A milk jug, handle turned in, was all it took for father to lather, a barrage of curses decrying our lack of worth, foaming from

A milk jug, handle turned in, was all it took for father to lather, a barrage of curses decrying our lack of worth, foaming from
Begging, this story, brimming over bursting out I suck in, hesitate ending preset message elusive crushed beneath weight of subjectivity.
Formative years were more destruct than construct; contradictions riddled the foundation of our familial structure: one man tyrannized five females while in the news, women
Thank you to the Story Circle Network for accepting my story: Hoping to Be Missed. I am excited to report that I won first place
School days meant up-before-dawn, carpools across town, tuna-sandwiches and rotting bananas shoved in brown paper sacks. Then home by bus – exhaust, the stench of
The house is brand new and we move in without our mother, who is in the hospital getting our new baby. There are three floors
-daya bhat-
Fairy Tales, Micropoems, and Images by Peter Ellis
Focusing on the beauty. Zooming in on love.
Slow, raw and chaotic. A personal account.
books, writing, farm, travel, family, coffee, outdoors
"Surely there is a future, and your hope will not be cut off." Prov. 23:18
Throwing my soul into the cosmos.
Never placed, but who’s counting?
Verse from an adverse mind.
All pictures taken with Phone📱
Life and love along the way...
my humanity in written form
sharing the stories of interconnection