When I was younger, my mother used to call me “Eeyore.” Everywhere I went, I would carry this lonely, black raincloud and let it pour over me until my mood was as grey as the droplets hitting me in the face. “Don’t be such an Eeyore,” she would say, “things will always get better.” “I’m… Read More Raincloud

The Green

Envy, Runs wild through my veins, Sweet, And sour. I am filled to the brim, Steaming and screaming at the top of my lungs, Tip me over, Pour me out, Better still, Just tip me damn it. Every penny pinched, Every dollar earned will soon burn, Holes in my pockets, Holes in my heart, More,… Read More The Green