Trinity Anthology

Page 1

ce of beauty and comfort; the water rushes y thoughts.

n peace but in a place fe begins little by little my s. And it draws me back. hes rustle and the trees d my mind drifts until I am to attention by the crack of es beneath feet. I see, or do cing on the edge of fallen at have split off and are dying I am too decaying. My itching, watering to wash e dust as I wipe the pain onesomeness on my sleeve. a moment of confusion. A eze reminds me I’m still d a chill leaves my skin with es that there is more than eets the eye living here… in k. In its vast lift it holds and eath. Remnants of lives litter s waiting for more.

Have you seen me? I wonder how you see me.

confrontation; Sir Fredric Le reminds me of sleeping, drea or possibly daydreaming.

I know how I see myself.

But when I think of my favor work of art it’s not my favorit My alabaster skin has turned brown. or a piece of artwork that I w The skin on my hands is rough and bring up eminently from imp wrinkled like elephant skin. My memory. It is a print, to be a nails are dirty and broken. I cannot an 8”x10” framed print of J.W believe what a blessing not having Waterhouse’s “Destiny.” It is o a house is for me. This is what I had hanging on my wall at ho see. As you stand back you see all home that is no longer mine. of me. You see my graying hair, my wight of 350 pounds, perched upon “Destiny” reminds me of calm a walker with wheels. I scoot from comfort, a bit of romance an garbage can to garbage can for it is sense of waiting, waiting was collection of written work C.R.V. I seek. I askeda how you see afterthought. She’s a beautifu me. Remember I said I was blessed. a red taffeta dress and a purp Please do not see me as sad or to she is sipping thoughtfully fr be pitied. You did not see me when blue bowl, and her lips are a I had a house. I never left it. In my pink. The mirror behind her chair, bored and in pain, in front of the moving ships out to sea. the TV, I sat and sat and sat some like she’s hunkering down fo more. Now with no house to sit I winter. An open book rests o go and go and go some more. The table and from the reflection more C.R.V. I collect, the more fun I the mirror it looks like a bree can go and do. It is the money from crisp day, you can almost sm the C.R.V. that pays for gas so I can sea air and taste the warmth go near and far. Do not pity me for her bowl. The red dress tells how you see me. Up to my armpits strength, a desire for passion in trash you see me. I am out of my determination of gentle rest a chair, out of pain and out in the war. The purple sash represen fresh air. My hands are dirty for they dignity, peace, an independe are busy, bored no longer because of force, she wear her clothes w the C.R.V. I seek, and your smile. a patient security that in time

trinity anthology

ving is the creek. With its ecrets, whispers that become in the night silenced by the s of monsters that lurk in the s. My black is my target. My ocoa is a delicacy. They have or me. An insatiable thirst to f my indigenous blood. My g are representations of my h and fertility. Their desire the process by which I have d my power naturally. I’ve cross this feeling. This time umbers and facade outweigh minate. It’s clear however y have done this for a long cause they haven’t had to for it. They have continued.

Up to my armpits in trash you see me. Please do not pity me for how you see me. I tis the money from the C.R.V. that pays for gas so I can go near and far. The more C.R.V. I collect the more fun I can go and do. Now with no house to sit I go and go and go some more. In my

things will come together in the brave. The blue bowl repr taking in the sky, the sea and of strength. She is prepared t for the triumphant victory th bring her loved ones back fro and war to rest. Every night I looked print on my wall. It relaxed m


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