How much of writing is re-writing? How much of living is re-living? I sip my coffee. I remember the voice inside of me croaking out; she’s hoarse; she’s deep; she’s poised. I remember shouting for someone to love me. Men. All of them. Love me. I remember this voice changing. Going dark for boys… Continue reading Your Writing Voice
You sift through one called “Future” and find a thousand other eyes shaped and colored like Miranda’s.
Me and Sarah McMullen, learning by being. Rockport, Mass. August 2015. photo by John McMullen edits and text by Amanda Kimmerly
between sleep: i wonder if my hands get tired of keys. or if it makes running them across the strong back of my lover even more satisfying. i turn on the music, and it’s a slow slow lag, a lazy, dreaming drum, my hum, oh my hum is barely audible now, my love is not… Continue reading random writing from an old November draft