Lodessa ran fast. She ran faster than the boys.

Curly hair to her knees. Lodessa made a lot of noise.

Her hips were as wide as her smile. Lodessa walked like anti-depressants.

Lodessa could make you dream. She’d have you DM’ing in an instance.

Lodessa picked up the slack more than she picked up her books.

She was tall for her age, soft eyes and grown looks.

Lodessa kept her focus until that day she went fishing.

And she got what she wanted. Every follower was dishing.

Lodessa ran faster. She ran faster than broken news.

“Are you sure this is what you want and is this what you choose?”

Lodessa was very smart and they say ‘mightily brave’.

She wasn’t afraid of the stares, the money or the grave.

The only thing that scared her was the loneliness she met.

Every night, all alone, clenching a pillow that was wet.

Lodessa painted on happy eyes and joyous red smile.

Lodessa even let her voice squeak once in a while.

“Where have you been? I haven’t see you in a month.

Did you get back from vacation? Your pics looked like fun.”

Lodessa kept smiling and faking and pretending.

Her world was twisting and shifting and bending.

Friends said she changed. Her head got too big.

“Did you see? Did you see what this idiot did?”

Lodessa cried openly to her closed off fans.

They moved on quickly, you know, short attention spans.

Lodessa deleted her post. She got back to her show.

Lodessa’s voice got real high when her feelings were low.

This continued on, a pattern you know the rest of.

This is the story of Little Old Odessa.


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Back in the day

To the girl I said, “build a wall.”

To the boy I said, “learn to climb.”

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It’s a shame we’ve been taught

that you must be in the dark

before you begin to glow.

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Wonder of art

The thing I love about art is that you can define it however you’d like. You can begin and end the story however you want. You can dress the characters and mold the scenes into whatever your mind can imagine. But what is art? What is a story? What’s in a painting or a poem or a song? You are. There is a piece of you left in everything you create. There’s a piece of your memory, your heart, your fears, your joy, and undoubtedly, your spirit. And because of that, you and your art become a part of this world that we all experience. When someone takes just a small piece of what you’ve created–even if it’s just a fraction of your energy–that little bit could be the catalyst they’ll need to become inspired for their own creation. Art gets passed on and recreated over and over again. The true beauty of art is that it can be left up to interpretation and wonder for whoever comes across it. And wonder is what keeps the artist creating.

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Hess’s Law

I miss the nerd version of myself.

I miss the me who believed I could be anything.

I miss making shapes out of clouds.

I miss my angst.

I miss doodling without the boredom.

I miss wondering about the taste of coffee.

I miss grapes.

I miss running through wet grass.

I miss sweating on the front porch.

I miss jumping over cracks.

I miss cough medicine and salt water.

I miss studying.

I miss getting smarter.

I miss growing.

I miss thinking the next day would be better.





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It’s amazing how many people

get online just to play pretend

with their imaginary friends.

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Sorry you feel that way

I’m not as skinny as I used to be.

I also care less.

Keep your reflections on the wall.

And the cheese on my fries.

It takes courage to grow up.

Yet 37 seconds to change your mind.

I’m not as happy as I used to be.

I also cry less.

The pain of securing happiness isn’t appealing.

You don’t bring me flutters these days.

That’s a choice I make.

I’m walking on the side of silent retreats.

And wearing high heels in the grass.

There’s no room for a┬ásecond voice.

Only one voice that means me well.





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