Writing can be hard for me, but I feel compelled to continue. To find thoughts that draw pictures and sentences that explain thoughts. To offer intrigue, comfort, and hope. To trigger memories. Maybe sometimes sadness and traumas. Because all of these make up and include life. Astounding and compelling life. The same life that we give thanks for. -Mandy Ricks
I began to write poems when I was a child. Late at night, in bed, alone with my pen.
My mother and her partner would drunkenly fight and I would write about horses and sunshine.
-Mandy Ricks
To me, you are simply one of those gorgeous things that was made
to do what it does perfectly, and to last, as almost nothing does, forever.
Listen to me or not, it matters little. I’m not trying to be wise. I’m a mere reflection of your dreams. -Mandy Ricks
Fall: Where summer’s promises start to break as fast as they were made.
Regrets cling like early evenings watching the sun say goodbyes.
The heat of day starts turning to a dark coolness promising more.
Have we really aged as much as our hearts feel worn or is it just another summer gone in a pile of selfies and beach days?
See you again next year.
