The older you get the more nonsense you’ll catch. I’m the Alex of the family, and I’ve never taken that lightly. Everything I do is a form, from a strategy. But now that I’m older I don’t know which direction see. As everyone else seemingly have it figured out, I sit there and watch. I crossed legged there, running my hands through my hair ever so slightly. I feel like an apostrophe in this seeemingly fine line family. I feel honored to be some sort of auxiliary. Now, I look into the abyss of astir where the lands are always arid.
Modern family
I don’t like calling my art poems though much might say so, I never think that my silly little writings are ever good enough to be called “art” I always thought that, that would make actual poets felt invalidated. But if art is whatever the artist thinks is, then I’d like to think that this is art.
nana's corner 