That is my baby,
my passion,
my child.

It came fighting from inside me.

So what if its not always pretty.

I never clamied it would be pure.

Its just my baby.

Parts of my heart,
thrown in with an over active imagination,
teased by ADD.

It never sleeps, my baby.

Fickle and bi-polar is he.

But, this is my baby

my baby, my thrown up debris.

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