Joined: 26 Dec, 2018
Charges for services: No
I sincerely try to write what I know. I'm from a town of less than a 100 people. I live in KC but those real, small town, rural roots shape my writing and thought process. I do write some rock when the mood strikes.
This Is Me I am a worn and faded Dekalb seed hat I am a rusted out truck bed I am a vacant school where students sat I am golden wheat stock head I am the hell of summers heat I am the bite of winters breath I am the wave from each car you meet I am a dying towns last breath When The Wine Talks Whisper, so I feel your breath Just you, just me and the sheets left Close, but not close enough Been away all day, got missed time to make up I don't want to think I don't want to rush I don't want to hear What the world thinks about us Farm Boy Dust, dirt and mud taken from the land all that we're made of he sifts through his hand It's where it all began And where it all will end shaping this kind of man before the dust catches him