Life’s changed for me, working towards acceptance that I’m turning officially 50, a number I never thought I’d reach. So, I’ve decided that it’s time to come to terms with what’s vexing me lately…aging. My desires once so vibrant feel stagnant. My face has changed, and my brain feels like I’m cheating by not revealing truth.

The more AI takes control, the more I refuse to relinquish mine…

I’m a writing recluse who spends too much time pondering how wrong the world feels, how hopeless I am to stop the stupid, and how my 18 year old in college and my six year old will have to pay for all the shit blowing up right now.

I suffer from social anxiety, yet I can be the life of a party. I’m an oxymoron, two opposing sides at all times, never judging but always observing what should be the right, nevertheless knowing I might be wrong.

I could NEVER have fathomed a more “bad disaster movie” reality at the beginning of the end of my life.

I’m here, shuttering in my place, learning this new face, the past suppressed by irrelevance. High in the mirror I think, “Does the one called GOD love or hate in choosing this fate?”

Compelled to unveil myself and be FREE, I’ve decided to expose a picture of little old me…

but beware I’m REAL, NOT A FANTASY.

(Obviously, writing erotic poetry is a naughty secret I keep;)