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LORD, KEEP ME GROUNDED IN GRACE AND REVERENCE.
I am a poet. With this site I intend to state my work's purpose;
however, at the moment my mind wanders and flowers and twists
and turns, and I am unable to pin a poetic thought of it down.
I do not know if I will be able to take lingual control enough of my
purpose to wrap it up and send it to you, dear reader and patron.

For as long as I may, I will struggle to offer sincere words,
vivid photographs, and graceful phrasing. See, here: it all
started when the world flipped over and the contents of my life
spilt to the floor piece by piece. What was light became dark, what
was sweet became rot, and all that was good became bad. What
I cared for suddenly disappeared, and the small, existential things

I hadnít before noticed were big, powerfully present,
and very much needing to be known and understood.
The people I loved changed; the stars changed; the moon
changed. I watched these events happening, and I felt a raw,
hot terror. My mind burst into flames, and my soul followed.
I didnít know how to deal with these events, this strangeness,

this journey called Change, or Life. I stopped enjoying myself.
I stopped laughing, singing, and near speaking. I ate little food
and got very thin. I became a human doll void of breath and
artistic inspiration, or the dance. Then, I was suddenly hungry.
I wanted everything: beauty, appreciation, money, noise, fame!
I moved to California to be a movie star but had no desire to shine.

I worked menial jobs. I started eating again. I ate everything in sight.
Bulimia. I got fat and pretty. The men watched the curves of my body
grow with dark, mad eyes. I contemplated those eyes. I considered
becoming a stripper. I smoked cigarettes. I obsessed about the
coming of death and dying. Blackness. Loneliness. I came home
to Pennsylvania. I got an office job and hated it. I moved to New York

City to be an artist, dancer and poet: a woman free and spirited and
independent and alive. There, in the city, I almost felt calm; I was
becoming myself again. Then I started to ache for literature, for words
and lingual expression. I ran home to my mother. On this website, I offer
myself to you. You are my purpose. I have little money and few resources.

I have my past actions, my hope for the future, and my eager mind of today.
I would like to earn a Masterís Degree in English & Comparative Literature.
I would like to learn the beauty that is language. Language, the thing that
separates us from the animals. Language, the thing that proves our
humanity, wit, and mental sophistication. As a woman of this world,

I need to be recognized as a worthy being, contributor and artist.
Iíll require the training and validation that further education can provide.
I'll also require your attention and support. Somehow, Iíll gather together
all the credentials needed to be whom I dream to be: She, the woman in
white standing proudly at my window; She, the woman from my youth
who has been watching me with dignity and love all the years. At this

moment, my writing hand holds a blue plastic pen. The pen scratches along
the page leaving dainty little squiggles which form words. I have become fanatical
about the shapes and meanings of those squiggles, and also about the whiteness of
each new page. At 27, I have young eyes, awesome dreams, and a humbled and
aged body. I have shortcomings, faults and stupidities. I have unknowns.
I have everything and nothing all at once. Yet, it is language which

is the thing that so inspires and ignites that Iíll say goodbye to all
other vices should I be blessed with the opportunity to conquer
the ways of its great way. Iíll make this human world
proud. Iíll give my writing, my heart, my soul.
Iíll give and give and give--
to you, to you,
to you.
..
.
.
.


I would like to extend a
special thank you to my brother
Adam, for purchasing this website
for me, and for helping me
in so many ways.

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