is that I didn’t make the pop-up market, due to debilitating anxiety; i don’t berate myself because that’s what any underground artist would do: not be there in person, but in spirit (Scorch the tattered memories like so many dry rose petals to a single dancing flame.).
I haven’t made art in days, it seems. I touched it yesterday, but tonight I must write.
i don’t know if i will publish this post, but i’m writing it.
A voice I have forgotten calls me down Memory Lane… A trip I should cherish, never to be forgotten. it says, “Jenn- are you awake yet?”
i answer, “i don’t know anymore.”
“Good.” The answer came back sudden and satisfied. Who is writing these words, she wondered. Feels so familiar, like the back of my hand…
The dashingest truth lies but beneath the crest of my veil.
Love,
like a whippon, whippon,
whipporwhill blows.
Choose wisely, ageless one.
ever&always<3~
these truths are the voices inside my head.
Lightworkers, we muster truth from the nonsense, and on, on, on we go!
The Naturalist Fine Art 
Thoughts?