Miranda Arocho > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

Revealed self.

From which our dogma dies.

Believe it, because it's true.

It's gross.

Sincere love poem.

Something vile yet poetic.

Some guy at the bookstore

What is reality?

When a man lightly runs his fingers over sprinkled anticipationStrewn warmth on the freckles of one’s emotionLonging for contact, his heart migh..

This isn't propaganda or even theory. Just thoughts that rhyme.