Date: January 2024

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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

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


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