Woman

Like my mother before me, I was made to create. And only I decide What kind of beauty I will imagine. Poem by J. Grace

A Soul

A house is bare without a garden and what am I but the combination of parts. Some flowers can grow in the darkest of corners, the roots of natural machines in the ground, only visible when a light awakens curiosity. What is it really that defines us? A body is bare without a soul and