By Shertease Wheeler: I submerge my hands in the dirt and gravelto root myself; to know myself again.Every second I'm alive, it's a constant battle.Fighting myself and fighting them, I may not ever win. I suffer, then bare my everything to the mystical,words into the darkness; releasing spiritual toxins.But the anger remains, red as rage,... Continue Reading →
Metamorphosis of days
By Shertease Wheeler: I surf on the crowded trains, steady, to keep from falling into the abyss of grime. I weave, like a threaded needle, in and out of human traffic taking care of caution and aware of time. I sit and stare into the blank souls of strangers, wondering of their most secretive thoughts Then... Continue Reading →