she called it poetry.
I am an innocent and spent most of my life trying to destroy that within so I could care about the things the "others" cared so much about, lipstick and boys and cars, and the walk talk, the peacock, rape and violence crying and tears, liars and laughter, regret and fear....and I have burned my house down so many times....but again, again, again I rise. What creature am I? What place is this, heaven or hell, a curse sometimes bliss. I am a vessel so haunted and possessed .I have walked with the Hookers on 3rd listening to their stories, writing it down, I've done all of Orange County and found, true beauty is not a boob job, and true evil is not a haircut or a pair of shoes, this thing called life is not an after school special hosted by the MTV. The Muses wont leave me to rest. I am consumed my soul burns my skin until I let out what they let in.