I am but space a cluster of mess; my skin full of chemicals that has let hurricanes in and planets and scars like plastered wax stuck to my chest. I am the white sclera the peeling film of tired eyes; I am sinew of bones that make up home with feelings reaching from the praline… Continue reading I am.
There can be a lot of misconceptions of the idea of “self-love” and the thought of putting yourself first. Indeed I pride myself upon being able to take care of myself. For a very long time I have struggled with myself and my identity, whether it be how I look or how I am generally.… Continue reading How I overcome struggle- self care.
Don't ever let them hate on your body for it is a striking mosaic of bones a relic of desire, peppered with nostalgia- wiggling hips like a dog bounding from the riverbed. Your belly button is deep and soft a likeness to a shellfish- your skin is fuzzy and uncharted and your fungus white… Continue reading Body-
Under photos of Zaragoza and them her hands grind Moroccan tea the girl- with her fences built high belly button pierced, her face smelling of honey and green tea. She believes in energy and angels in sweet lavender and Eucalyptus but not in you. She’s been to Cambodia and back in her head- a pilgrimage… Continue reading Remembering.
Stitched back. I hope one day the room stifles you and they paint over you in black the way you spat out my worth- the pulp and left me there under the knife- bungled heart surgery when you forgot to stitch me back. The wallpaper began to peel I was tax-free anatomically a huge mistake;… Continue reading Stitched back | A poem.