A poem about the smells of sf

San Francisco smells like nail polish and piss

A poem for the old ladies of San Francisco

I see you and I know you are there

Even though the buses don’t have ramps to help you up

I will hold your hand

You nourished this city in your arms

You were there when it wasn’t this warm

Fifty years back during the summer of love

You were on hippie hill

And i retrace your footsteps every day

The weed is stronger now

But the wind is still swift

Blowing smoke into our ey

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Taron Hensley is a Pedophile.

Nine months later I emerge with the hopes of being vaccinated soon. FUcking hell. What a trip. This pandemic is going to require a lot of processing in the future but for now, I want to share and record some things I am very proud that I accomplished over this period of time. I was able to help start and run a campaign to eventually get my high school drama teacher who spread the rumor that I called the cops at a cast party which ruined my social life at that school while stalking me and my friends and constantly trying to get me in compromising and damn disgusting and gross situations. His charm to his superiors and the gaslighting and abuse of students has been heavily weighing on me in a way I have yet to fully deal with. I spoke out in high school and was silenced, threatened, and made to feel unwelcome. Yet the internet and living in a whole separate continent does wonders for confidence. I helped create a petition, gathered testimonies, and launched this campaign with my friends

Rainy Night Writing

There is something quite different about writing when it is raining outside than when it isn't. I despise my frozen toes and fingers, yet I love drinking chocolate almond milk with banana bread. It seems almost enchanting, like creativity is plopping on your rooftop. Writing in the rain, so odd. Writing in the rain It is like laughing during a thunder cloud, in perfect harmony with nature, rhyming and paralleling the weather, writing in the rain, creativity pours from you, as you hear the pitter patter, you wonder where the drops will all go, writing in the rain, a clean slate to begin again, a downpour of ideas, soon to come again, I love writing in the rain.

Outfits of Late Winter, and Early Spring

I hope you liked them!

Project Rainbow

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