I am October’s colors, my skin the reflection of bruised peaches and burnt honey. I stick to all things green, suckling away at their breast, until only a shriveled husk remains, clinging onto skeleton branches, begging the wind to let them be. My winds are not so kind as to carry any calls for help, … Continue reading “I am October, Ohio.”
I’m not a fan of flowers, or at least not real ones. I like paintings of flowers. I like buying fancy parchment with flowery borders. I like writing poems about purple irises, yellow daffodils and pink tulips. I like doodling roses on my notepad during boring office meetings. I like the idea of throwing the … Continue reading “She doesn’t give you rose tinted glasses, she just paints you the colors you were always meant to wear.”
That little light from your lampshade 