a diary of words, paper and other ephemeral things
I know you’re upset
But here
I carved a space
In my heart
Meet me there
We’ll have tea
Not too strong
So we can still
go to bed early
We’ll talk about the
meaning of
Our matching fingerprints
You scribble tears on your face
With blue crayon
They fall, rain from your cheeks
Splash into your cup
Allow me to drink it for you
It’s been long enough
You don’t have to do this alone
Episode five of the podcast Living Practice is live 💕 catch it here or find it on your favorite podcast platform.
Bald eagle
circles with
two vultures
tending to death
like the
carcass of a deer
or the
decay of a nation
threads of being
curl through every cell
of this body
arms chest heart
opening like a flower
crying nectar at the
sunrise
penetration of light
both
pleasure and
pain
tended the garden of this mind
brains weren’t extraordinary
I cling to the title:
gifted
press the label onto my shirt
hand lingers above my breast
delusion
the tag tied round my toe in the morgue
it’s all I ever was…until, you know
I wasn‘t
plummeting grades, marks don’t matter
blackout nights, herded by strangers
bra stuffed with money
and tear-stained fights
this body became
the sacrifice;
payment on the altar of
expectation
color me surprised
you roll your eyes
not impressed
tell me this
is it enough yet?
The Tarot Diaries segment on the four of cups is now live. Swipe through the photos for previews of what I dive into 💚
Below is my sticker design for Care Mail Club. Sign ups are $11 to receive a sticker, zine and original artwork…and sometimes extra goodies 😜 check it out on my ko-fi.
The sticker shone below was from last month’s club mail. it’s available for $3 on ko-fi.
AI trained on human souls
yet their words taste like
pink plastic left
in the sun too long
I’d like to think I can tell
when words don’t have a body
like scraping the knee
on the playground asphalt
or bumping the funny bone
or drinking water underneath
scorching sun
Where it began: stilt houses
Skeletal remains emerging
from algae-green pools
Awe blooming at heart level
for faded places, forgotten
I whisper “thank you for open eyes”
now I lovingly see
crooked barns
crumbling factories
boarded-up businesses
debris piles left behind
wild-torn houses
places hold people, hold stories…
and now no one is left
to tend to these places,
they were once a flurry of
motion, aliveness, everyday mundanity
now no one bothered
to even tear them down
burn remains
memorialize their time here
honor what was
12:34
while my daughter screams
“I’M SO LUCKY”
she found a quarter on the porch
I think about
rollerblading because
I don’t remember ever
deciding to stop
my son wants to eat a whole
pizza for lunch
the porch door is open
I lay on the couch
as that’s what I usually do
I’ve bought so many
books and courses
hoping to learn how to do things
placing my trust
in anyone’s hands but
my own
I will be linking the newsletter archive here to avoid having to publish both places. No subscription is required, but it’s always appreciated!
The Tarot Diaries, my 78-week project has had me delving deeper than I anticipated, much faster than expected. In today’s post I share about self-identity, the myth of Narcissus, the cloudy depths of the subconscious, dealing with the throes of sobriety and memory loss. Trigger warnings are listed at the beginning of the essay. It’s a vulnerable one folks.
Starmoth Press 