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About Literature / Professional Core Member Mel Finefrock26/Female/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 7 Years
4 Week Core Membership
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Newest Deviations

Literature
Anniversary
I've always said
I was grateful
for the fall
that led to
your prodigal hospital visit
because, as you later confessed,
there was no time
to waste.
I found
rebuilding us
was as challenging
as relearning to walk,
but our efforts
were rewarded.
Three years later,
here we are,
trying to live
some approximation
of our dream,
and I'm wondering
where it went wrong.
This time, although
it's not life and death,
I sense
an imminent collapse.
Will you
rise to the occasion,
and will I
recover?
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 17 5
Literature
Star Stuff
Let's say
the future isn't
written in the stars
like Braille, piercing
a celestial canvas
just beyond my reach.
Even if
this cosmic game of marbles
amounts to nothing,
I find
the movements of the Universe
are still
beautiful.
My hope burns blue,
and I will dive into
Spica's cerulean depths
every time.
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 14 11
Literature
Gamble
Some days I persist;
others, I exist
with a tacit acceptance,
a reluctant signature
to renew my lease on life,
hoping
that maybe one day
it'll all change,
that it's not true, what they say
about renters
throwing their money
away.
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 27 5
Literature
Circle of Life
Irony:
ravens converge on roadkill,
nearly become it.
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 9 5
Literature
Empathy in Seven Sentences
You know how fighting so hard to be brave can sometimes turn into being hardened by hardship? Well, when it all fell apart, I finally called my dad crying.
"It would be unfair," he said, his voice clear as day, "for me to claim I fully understand everything you're going through. Because I don't. But I see you, and you have my heart."
Those words broke my own heart, then melted it like alchemy, then rebuilt it piece by puzzle piece. And when it all finally came back together, Jason's healing name was the first to be imprinted on it.
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 10 0
Literature
A Peaceful Vibration
For a cat as gray
as a stormy day,
you became the sun
in your reign
upon a window-sill thrown.
But just so you know, my queen,
you never did camouflage
with my hot pink throw,
except for the feel
of fur on fleece.
Three-fourths of my pillow
was a small price to pay
for your dreamcatcher services,
and every minute spent
awake before my alarm
was worth my being
your personal jungle gym.
I miss
your nightly front-door greetings,
your comforting presence
in my lap,
your artful monologues.
Although you were
in my home for a season,
you’ll be in my heart
for a lifetime.
Thank you for being
a peaceful vibration,
a silver lining,
a gift.
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 10 8
Beckon by hopeburnsblue Beckon :iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 8 3
Literature
Begin Again
Racing drums,
Asia's heartbeat,
echo
in a moonless Texas sky;
lotus tea blooms
until my cup is
full.
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 15 4
Sweet Serenity by hopeburnsblue Sweet Serenity :iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 10 11
Literature
And Yet
Grief
is a boulder
on my chest.
Hope
is my lungs
vying
for each breath.
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 13 9
Literature
We Could Be Timeless
My hope burned blue;
now we shine
rose gold.
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 13 7
Literature
Contrast
My sweet blue Burmese
snuggled on a hot pink throw
thinks she's camouflage.
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 7 3
Literature
Olfactory Memory
1
At Target, my partner and I have gone from grocery shopping to testing fragrances of all things. I never knew what cologne you wore, just that the scent is practically your trademark. I unknowingly pick up a bottle of it and nearly pitch it down the aisle like a glass grenade before he grabs my hand and stops me, reminding me where we are with an unspoken, "you break it, you buy it." I still run as if the fearsome vial might detonate. No, I definitely don't want to buy it. I don't even ask him its name, which will be both a blessing and a curse: I don't want to know, but I will wonder.
2
I'm on a tough call at work. A customer who was angry at first now chatters pleasantly in my ear. I feel proud that I am the reason. I shift from one foot to the other and breathe in, bracing to explain a process to him, and suddenly smell your cologne as a stranger makes his way to the break room. My knees almost buckle, and I grip my cubicle for support. Of course it's not you. When you're a victim
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 8 9
Literature
Open Letters
I. Abandonment
The love knot
threaded between our hearts
seems to have unraveled,
stretching taut
like a kinked muscle
or a guitar string
tuned sharp.
Miles and time zones
never mattered,
but existing together
in the same realm
grew difficult
when I was
persistently
two hours too far
into the future
and you no longer
understood our language
in my calls for help,
spoken and silent.
The rope stretches
farther than I can see,
and I admit I'm too afraid
to follow where it leads.
II. Denial
I never said
you had to choose sides;
I just didn't expect
for you to choose her,
to tell me
that one adult
shoving another
against a wall
was less than abuse--
a sisters' quarrel--
when you of all people
should know what it's like
to fear the next blow,
however unseeingly.
I can't accept it
or tiptoe around it
with polite conversation;
I will not be
fair-weather family.
III. Terrorism
I chose you.
I chose you,
and I thought you chose me.
But you chased me
with words you knew
would destroy me,
no matter
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 8 7
Literature
Smoke Without Mirrors
For me, cigarettes
are rare companions,
but taking a drag
really isn’t a drag—
it’s more like being
adrift.
 
