I wear a butterfly on my pocket—not for decoration, but as a symbol. Of grace. Of hope. Of the light that found me when I thought I'd never be seen again. Ask me about it, and I'll tell you a story that begins in the woods behind a graveyard… and ends with a key to my own front door.

sharp imagery, soft strength, and that signature Gubbe spark..... UNBECOMING THE OLD ME - WHAT A PRETTY THING TO SEE !!

“And that was when I heard the music… of all my Loved Ones, Dear, spirit-side friends, who subtlety guide me here Who hold my heart when I am not able To keep from falling apart on the floor…”

a special poem; written off the dome/freestyled, of course! I talk about the resillience of my loving heart and how it seems the harder it is to continue to love... the harder i seem to love. ironic yes yet also so perfect - just as if it were meant to be this way... i supppose, it was and is... hope you enjoy this peek into my uncensored heart and mind space!