poetry
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Hung Out To Dry
If anyone has ever treated you like the wet, wrinkly washcloth that hangs alongside their damp bathing towel. The one that once clung to their body, and shielded them from the icy air so it couldn’t send goosebumps down their… Continue reading
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Grandma Knows Best
The scent of my shampoo is familiar, like the yellowish-orange bottle of baby shampoo that grandma used during bath time. The scent of jasmine, rose, and violet petals being sprinkled with baby powder, right before dancing in the fragrant rain. It’s… Continue reading
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Fading…
Oftentimes, I think about what my worst fear is. One that I’m sure is on the minds of many is death. It is unbelievably scary that no one can pinpoint when or how they’ll die or when they kiss a… Continue reading
The Writing Rock 