“She doesn’t give you rose tinted glasses, she just paints you the colors you were always meant to wear.”

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.”

“The wind is howling, turning raindrops into bristling needles on my arms, and in that familiar pain I can almost remember where the scars all started.”

You don’t have to be afraid, My sweet primrose, Of the coming storm. The clouds are rolling in, And in that gray wave The Lions of the sky reign. Their manes, majestic ash, With roars born From a clash of light Fighting to find solid ground. Look past the lightning, And listen for the moments … Continue reading “The wind is howling, turning raindrops into bristling needles on my arms, and in that familiar pain I can almost remember where the scars all started.”