Recycle Bin

I must have had this blurb saved in my Outlook's draft folder for years. It doesn't mean much, but I figured I would save it here as opposed to purging my thoughts into some unknown black hole.

These are my feelings, which are in the format of singular words,​ placed carefully in a virtual ribboned box. They form in distinct shapes and​ sounds, as if waiting for a defining means to an end, or maybe an end to a means. Unwrap me.

Welp, that's pretty much it. Nothing big. Nothing life changing. But, it is something, and that counts. Ok, back to online shopping!   :D

Totally Raven

My hands have been itching to pound away at these keys lately. I've decided to let my fingers do the guiding, forcing my narrative mind in the passenger seat. Edgar Allen Poe used to be a favorite poet of mine. For the life of me, I couldn't recite a single poem, and I don't know why, but I was a self proclaimed fan-girl in Elementary. I grew up a young pimple faced poet with perfect intentions, followed by four clumsy shoe laces with gum knotted in my hair. I remember being handed the task of writing about Mr. Poe (because that's whom I selected), and scavenging the school library from corner to corner in preparation of the perfect love potion in 200 words or less. I loved words. I loved the idea of formulating this expressive collage of words, compounding them together because of my inability to comprehend what my mind can't think to say. Sometimes I miss the idea of Mr. Poe, because I used to care about words and how they bring purpose to their life when sought after.

I will seek and I will find from this point forward.