Starmoth Press

a diary of words, paper and other ephemeral things

Tag: word witchery

  • 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?

  • The Tarot Diaries: Temperance

    Read the essay

  • 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.

  • Writing hymns to autumn

    And looking for the signs

  • 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.

  • Wild woman journal

    New Substack essay

  • Animal: A poem

    If you enjoy this poem, you can follow for more on Instagram at starmothwrites

  • A poem for the home

  • enough

    Contemplating the essay for this week: why do we tell ourselves our art isn’t enough? why do we shame ourselves for creating something that is valuable to ourselves but perhaps no one else? How can we transmute that feeling and show up anyways?

  • Suddenly I’m writing poetry everyday

    And it’s been years since I’ve been able to do that. Going to keep sharing because if my other creative practices have taught me anything, it’s that I enjoy sharing my creations. It makes me feel like a kid again.

    A winter spell
    Speaking of feeling like a kid again…