My aura expands
(inhale)
and contracts
(exhale)
until poison
becomes medicine
because sometimes I just
forgethowtobreathe.
 
In smoke without mirrors,
I find myself grounded;
I am the stillness
but still myself,
and I become
one with the darkness
instead of feeling
entrapped by it.
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 9 15
Literature
Himalayan Pink
With our salty skin
in love's afterglow,
we take cleansing breaths
as our blushing bedside lamps
heave hygroscopic sighs.    
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue
:iconhopeburnsblue:hopeburnsblue 8 3

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Poetry



JoyMay life whisper
joy through your veins
before lidding your eyes.
trulyall my luck seemed lost
replaced with hopelessness
"open your hand," he urged
bare, save for my wedding band
he smiled, "for better, for worse"


Driftwood DreamsHope, burning, blew
like driftwood across white beaches
as sunrise breached
the distant horizon line.
Life driftwood on white beaches,
sand sullied calm dreams.
The distant horizon line,
turbulent, wailed a mourning.
Sand sullied calm dreams
like a burden we couldn't shake.
Turbulent, wailing a mourning,
we loosed wishes to the sea.
Like a burden we couldn't shake,
sunrise breached as
we loosed wishes to the sea:
hope burning blue.


Prose



The Ozymandias Principle (Sandbox Jenga)Ginny always had a penchant for destroying things.
At the age of four, she was introduced to blocks (perhaps a devastating mistake on her preschool teacher’s part.) The brightly-colored wooden shapes held a certain fascination for her. While her classmates took a simple childish glee in building things up and knocking them down again, Ginny looked on their ways with disdain. She would carefully create an elaborate structure, and pull out all the key pieces until only a bare framework was left, shivering on the edge of collapse. Then she would tap on just one, or blow on it with her mouth, and the whole skeleton would come crumbling down.
Her parents often commented that if she had been born a decade or two earlier, she could have made a fortune by inventing Jenga. As it was, she was never very good at the game. She didn’t particularly like setting it all up- all she knew was that she had to build it before she could break it.
~
When she was seven, her Sunday school had a pi
The Great RaceI crack my knuckles and touch the ground, stretching my calves the way Olympic runners do before a race. The gravel spikes at my palms; my muscles burn from the stretching. Jogging in place, I breathe in short bursts that form into clouds in the chilly air.
Max paces back and forth next to me, holding a clipboard and waving his pen like a conductor. My body is so full of electricity from the anticipation that I want to slap him as hard as I can just for the sake of letting go of the tension. Instead, I crack my knuckles again, making Max cringe in a satisfying way.
Shaking it off, Max checks his watch before pushing his glasses to the top of his head. “Four minutes,” he says, reading off the clipboard. “The race starts at the fifth period bell. That way, you won’t meet any teachers in the hallways who are running late, but there might be some girls still rushing to class after lunch.” He looks up, scrunching his eyebrows together. “Although I really


