My words are as heavy as the torn, wet blanket covering the nondescript body of the homeless guy lying on the ground. Grey and cold and lifeless, even in life.
My words are as hot as the fake orange hair covering the nuclear button ready to blow at any time. If it made a sound it would squeak.
My words are as empty as the streets once filled with protesters ready for change, but now drinking their lattes in front of their computers. Time to refresh.
My words are as explosive as the answer to the texts, “how are you?” that friends and family send without any clue that I live my life inside out. Blood pours from unprotected veins.
Your words heal and fight and love and drive and make beautiful. And I am silent.
This is a library of my shared work. Some is from childhood, some from classes I have taken, and some from recent work.
Did you know I have written a bunch of FREE short stories for the Genre-istas? Check them out here.