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She sees


The self that stands before her

Is the self she lives and breathes

Taking up the space around her

Waits her energy


An aura

Wanting to be seen

A spirit

Switching up the scene

The image

Staring back at me


Ancestral Healing 

Movement moved me 

I danced through the pains of those who came before me 

My pain was not my own

my dance was not my own

my hands swung so low they grazed the ground 

my grounding was supported 

my spirit

our spirit 

whispered like smoke

my scream was muted 

I could not access anger 

I was too consumed 

there was not one of me in my room 

there was all of me 

knots sprung to my neck as I shook

I spun, never getting dizzy 

Like my grazing hands I was grounded 

like a vision I stood outside of myself 

I could only see them 

my ancestors

my past


it was holy 

my head swung

the movement was so familiar 

I have been here before 

been (this) before 

I am myself again 

the heaviness has lifted 





To see me

As anything but what I am

Means you cannot see me at all

My existence is inconsistent

Just like yours

My identity is fluid and flexible

Just like yours


Do not name me

Contain me

Destroy me

Betray me


Then try to hold my hand

As if it is a hand you know

A hand you watered and replenished

A hand you peacefully cherished


I will prosper

Without your pesticides

Decidedly deciding

What it means

To be me






What could life be?

the witless whistle of the wind?

Held in a trap

of resurgence

of existence

Refraining from



You make me indulgent


Indulgence is to live in excess

To want too much, to have too much

To live to be extravagant and decadent

To overconsume, to lack self-control

I have heard

It is a cardinal sin


When I am with you

I indulge

In myself, in you, in us

I don’t limit

Our food

Our time

Our love


I live life until I’m full


 When I am with you

I live

To be fulfilled

To be satisfied

To be gratified

To forget what it means to want more



Is worth the slow burns

That will emerge

As the light lick of the flame ignites

until my skin is covered

and there is no more space

For life, for love


The consequence of sin

Summer is Summer 

Lounging doesn’t seem so futile

When your skin burns brown and sweat drips down your neck to your chest

Shallow breaths from the extreme relaxation

It is so hot it hurts


There’s no greater pleasure than pain

The sun makes the roof I lounge on hot to the touch

My foot flirts between the cool blanket I lay on and the scorching stone below

Indulging in the beauty of both


Flies lay dead on their backs

The mint plant at the end of my roof stands dry and brown breaking at the touch

The heat is so impressive I can hear it

The heat is so destructive I can see it


I awake as the sun does




I ruminate on memories

Of you

Of us


I close my eyes

Then open them

Blinking away

My pain 

From Crimson to Maroon


From Crimson to Maroon

The strokes thicken

From Violet to Indigo

The grip of my hand softens

I want to feel the Anger again


is too dull


 is too dark

I stop myself

From dipping my brush in the red

Too much red

I must expand my palette

But yellow is too joyous

Orange insincere

I need to feel peace again

the eggshell betrays itself

It’s not quite white

Not quite right

Tap tap tap

The brush is clean

time to start again

I dip

then the heavy stroke begins

From crimson to maroon

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