The TravelerShe blew in on the last day of summer, arriving just as the wind began, clutching an artist’s portfolio and a hatbox. There was wonder and wisdom in her bright blue eyes, softened by time and crow’s-feet, and a perfect maple leaf the color of flame was caught in her unruly red hair… her perfume hinted of woodsmoke and oak tannins and the spice of faraway, foreign ports. I helped her carry her hatbox from the train station, and when she smiled at me, I knew everything was about to change.
We shared a cab to the little seaside town where we were both staying, there on the cusp of the world; it had long been one of my favorite places, my secret getaway. When life became too stagnant, the city sweltering in summer’s re-radiated heat, I spent a few days on the shore, staring out across the limitless horizon and dreaming of shanghaied sailors and full-bellied canvas tugging the great ships to the Orient, groaning hulls full of timber from forests that once seemed inex

Recognition

Featured Works


LongingMissing you
is forsaking
the cooler side of the pillow
for the side that remembers
the impression of your cheek
and the soft smell of your hair.
It's reveling
in the butterfly thrill
of your gentle embrace,
but aching to close
the Rubin-vase distance
that separates us.
It's the difference between
the sound of your silver Corolla
as you pull to a stop
in my cul-de-sac
and the way it sounds
when you leave.
It's weaving "I love you"
into every word,
every touch,
every song,
short of actually saying it.
But the thing is,
I don't know
how much longer I can go
without saying it.
Miles to Go1
 
“Can you move your leg over the edge of your bed?”
 
Already it’s been roughly two weeks since my rail platform accident. Still I’m bedridden, still my left leg is all plaster and bandages, and already I’m growing dangerously thin by comparison to my usually slim build.
 
I concentrate all of my energy into moving my leg. That’s when the excruciating pain quite literally kicks in, taking the form of a spontaneous muscle spasm.
 
I don’t flash back completely, but my leg does. I feel terrified and am ashamed when I break down crying with childlike abandon. But Jessica doesn’t scold me the way the therapist in the hospital did. Her voice, colored by a hearty Michigan accent, contains realism and optimism in equal measure.
 
“That’s all I need from you today,” she says, placing one hand on my shoulder and one on my leg. “I just wanted to see where you’re at.”
 
“Okay




Accolades

Mel is probably one of the first names new writers on dA come across. Not only is she incredibly kind-hearted and approachable, but she is also a beautiful writer. She is always highlighting hidden gems she discovers in our little literary pool, all while spinning emotionally-charged poetry that spills with honesty.
--DailyLitRecognition

... deserves the Sweetest Deviant Award for her good cheerful demeanor, coupled with an unwavering compassion. Through her powerful writing and her work on and off deviantART, she has been especially good at reaching out to people who struggle with illnesses or "disabilities" to act as a positive influence and offer unconditional kindness so necessary for their emotional well being.
--nightshade-keyblade

... you are fascinating! I really enjoyed your photographs, and I've been trying to figure out what has caught your attention for each scene. I think I can 'understand' the ones where you have arranged objects the best (eg. Even the Broken Have a Song or Dare to Dream) because I see these as compositions that you have carefully manipulated with attention to balance and interaction between objects. It made me imagine you carefully setting the scene. I can see that some of your other photographs have been taken to show the contrast between light and dark and it gives me an idea of the kind of things that catch your attention. :D It's very interesting!
--ToySkunk

Mel is consistently inspiring me--she faces each and every day with a heavy, frightening burden but remains steadfast on her path and is always, always positive and willing to lend others a helping hand or a shoulder to lean on. Mel reminds me, every day, that I am greater than my struggles, and I appreciate and love her immensely for it. Heart
--betwixtthepages

Words to Live By

"The moment that you feel that, just possibly, you're walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself. That's the moment you may be starting to get it right."
--Neil Gaiman

