fatherfig

the swash and backwash of memories is constant not tranquil at all

a mothers triumph her bleached hands carress tabletop childs appreciation

clowns anticipate lightning as if it follows some kind of pattern

class presentation from the whipporwills gathered across windowpanes

original picture b/w painting i did

inktober prompt: identity i drew me :>

the ground beneath me trembles i am but a mouse shaken by giants

they refuse to sink my mud annoyances climb the walls my being built _______ floating but not gone tattered leaves bob on water like threadbare patience

slurping fresh honey is exactly how water should feel when its drank

:P

tossed by tales of spite, carbon dyoxide enters greedy trees domain

the generous trees can't really be called that as they give oxygen

You know you are a poetry writer when you are sad, bored, happy, or alive and find yourself thinking .... I could write this down.....

random music plays honk i forgot my password my playlist is gone :/