WIRES IN THE RUINS
Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh had gone through; I dream of what it may go through. I record here the actions of optical nerves, of taste buds, of sensory perception. And, I think: I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.
my name is jess. i'm 18 & live in md. i write poetry & fiction. i am headed towards the process of getting a novel published. i love drawing, painting, guitar, singing, acting, piano, yoga, photography, & a ton of other stuff. i have three beautiful little girls named maritess, emma, & lucy. i'm married to their daddy; his name is alec. he is wonderful. right now i am going to college for english & to be a maternal fetal medicine doctor. i'm a vegan christian & very proud of it. i'm also a proud harry potter geek & published writer. writing is my one true passion, other than my family, the only two things that make sense. love and giraffes! ღ
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We lurk hard through pretty ruins, Soft fingerprints in our wake. Sharp teeth chew the scenery. We blow dust from the pages Like old masks on the wicked. Our cold veins are supple wires. Our intentions turn to thin plastic And this night is a fire.
my name is jess. i'm 18 & live in md. i write poetry & fiction. i am headed towards the process of getting a novel published. i love drawing, painting, guitar, singing, acting, piano, yoga, photography, & a ton of other stuff. i have three beautiful little girls named maritess, emma, & lucy. i'm married to their daddy; his name is alec. he is wonderful. right now i am going to college for english & to be a maternal fetal medicine doctor. i'm a vegan christian & very proud of it. i'm also a proud harry potter geek & published writer. writing is my one true passion, other than my family, the only two things that make sense. love and giraffes! ღ
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We lurk hard through pretty ruins, Soft fingerprints in our wake. Sharp teeth chew the scenery. We blow dust from the pages Like old masks on the wicked. Our cold veins are supple wires. Our intentions turn to thin plastic And this night is a fire.