"I have always believed that hope is that stubborn thing inside us that insists, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that something better awaits us so long as we have the courage to keep reaching, to keep working, to keep fighting."
--Barack Obama

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote Whitman, 'Oh me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?' Answer. That you are here--that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"
--The Dead Poet Society

deviantID

hopeburnsblue
Mel Finefrock
Artist | Professional | Literature
United States
In addition to authoring Patchwork Poetry, Mel Finefrock frequents popular blogs including the Mighty, the Huffington Post, and elephant journal. She is also the basis for blind protagonist Janie Jansen in Melissa Foster's Touched by Love. Finefrock enjoys singing and playing guitar, and just about any cup of tea is her cup of tea.

Avatar courtesy of Heltinde
Literature author tag courtesy of lithium-cocoon
Profile picture courtesy of CorbeauTombe

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I feel like I often say this in my journals, but I finally am beginning to feel like heavy burdens are lifting off my shoulders. I've been grieving over people I lost last year, one to death and a handful to betrayal, which sounds dramatic but it's as bad, and as sad, as it sounds; I've been stressing over finances because for the longest time I was bringing in our main source of income, which in turn was placing a strain on my relationship with my partner; the list went on. But I've been being a lot better about talking through my feelings, even when it's ugly and I sound like a broken record. Obviously I've been more of a closed book online, but I promise I'm getting it taken care of.

I had another fall. In train tracks. Like, blindie, get away from them, right? But I've got to get to work somehow. This situation had a far different premise (I was crossing tracks instead of walking alongside them) and was thankfully less severe, but still potentially life-threatening since a train was on its way. I merely strained some tendons in my ankle and was able to rehabilitate myself within three weeks, thanks to all the therapy I went through last time. But still, it's disheartening. Makes me feel like I can never be quite sure of my safety. I'm talking with DART about enhancing certain aspects of their rail crossings to improve safety. They're compliant, so no ADA hullaballoo, but I have some ideas that might make people's lives better and safer.

On the bright side, Jordan is now also working at State Farm. I referred him. After training, he'll be handling auto claims along the same lines I do, but he'll be serving licensed states down South whereas I work with unlicensed states up North. Hopefully at one point we'll have a similar enough shift that he can leave his car at home and we can both ride the train, especially since it's just one stop down anyway. But he came to visit me at my cube the other day, and I just got so excited. I've made some really great friends there, but with the constant go-go-go atmosphere and the fact that teams often move, my friends aren't people I get to see every day. So it's lifted my morale to have him around, even if for just a few minutes at a time. In turn, I'll be able to mentor him as he learns claims, and really, he already has a nice edge with all the claims stories I've told him and the counsel I gave him while he shopped for new auto insurance.

In other news, part of the reason I've been MIA is because I've been reading. A lot. Like, I'm over halfway toward my goal of reading 75 books this year. I've really been fighting to make my assistive software work with Goodreads, and it's paid off. I commune there both as an author and as a reader, so if we're not already friends, hit me up. Right now I'm introducing Jordan to the Ranger's Apprentice series since he's never read it before. Crystal-Magic13 got me hooked on it when she sent the audiobooks to me on a thumb-drive as a part of a care package while I was recovering from my rail platform accident in 2014. Re-reading the audiobooks has been really fun (and bonding) for Jordan and me.

Art News You Can Use

:iconheartblueplz: Check out my latest publication, "How Writing Poetry Helps in My Journey Toward Accepting Blindness," on the Mighty.

:iconheartlightblueplz: Submit resistance-themed writing or artwork to Opaline, a new Texas-based publication welcoming diversity (deadline May 1).

:iconheartblueplz: Enter Pen 2 Paper, a worldwide creative writing contest for people with disabilities hosted by the Coalition of Texans with Disabilities (deadline September 5).

