I write a blog.
Because I want to be a writer, so writing every day makes me one.
It isn't because I went to college or wrote
essays. It's because I'm so full of myself I'm
sick on it. I've written a book, a half of a book, and I
just started another one.
And I write, because I must write, at least a poem a day.
I write a blog because I'm just as terminally cool as you are.
You could call me Heather
or you could call me Tambourine.
I know where I'm from. I
don't know where I'm
going. I'm ordinary
like a perfectly fitting
gold dress on some
extravagant red carpet
where everyone else is a
perfectly fitting gold
dress too. I write on womens issues.
Addiction and
death from addiction.
Rape and murder and joy
and love and
absence, madness and
skills and total
desperation to bridge
gaps. Recovery and
light and all of my
x boyfriends, best friends
and my lovely family that
feeds me cakes of roses
because I
am the baby.
X to Sylvia
for this
title. Thank you
for your time
with my
words.
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