life of a georgia Artist

My baby girl goes to grad school tomorrow. She is moving to NC and we are all going the five hours to move her into her first apartment. She has basically my whole kitchen and a ton of my furniture. See she was supposed to make my nest empty. I was looking forward to being 50 in a few years and peace. I will miss her like mad. I am already crying. She is taking our cat so she is not alone. I am supposed to be alone, but my boyfriend moved in last December. We work so well together. We love books. We love picnics. We love just being with the other one. Now we have his 9 yr old step kid. My words, this post, is for my baby girl. I wish you joy in your new apartment, happiness with our kitty, and love in your life. I have seen you struggle through life to find yourself. I have seen you do tap, baton, cheer leading with mean cheerleaders. You struggled with being a true nice girl in a world full of mean people. You had death threats in middle school, you had bad and good experiences. I t...

I am not what I write. I write. I am an author. I write poems. I write fiction. None of them are me. None are parts of me. I might sprinkle me in here or there in a word, but never am I the whole piece. Being a writer opens you up, well to everything. You are open to criticism, your words are open to interpretation, what you thought was clearly written is now a blurred line by a reader. Readers assume I am my words. Writers write. We invent stories.We invent lives who we interpret as truths. We put together sentences to make the readers have a clear path to follow, but it is not clear. We write a color and it is seen that the character was depressed. We write they had a certain job and readers put the stereotype with it. We think we write without someone being able to put something into it, but that is never the case. A few years back I wrote a poetry piece on suicide and had a ton of people making sure I was not going to kill myself. Authors invent scenarios.  Some of us migh...