i can’t believe im doing this. but start here.

it’s a saturday night, and my television blasts sound loud enough to match the modulating thoughts growing in my mind. earlier today, being social and sassy on the “Speechless” songwriters internet (that’s Beyoncé), a friend from the internets (@blackguynextdoor, @bighandy) asked me if I was a writer, and behind the keys, I choked.

am I a writer? fuck no, but I’ve written plenty of things.

I’ve written things my entire life, and I wrote them well. but considering myself a writer felt a bit bold, basically. beyond the imposter syndrome, it was a turnkey type of chat that led me here. so here I am. moved in. sharing my shit, the writing. in my writing space, you can expect journal entries, old writings from important facets of my life, to more traditional blog-bound and boring posts. either way, it's a chance to capture and see me in written form.

while here, be gentle. I'm an artist, and im sensitive about my shit.

am i a writer? fuck yes, so I’ll write plenty of things.