by Margaret Beaver (Author)

she was not birthed; she was forged. she climbed the tower of her shattered remnants and piece by piece, she reinvented. society taught her to think in black and white; the universe taught her to dream in color. she doesn't need air; she needs to want to breathe. and this is her placing her soul in your hands. this is her realizing she may be a single tree in this world of wilderness, but she is mighty green indeed.

this is inkwells.

wipe your feet off at the door.