I was going through a trunk in my house where my mother kept EVERYTHING from the time of my existence on this planet. (Seriously, I have every report card.) And in it, I also found hundreds of poems. Some good. Some…not. Some dark. Some fun. I’m going to start typing them up so I have them virtually stored, and this will be my index.
I can’t tell you they’re all roses and sunshine. I can’t even promise you they are good. But they’re me.
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