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Up Before Eight

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I was first taught to knit when I was eight years old / By a teacher during a bout of indoor recesses / One particularly snowy winter / When I decided I was too old for my blankie / I reworked it into a small stuffed animal / Many birthdays were spent enjoying / The (now defunct) Craft Museum in NYC / With my Grandmother / Planning, executing, and gifting / My fascination / With colors and words and how the human body works / Cookies and cakes / Staying up late and Early risers / Handmade objects / My own natural resourcefulness / Mixed with inspiration / From generations of individuals who have crafted / Creation has always felt like home. 

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All I said was "I think I'm meant to be a writer.' And the tears just started falling. I cried like a mother whose heart is breaking because her son told her he's going to go off and be an artist. Cry

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Like a sitting duck We are prey We are not human Humanity is for those who pray My existence is contingent on enduring the pain of the unspoken rules My life matters less because they say so My rights

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Thanks for your interest in my rambling writing and other endeavors. For more information, feel free to get in touch and I will get right back to you.

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