Someone once told me that I’d gain more followers if my blog had followed a single niche and I laughed.
My thoughts and words aren’t meant for a pretty little polished box.
They are as wild as the tight rope I walk every day. They need a place to jump into, weave into, bleed into, and then finally anchor there for good.
It’s messy and beautiful and chaotic here.
This space is my brain cracked wide open – the threads of my memories strummed like a musical instrument onstage
It’s the aching in my heart and the empty in my soul that constructs stories out of the broken past and present
It’s the clawing, the crawling, the kneeling, the survival of the human spirit gone to hell and back and hell and back baby
Then painting this white void with strings of words that makes you read in vibrant colour.
Adventure big and small and finding peace in little things like the way his eye lash curls over the chub of his cheek when he sleeps.
I am honest and brutal and fragile and funny.
It reflects the realness of me at any given time.
I am always afraid.
Afraid of spiders, dentists, funeral homes, not being a good enough mom, wife, friend, and writer.
I’m always afraid to hit publish.
But I do it anyways.
I don’t always fit in with the crowd.
But I secretly want to.
I just want to write.
Write what makes YOU happy.