Poem: They Called Me a Vulture
When Leza was bullied for standing up for survivors of sexual abuse, they turned the abuse on its head by forging a symbolic connection with an oft-maligned but useful animal, the vulture.
When Leza was bullied for standing up for survivors of sexual abuse, they turned the abuse on its head by forging a symbolic connection with an oft-maligned but useful animal, the vulture.
in the world we live in,we are told the following thingsoverand overand overagain: “get up.” “try harder.” “use your words.” “speak louder.” “stop whining.” “you’re
Thinks in poetry, lives in prose Dreams in colors she cannot understand The music of her words is lost In the starts and stops of
Don’t Tell Me Life’s too hard I’ve come this far To go nowhere Why the blank stare? Don’t tell me you’ve been there. I don’t
I My mother pushed and screamed. I splashed into the wild rumpus already begun, the party of songs and a girl who cannot sing. I
It’s my island, mine alone, so I’m alone. Singing to myself and the sea. With equally endless ever-churning fractal blacks above and below me. And
You are an anomaly;A nebula, the birth-place of light and wonder.Your glow is widespread and beyond reach. They will call you a rarity.They will ask
Autistic artist Ra Butler shares her sequential art and poetry piece, "Fire Set Free," telling the story of her relationships through the lens of a fire goddess forgotten to time.
I’ve always felt that I am biding my time. When I say “I’ve always felt”, I mean as far back as I can remember. Like the things I was seeing and experiencing in my life were not the whole shebang. There was another place I was living and operating . . . almost.
It was the anniversary of Moby Dick‘s publication. 15 November 1851. The song was released on 15 November ’18. This has to mean something, but
When Leza was bullied for standing up for survivors of sexual abuse, they turned the abuse on its head by forging a symbolic connection with an oft-maligned but useful animal, the vulture.
in the world we live in,we are told the following thingsoverand overand overagain: “get up.” “try harder.” “use your words.” “speak louder.” “stop whining.” “you’re
Thinks in poetry, lives in prose Dreams in colors she cannot understand The music of her words is lost In the starts and stops of
Don’t Tell Me Life’s too hard I’ve come this far To go nowhere Why the blank stare? Don’t tell me you’ve been there. I don’t
I My mother pushed and screamed. I splashed into the wild rumpus already begun, the party of songs and a girl who cannot sing. I
It’s my island, mine alone, so I’m alone. Singing to myself and the sea. With equally endless ever-churning fractal blacks above and below me. And
You are an anomaly;A nebula, the birth-place of light and wonder.Your glow is widespread and beyond reach. They will call you a rarity.They will ask
Autistic artist Ra Butler shares her sequential art and poetry piece, "Fire Set Free," telling the story of her relationships through the lens of a fire goddess forgotten to time.
I’ve always felt that I am biding my time. When I say “I’ve always felt”, I mean as far back as I can remember. Like the things I was seeing and experiencing in my life were not the whole shebang. There was another place I was living and operating . . . almost.
It was the anniversary of Moby Dick‘s publication. 15 November 1851. The song was released on 15 November ’18. This has to mean something, but
When Leza was bullied for standing up for survivors of sexual abuse, they turned the abuse on its head by forging a symbolic connection with an oft-maligned but useful animal, the vulture.
in the world we live in,we are told the following thingsoverand overand overagain: “get up.” “try harder.” “use your words.” “speak louder.” “stop whining.” “you’re
Thinks in poetry, lives in prose Dreams in colors she cannot understand The music of her words is lost In the starts and stops of
Don’t Tell Me Life’s too hard I’ve come this far To go nowhere Why the blank stare? Don’t tell me you’ve been there. I don’t
I My mother pushed and screamed. I splashed into the wild rumpus already begun, the party of songs and a girl who cannot sing. I
It’s my island, mine alone, so I’m alone. Singing to myself and the sea. With equally endless ever-churning fractal blacks above and below me. And
You are an anomaly;A nebula, the birth-place of light and wonder.Your glow is widespread and beyond reach. They will call you a rarity.They will ask
Autistic artist Ra Butler shares her sequential art and poetry piece, "Fire Set Free," telling the story of her relationships through the lens of a fire goddess forgotten to time.
I’ve always felt that I am biding my time. When I say “I’ve always felt”, I mean as far back as I can remember. Like the things I was seeing and experiencing in my life were not the whole shebang. There was another place I was living and operating . . . almost.
It was the anniversary of Moby Dick‘s publication. 15 November 1851. The song was released on 15 November ’18. This has to mean something, but
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