I’m petsitting two French bulldogs right now. They both are hyper when I come home, but tend to chill out fast. They sleep most of the day, and wake up just to eat. Pretty sure one has amnesia, she always forgets who I am.
I feel compelled to write about my new tattoo, especially because a couple reactions were, “why him?” Follow me on a short but wonderful journey of self discovery and mild ink addiction.
I wanted to leave, but my body wouldn’t let me.
The strength to stand wasn’t there, and I feared to die in this house of hallways.
Recently I've decided to follow my greatest passion when to comes to my career, working with animals. I'm also going full steam ahead with attempting to self-publish my short story/poetry book, because nothing quite says poverty like following your dreams.
That's right, it's me, your friendly neighborhood writer dog walker.
A gentle touch.
You traced the stars with my heart
and hold my soul
in the embrace of your galaxy.