I Don’t Care What They Say About Being a Writer
It’s a mess but it’s the only thing that belongs to me, the story of my life.
Another survivor that lived to tell the story, I’m still standing among the wreckage picking at the scraps to rebuild my life.
Broken sentences strung together — that’s what I call my poetry, my writing. Maybe more like a raging torrent of thoughts and feelings bleeding out from a raw wound.
