Whoever said “love don’t cost a thing” lied Cause, when you Add up the broken heart of the whole With each shatter, fragment multiply the tolls Combine that with every tear shed Factor in every hollow word Then increase all the confusion Triple it with empty promises Double the dimensions of deceit The ache plus infinity Credit now ruined Love equals debt April is National Poetry Month, and for the 30 days of April, I will write a poem each day.
thief Whose hands are these? thief Hands that furiously stole my words thief Hands that clawed at my larynx thief My words have been abducted thief Debarked by jealousy thief Hands that choked my voice box thief Hands that lack trust thief Hands that live a lie thief Hands that misappropriated speech thief Those envious hands taunt me thief Hands that assume I lay in defeat thief, Defenseless I will never be Silent? Maybe when I sleep The modus operandi is never retreat Reclaiming what’s mine . . . One syllable at a time. April is National …
Power Less Appearing, Disappearing, then re-appearing Unmasking Unraveling converting sound waves into electrical energy Appearing every syllable a simile comparing violations Disappearing, to passionate hate-filled words yelled lightly Unraveling stolen voices false accusations Unmasking lessening the ability power restored, brightly April is National Poetry Month, and for the 30 days of April, I will write a poem each day.
in·ev·i·ta·ble inˈevidəb(ə)l/ adjective certain to happen; unavoidable 31 days into the new year, I have lost my grandmother, a lover, stable living accommodations, and a sense of security. I have found myself fluctuating between two extremes one that binds me and keeps me grounded to one that keeps me spinning uncontrollably. This rhythm is a damaging truth, and as I continue to cycle, I find myself feeling alone because everything that I believed in, trusted in, and held on to as certainty, isn’t. 20,160 minutes into this new season I’ve actively been working towards the pursuit of higher education. As …
I have bee present 13,515, breathing for roughly 1,167,696,980 seconds. 37, is the number of years it took me to understand that we are all imperfectly searching for perfection. Perfection is merely a concept created by an unknown source, for unexplainable reseasons. In my aimless search perfection, I recognize, no such reality exists. In honor of my time on this earth, I had the high privilege to close out my final days of age 36 in Shanghai, China. With the good fortune to be a guest of an incredible friend, Ika and their wonderful father (it is here that I will …
A few posts ago, I asked readers to stick with me while I wrote through my grieving process. Today, I’m writing through that discomfort. The past year can be marked by paralyzed vocal chords, screaming out words that vibrate only within me. It’s deafening. My re-entry into society after six months of intentional disconnect strongly affected my emotions. Shortly after relocating to Georgia, I was attacked by a housemate. As a child abuse survivor who has since become an example of recovery and hope, I hid all evidence of the event. In my case, of course, that meant avoidance, evading …
