A very acceptable ratio of trash to treasure.

  • The Light of You

    Your roots
               grew slowly
          in the soil
             of my heart
    breaking through
          the clay
              and the rock

    Finding nourishing water
          and gentle warmth
    in the harshness
         that never allowed
             anything grow

    You made
          the earth
    soft
          and yielding

          Now flowers bloom there,
    tentative but determined,
      nurtured by the light
           you carried in.

  • Rest and Rot

    Autumn whispers
    a cool breath threaded
    in the summer air.

    It croons
    softly
    of rest
    and rot

    And gently caresses
    the first leaves
    from the weary
    branches

    Ripe apples
    hang heavy
    hints of red in the sunlight
    that filters through the boughs
    of the old apple tree

    Bruising as they fall,
    landing dull
    against the soil

    The cool wind
    breathes soft tales
    of the turning season
    and lingers gently
    against my skin —

    the arms
    of a welcoming ghost
    that draws me ever nearer.

  • Hope

    What do you love about where you live?

    I love the way
    we try to care for one another;

    the little free pantries
    on street corners
    stocked with cans and jars
    that fill the bellies
    of hungry schoolchildren.

    Volunteers leaning over
    steaming pots of curry
    and spaghetti,
    serving their neighbors
    who wait with tired eyes.

    We carry each other
    when we are broken,
    offering a shoulder
    even when our own hearts ache.

    The map of this city
    is drawn with kindness.

    You can see it
    in the dandelions
    reaching for the sun
    from cracks in the sidewalk,

    and in the hands that reach out –
    because hope lives,
    heavy and real,
    in their open palms.

  • Unready

    Create an emergency preparedness plan.

    plastic in our blood
    and lead in our brains.

    fascists scream
    that the color of your skin
    makes you better
    (but only if you’re
    white as the smog
    that chokes the skyline).

    children starve
    and piles of food rot
    in supermarket dumpsters.

    politicians bomb babies
    while wringing their hands
    helplessly–

    like it had to be done.

    white nationalism
    poisons the airwaves
    and strangles
    our hearts.

    prove your gender
    before you’re allowed to piss
    or bleed out
    on the floor.

    tradwives
    croon about obedience
    and sourdough,

    while they erase our rights

    and call it freedom.

    water jugs stocked in the closet,
    a generator hums.

    but–

    i
    don’t
    think
    a
    go
    bag

    will

    save

    me.

  • Scented Candles

    What is a word you feel that too many people use?

    I am so tired of the term “self-care”, it tastes wrong in my mouth. It has been stripped of any actual meaning, sanitized and sold back to us as scented candles – or worse, as things we need for survival. Showering, brushing your teeth, or changing your clothes are just necessary, not a luxury.

    Self-care isn’t a few minutes of quiet with a face mask that smells like cucumber. Real self-care requires actual time, effort and intention. It’s finding moments to belong, express ourselves, and truly engage with others – things we rarely get in a capitalist society.

    Real self-care is radical. It’s not pretty or vanilla scented.

  • Peace Breathes

    What brings you peace?

    For me
    peace breathes–

    in the gentle blossoms in my garden,
    the hum of bumblebees,

    and the heat of the sun
    kissing my neck.

  • Eidolon

    If you were going to open up a shop, what would you sell?

    Sunlight spills through the big, bright windows of the shop, sparkling on the little jars that line the shelves. Each one is labelled in the shop owner’s careful print: “A Sweet Dream” is written on one jar; the contents swirl iridescent in the afternoon light. Another, “A Nightmare” – the contents bubble and swirl, dark and somehow foreboding like fog pooling at your feet.

    The shop owner looks as old as time, her fingers gnarled like the branches of ancient trees. She reaches for a small, glass container then turns to look at you — eyes sharp and blue as sapphires, darkening despite the brightness of the little apothecary.

    “I have just the dream for you,” she murmurs, her voice somewhere between a lullaby and a low growl.

    She cradles a tear shaped decanter in her hands, marked with a single word – “Forgotten.”

  • 12 Years

    You turned 12 today
    my bright, amazing,
    hilarious child.

    You bring so much
    beauty into the world —
    with your kindness,
    your art,
    the distinct
    you-ness no one else
    possesses.

    I am in awe
    of the way
    you care so fiercely —
    how your heart
    has blossomed
    to hold
    so much love.

    You’ve become
    so brave,
    your voice
    so incredibly strong.

    It’s such a wonder
    to witness
    you.

    Happy birthday, baby.

  • Seen

    What change, big or small, would you like your blog to make in the world?

    I’m not really sure what impact my writing will have on the world; for the most part, this blog consists of me screaming into the void as I untangle the complex parts of being human while trying to still be soft.

    Best case scenario? Someone reads what I write and it touches them in some way.

    Maybe it makes them feel less alone.

    Maybe they recognize themselves in my words and maybe they breathe in that moment of being seen.

  • In Another Universe

    Describe your life in an alternate universe.

    In another universe,
    the world is softer,
    more kind.

    I grew up with friends
    and peers,
    with gentle words
    and laughter
    that didn’t feel like
    glass shards
    ground into my wounds.

    In another universe,
    my family is together.

    My mother is there
    to hold my hand
    while my children are born.
    My father
    cries soft, happy tears
    as I say my vows.
    The ones I lost
    are with me,
    people I can reach for
    for comfort.

    In another universe,
    I’m softer too.

    The jagged edges
    in the places I broke
    are smooth and don’t catch.
    I don’t have scars
    on my skin
    or my heart.

    In another universe.