Gems Unearthed

woodedrecorded
in the rings of the trees
         wolfsong


eclipse     starfrost
on the rim of the moon
     melting


salidaalluring Venus
with the waxing crescent moon
a winter tango
-----------------
the wolf-moon crescent 
has swept Venus off her feet
Mars waits to cut in


10: VernalI am the equinox.
I pull the stars towards me at
465 meters per second,
grasping and gasping -
basking
in the radiance.
I sit,
wide-eyed child,
bewildered by the wild
wildernesses
of a hundred billion stars,
and I look and I look and I
fall with wonder into their
pinpricks dabbling my skin,
and I can feel them inside me.
If I close my eyes,
I can see the colors blooming within,
and the nebulae have rained down
into the flowers crinkled
between my toes.
I breathe in the universe balanced,
teetering on the tip
of an exhalation.
I am ready for the light.


4: On the Sound of RainThere are windchimes
singing
as raindrops ghost past them –
the serenade for the fog
that the trees have pulled close to their bark.
The hushed regality
speaks to the heartbeat of the earth;
this is a time to breathe
in time with the clouds,
as they sigh and wistfully
rest wishes
on the ground below.
And the forest smells of renewal,
the clean coolness
following the distant cracks of thunder,
and closer by,
the pavement echoes
the sylvan petrichor.
Nature’s lullaby
subdues passerby
and worries hang suspended,
kneaded away by the rain.


a god overcompensatesA god
spoke loud
and created
measured
fractions
of voice
into the
mountain
sides.
A breath
became hill
and roar
became
canyon
and cry
became
ocean
floor.
Proving
might
still
creates
spaces
to
hide.


savoringtaste of her lip gloss
still lingers from their last kiss
tea is left to cool


Inside OutInside Out
NaPoWriMo 2017 (Year 2, Poem 16 of 30)
April 16, 2017
She has been noticing
how you fit with such innate
snugness into every aspect
of her life, and how wonderful
you feel wrapped closely in
her arms. It's the little things
about you that get her by,
how even on the coldest
of nights, you still warm
her from the inside out.


24: Silver LiningAgain
the rainy night
reflects my mood
but you
are the glistening
of light
on the puddles.


8: 60 Beats per MinuteEvery
second
there is love
flowing through my veins –
the rhythm of
compassion surpassing
the thought of self.
The same boundless light
that radiates from your heart
lays the downbeat gentle
upon mine,
and you and I weave an
iridescent duet.
Our laughter chimes
along the brook by the covered bridge,
and within the chorus
of a summer nighttime breeze,
and through the music of our lives.
You are a masterpiece,
golden gossamer glowing
around the hands that bring harmony
to humanity,
and diamonds gracing
the center of your soul.
You are the melody
I hear in my heartstrings,
the very staff
upon which I am written.
So play on, maestro –
the concert is just beginning.


25: CorncobsWe needed a respite from the rain
and so we explored the
dimples on each other's
faces with fingertips that fit
perfectly in the
curve beneath your smile
and we basked in the quietness
of the wind stilling the night
and stirring the rafters above
and we talked of anything
and laughed at the
simplicity
of the kernels of joy
tickling our hearts.


Odds and EndsA cup is just a cup
until it's the last cup that she touched,
and a car
is just a way from a to b
until it's the way that she arrived
at z.
A picture in a frame
is lovely to see, even if only ever viewed
in the background, passively,
but when the image
locks in place
the last smile on her face
then your grief turns to regret
for the memory
trapped beneath the glass.
An old pair of slippers,
tucked neatly beside the door,
stepping over
every time you cross the threshold,
until the day
when you have to toss those old things away
and they are as heavy as anchors
and more treasured
than diamond.
A scent that fills your head,
the comfort of a familiar figure and
a warm embrace,
but when you can no longer detect it's fragrance,
it becomes a mystery
impossible to solve,
a memory lost to time
like the ghost of a kiss
lost somewhere among the rest.
A name is just a name
until it's torn from the tongue and carved
into the stone,
and a dream
is a just a thing between the nigh


(too). You always wear your heart
on your sleeve, in your eyes,
in your fingers, in your smile,
in your footsteps,
but I cried my heart
into my stomach,
so I had to throw it up,
and you are done searching
the dregs for my good intentions,
and I am done denying
the panic in my veins, I am
going to let them b r e a t h e,
and maybe that will aerate
my arms enough to show you,
me, everyone,
that my heart is on my sleeve
(too).


