I'm whatevering I'm weathering

drawing without glasses or contacts,

have you ever been so foolish?

on my way to the studio, in washington square park

Snapdragons on the kitchen table

The loss of hunger toward food is not bad of a sacrifice. Consider my options, I'm hungry for colors. Images. Making. I woke up. I still have an insane appetite, but the source has shifted. 

Positions

Trying not to be a coward. Hot cheeks, but at least I'm not Pinocchio.

Hunger

Someone knows your faults and strengths, stirs them to see the manage. Someone embarasses you in front of your ego inside. Questions your hands and when the ruler hits knuckles, you work your way to the corner of the classroom, quieted and shamed. Now is not the time to rebel, now comes the time  to applaud, give gratitude to Someone for never abandoning  no  matter how many times  a ruler must-- calloused knuckles are the  remnants of  faith,  mentoring, and hard earned respect-- I look at mine with profound admiration.  

The word (the work) love:

Everything is shifting and I don't even know what to make of parenthesis. It's as if, I'm growing up. Just not sure into what kind of woman anymore. 

What an insanely strange time, when you realize that you're glad to be so angry over the thing you love, so angry, it makes you growl. Happy to know I have that capebility.