All Writing & Art, Poetry. Prose. Letters.

the anxiety that holds

i'm wondering where this life starts and where it ends. is it somewhere between the inhale of a sharp breath and the wilting of a leaf, or drowning in exhales while the sun gives rise to a new day? it sometimes feels like the world will come to a crashing end if i don't solve… Continue reading the anxiety that holds

All Writing & Art, Poetry. Prose. Letters.

a life called survival

i didn't ask to be taken like that, all young, innocent and easily-broken into any mold of life they offered or insisted upon. i never wanted to be shaped to become the easy play-thing they desired, on any given day. i didn't change to make life harder for you, or for them, or for me.… Continue reading a life called survival

All Writing & Art, Poetry. Prose. Letters.

In the Mirror (my worst days)

This is what it feels like on my worst days. This is what I see in the mirror when my ptsd/trauma/depression/anxiety/abuse memory is taking a firm grip.  I created this partly during a moment of feeling all this, partly while sitting outside of the feeling, observing it. But I put it to one side in… Continue reading In the Mirror (my worst days)

All Writing & Art, Poetry. Prose. Letters.

travelling through space {a poem}

i've been filling myself up for years  with anything that can let me live under the illusion that i do not feel empty.   because feeling it means acknowledging just what was taken from me, leaving a void so vast i could get lost in the darkness if i let myself.   there's no gravity… Continue reading travelling through space {a poem}

All Writing & Art, Poetry. Prose. Letters.

a portrait of self

you are the universe fire and ash, water and cloud. complex matter and definite miracle, you are sunlight and stardust, moonbeams and magic. creation shines through you, even in the shadow of your darkest night. all majesty and mayhem, horror and heaven, embodied through your stirring spirit. rainbow colour projects from your blistering blaze, burning… Continue reading a portrait of self

All Writing & Art, Poetry. Prose. Letters.

truth.

  There is a longing within. It sits somewhere between desire and pain.  It dances with me, Twisting and twirling around the loops of my veins.  It knows how to pull me into deep despair and then quickly leads me to blackened paradise.  It grows, quickly, like a seedling reaching for the light, Touching with… Continue reading truth.