The Forest, The Field & This Great Sadness

Art is life, said some washed up wonderwoman. I wrote three lines for that in seventeen syllable mishmash, and they called me an artist.

Heather-Mariah, Artist/Poet/Musician/Wanderer. From The rain state.

I was on the threshold of womanhood. I’d painted my lips and fingernails red to match the wine that stained my sheets and carpet. I was welcoming it with the plucking of my brows, the shaving of course brown hairs. I’d conformed to it already with the slumping neckline of my shirts, and confronted it with an ever shortening skirt. Time had done it again.

(Source: beatnik-in-blue)

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