Patchwork StrollFingerprints of scarlet smear into gold,
an invitation to come back home.
Sunshine exploding through shadow trees,
overflow reflecting back from singing waters,
known for hiding smiles and stars in their memory.
It's like opening a window as a bird wings aside,
calling a greeting as you open your eyes.
Unexpectedly familiar, and newly grown into.
Someone left the crayons out in the rain. Don't forget the umbrella.


trillif the caged bird sings to release its restless soul
to the soaring freedom of the wandering winds
would it hold its tongue and close its throat 
were it to know its spirit would be plucked from the air
by an ear hungry for harmony
swiftly captured and held dear and deep 
within a heart yearning for solace
where it would be locked up in a chest 
treasured as a precious rarity forever
or would it still sing


XXOO,
M
  • Listening to: James Arthur - Recovery

Comments


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:iconlordbaumeister:
LordBaumeister Featured By Owner Apr 14, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fav! :)
Reply
:iconhopeburnsblue:
hopeburnsblue Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2017  Professional Writer
Certainly. :meow:
Reply
:iconcrystal-magic13:
Crystal-Magic13 Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Reply
:iconhopeburnsblue:
hopeburnsblue Featured By Owner Mar 24, 2017  Professional Writer
I like! Thanks for sharing. :heart:
Reply
:iconithaswhatitisnt:
ithaswhatitisnt Featured By Owner Feb 13, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Happy Valentine's Day, Mel! :tighthug: :heart: :iconloveyouplz: I'm sorry I haven't been super active lately, but I want you to know I love our friendship and thank you, for all the times you've been so supportive.  You're my hero. :heart: 
Reply
:iconhopeburnsblue:
hopeburnsblue Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2017  Professional Writer
Thank you for the thoughtful note, Catherine. I feel the same way. Many thanks for your friendship and support. :love: :iconsweethugplz:
Reply
:icondreamsinstatic:
dreamsinstatic Featured By Owner Jan 18, 2017
Thanks for the :+fav:
Reply
:iconhopeburnsblue:
hopeburnsblue Featured By Owner Jan 20, 2017  Professional Writer
Of course! Have a happy weekend. :)
Reply
:iconnamco-nintendofan-88:
Namco-NintendoFan-88 Featured By Owner Edited Aug 27, 2016  Student Traditional Artist
HAPPY belated 'n 26th BIRTHDAY, but once again, Melissa Raye Finefrock, a.k.a. "hopeburnsblue," dear pro literaturist, musician, singer, songwriter, composer, 'n guitarist gal! Hug
Singing Singing Singing Singing Dance! Dance! Boogie! Boogie! Party Airborne

Remember the two anime (Haruhi-chan 'n Mikuru) muro drawings I just made for you last year, dear literaturist 'n musician friend? :) (Smile) Heart
Good luck from yesterday, beautiful, and I hope you had a great b-day!
Also wishing you as a pro keep up the good work on all awesome literature writings, music 'n composing songs; I love 'em! ;) :heart:
Thumbs Up Pringles Have your cake and eat it too Yummy pie!

You can also subscribe to my YouTube channel:
www.youtube.com/user/arremacho…

You can also follow me on Google+:
plus.google.com/10736109626351… :googleplus:

Comments by:
Nelson C. [my real name],
"N.N.F.88"
12:55 A.M.
Los Angeles, CA ;) (Wink)
Reply
:iconhopeburnsblue:
hopeburnsblue Featured By Owner Aug 28, 2016  Professional Writer
Thank you, Nelson! :D
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