As welcoming gifts they present me with a chocolate-frosted cupcake, a card with a blue cave troll on it, and a paper bracelet with a pink shiny heart.
At the moment there's only anger, a razor sharp focus that admits no sense or compassion.
"Never enough" are the words I use to bludgeon all my efforts.
The dog, when she isn't curled up on my lap, makes for a good armrest.
When I sense that I'm being pressured to conform I resist on instinct, even before I'm able to articulate why.
Music blooms out of the dusty speakers.
Four branches bearing different leaves (star shaped yellow, oval green) meet across a light blue sky.