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Happy Home
I imagine, I was an adequate early birthday present, to my mother. Materialising, entering the air, with a solo scream, I became a socialite. Infant it girl, the name on so many lips, the day that I debuted, inside so many arms, I stared into so many faces, amazed, that they are so amazed. As…
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Nothing Is True
My mother’s womb is the ocean. I cover my dreams, and suspicions in foundation. I have been darker than a doomed room, broken home that sometimes glistens. When I listen to silence, I am breathing in bright rhythms, paying visits to pacific parts of my heart, untouched by ugly aspects. Nothing is true, when everything…
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Sincerely, Jennifer x 