This is the brutal reality of being an introverted writer.
People assume, because you're quiet, that nothing bothers you and you are simply not heard. I have written a thousand times over, but still, ever lost in this maze of emotions and scenarios. What do I want to happen? I simply cannot tell you. What do I seek from my experiences? Just some clarity, and…
Cruel times are a lesson in disguise.
Working yourself to the bone causes exhaustion, not motivation. It's okay to take care of yourself.
You should never tolerate unreasonable behavior from anyone. Not even your loved ones.
Happy birthday to my guardian angel in the sky. I was truly blessed to have such a selfless, devoted, loving grandmother in life. This is a poem for my guardian angel. I love and miss you, forever.
"This poem is a favorite of mine. I feel like it should be in the yet-to-be-released book, although the process is still ongoing. But you can always comment below and tell me what you think. Yay or Nay?" The idealistic expectations of what is to be, is at times melancholy at best. We seek redemption…