My face isn't carved in a mountain. I've never been struck by lightning.
I've never saved a crying baby from a burning house fire nor have I over come my misfortunes in life to acquire a name for myself. I consider myself a writer although all I've written is only pieces of torn limbs of my distraught existence. (a bunch of poems)
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
the world
Things aren't always what they seem
What appeared to be leaves
Blowing up.
And then falling from the sky.
Actually was a whole flock of birds
Becoming unable to fly.
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