/*! elementor – v3.17.0 – 08-11-2023 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Fall 2023, oil on mas
/*! elementor – v3.17.0 – 08-11-2023 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Fall 2023, digital ph
If I was an artist, I’d paint my grief and use this city as my canvas. Shades of blues, purples, and especially orange I’d use to illuminate Leavenworth Street. I’d smudge the face of every brick wall, splatter my tears across those large cafe windows. I’d erase the smiles from 11th st
I wonder what you would want from me, if I told you my sweetness was bitter. All my life sour has become of me, yet I’m told I am sweet like sugar water. I have enough strength to appear fresh on the outside but if you cut me with a knife, there is rot. […]
/*! elementor – v3.17.0 – 08-11-2023 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Fall 2023, cyanotype,
Last summer, I was certain That black ink scattered across crisp White pages would be my future, That ambition was all I needed to succeed. I thought it would be enough but red lines crossed my pages, Rejection after rejection. I used to want to write stories Every day of my life Because, really, wh
which we both knew. So instead we skirted each other’s questions. Laughed at odd times in lime green and orange. Sometimes we held hands and stared at the sun until everything burned white. Once we collected dusty purple moths in an empty peanut butter jar, then removed them delicately one a
/*! elementor – v3.17.0 – 08-11-2023 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Fall 2023, digital ph
When I was eight I punched a boy on the trampoline where my friend broke her arm. The same boy that scaled the schoolyard gazebo and stood on the roof As my friend and I stared from the ground, ants in awe of the boy in front of the sun. The same friend […]
