Sometimes, it's more than okay to be strong. |


Singing to the WetlandsI'm the girl with bayou eyes, twigs, mud and death snaking into my curls. I pause to breathe and s-h-o-c-k, shock sets in:Singing to the Wetlands
Day One. Earthen clasps latch on my arms, pulling me back down; the meandering waters clutch at my bell-shaped elbows.
Day Six. My smile is climatic; the sun always seems to shine, burning the layers of leaves but I can't even put up a fight to remember it's grace.
Day Seventeen. I'm surrounded by an animalistic embrace-- mismatched light from alligator stares and throaty frog musings. &nb


Snowy PlainThe moments pass without a sound, As frozen petals hit the ground, With slumberous pace, they touch your face, As they completely cloak this place.Snowy Plain
The seconds taste so bittersweet, Some enemies one cant defeat, As through mine eyes, you cant deny, All the things that you disguise.
The days have passed and still you stand, Waiting for her glowing hand, To have a glimpse, to kiss her lips, To let your love of her eclipse.
The years have sped right past your soul, Your sanity has lost its hold, Your tears remain, as they have lai


Folding Laundry"You're doing it wrong."Folding Laundry
I look up from the towel I was folding to my older brother's angry face. "Doing what wrong? I'm folding towels." I go back to my business; first folding it in half the short way and then again and then turning it twice lengthways so it was neatly folded. It was the exact same way my dad did it and the way I'd been folding the towels for a year.
"You're folding the goddamn towel wrong!" he shouts, grabbing the finished product from me. He throws it on the ground and a ripple of anger goes through me. "You can't do anything right!"
"What the fuck is your problem?" I yell back, grab

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by =Rellaenthia
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"I was hiding under your porch, because I love you!"
Isaiah 40: 29-31
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"to communicate heartbreak in writing takes talent," she whispers, her fingers in his hair. "a good writer can make her readers cry."
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