: About Me

I'm 24. I don't write as often as I should. I'm scared of spiders.

My passion is ...

Sarcasm

I know too much about ...

So You Think You Can Dance.

My parents always told me ...

You're not one of us.

My childhood ambition ...

To be a firefighter.

My favorite memory ...

is not very PG.

Why I write ...

To boost my ego.

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

Th Grapes of Wrath/The Office/Metallica

My first job ...

Bag boy at a grocery store.

My best moment ...

When I'm charming.

My inspiration ...

You.

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Hands

17 of 41

We are. We are nothing apart. We are nothing apart, baby. Your hands on my face, they keep me warm, they keep me calm, and I am content. This is all I'll ever be. This is all I'll ever be, darling. Your hands over my eyes, they keep me confused, they keep me concerned, and I am angry. I don't know what to call this. I don't know what to call this, sweetheart. Your hands over my mouth, they keep me silent, they keep me useless, and I am suffocating.

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