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
Tag: word witch
-
will you accept this payment
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?
-
I made art
I couldn’t decide which one I liked better but I do think it’d make a good sticker design 
My truth is that tomorrow’s my birthday which makes me both happy and sad. -
The body is sacred: a poem
There may be meaning to taking quick steps; walking in circles; making loops again and again.
Our cells beg, they want acts of devotion radical care for the complex systems which make up a body.
Our brain may resist, asking for stimulation, crying for satisfaction.
For so long, you caved.
Now you see light at the end of the tunnel. You know wisdom comes from your chest…your beating heart…your pumping blood. It’s drumbeat that sounds the call of your soul; you’re never-ending vibration. -
For when moments slip through fingers like sand
a poem written yesterday
in a hurry
because everything felt fleeting
But that’s okay
Each second is a molecule
Slowly moving past my
Point of perception
We do what we can
White-knuckle
Grip on reality
Try not to let
The whirlwind yank us free
But maybe it’d be better
If we just let go. -
Keep trying
A poem on staying alive and present in a heart-shattering world. Every night I take a walk around sunset, and I almost always take photos of what I see to remember the moments that remind me of the interconnectedness of all things. It’s a reminder that we are all god, and all the space between all things is god, and at our basic level, we are all the same. As a recovering addict, it can be hard to witness this world that sees children and people dying and suffering in unjust ways. The moment I feel my cells buzzing with the call of brothers and sisters all across this planet, I know I am alive…if just for now. And I can keep going. And I will keep trying.
Starmoth Press 