You must stand up. Show the inner self. Destroy the pieces that feed. Be the fear. Feel an exhale. Yielding excuses. Go In To.

Reach high to die. For space to release. Knowing the hand planted a stay. Charge a walk. Then run. Turn a cheek that waits. For it is the lines to refine. 

Charter the tower that locks. Voyage tears to lace that holes a gather. Beckon the withered and trust it’s continue. Oh what we could become at the last 10 mark? Where 90 had once been lost. 

Fabrics are like books left unread a story never mattering because we never made time.

What are we if we just believed in the messages we preach to others? In the studio with order and joy.

Love longs to hold you if you would make up your mind. Special fabrics carried back from my adventures in Bacolod Philippines on an NGO livelihood project.

There she stands asking for a dance, so I write my name on a card and say let us go.