I am by no means comparing myself to Ernest Hemingway. Though, when I saw this image, I identified in a small way. I think I may have typed on an actual typewriter twice in my life, but the process seems much the same still.

To be any good at this writing things means to be unabashedly honest. Sometimes that’s uncomfortable, but almost always rewarding. The bleeding for this art is real. It opens up wounds, creates new, swift cuts, and can sting like a MOTHER…but it is also a healing balm.

The sacrifice to share my heart has brought so many new beautiful people into my life, my heart. Sharing our stories weaves us together. We relate to each other through our experiences. Triumphs and tragedies. I just wanted to take a day to say thank you. Thank you for your kind words and encouragement’s. Thank you for being open and honest with me, sharing your experiences. Thank you for relating to and consuming my poetry with an open mind and heart.

The decision to follow me on this journey and show love and support has humbled me beyond words.

Which is an oxymoron don’t you think?