N.o.s.t.a.l.g.i.a
My heater sounds like the roar of the sea. Pressing my face into the pillow I feel no, not cool salty breeze, but the temptation to run, away from everything,…
Essays and Poetry by Barbara Powell
My heater sounds like the roar of the sea. Pressing my face into the pillow I feel no, not cool salty breeze, but the temptation to run, away from everything,…
You know I get lost when everyone’s here. yeah. I get lost. I get lost when everyone seems to know who they’re supposed to be. I get lost when everyone…
I can’t help but remember the day my parents told me “no” I was not a good girl as I sat in the security office chair stolen goods morals gone…