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Category: Creative


Echos of Jazz

He was a Jazz player at a glance A family man in context He was cool, not as a description That was his definition His voice was bold, proud Echoing the...

A Thunderstorm

i wish i were more things that a person could love, but my skin is raw and scarred, every second that i breathe is a second too long, and even with the right...

Sun–buzz–rise

As he stared into her eyes, the silence seemed to creep up onto them. It hung...

Irreconcilable Circumstance

Out of focus save for a lock of chestnut hair, my father wholly in...

How Can I Know What Love Is

Love is one of the earliest concepts I remember being introduced to. It was the...

Cosmopolitan Love

My darling, with her clothes littered on a floor painted orange. The windows...

Dark(er) Girls and Doors

My mother's friend sips on her coffee, her eyes don't leave my face. she...

Ode to my Bed

Comfy sheets and blankets galore underneath the window sill, I cannot await...

Religion of the Player

Our temple is the arena. Our shrine is the ice. Our skates, are the Holy...

Wing Tipped Hammer

Don’t drop the hammer in the lake chilled inexperienced hands seem to think...