Her Light Waits
Some mornings, the sun looks at me like it remembers the day I first decided to stay. Back then, she hovered outside unsure if I would open the door. Now her light waits on my face, bright and warm brushing against the scars I carry, like a soft supporter who never stopped believing in me.
21 hours ago1 min read
The Myth Of The Grieving Girl
They said my grief was ruin, but they didn’t know that I was descended from the kind of women who turned heartbreak into constellations. I walked through loss like a lone figure crossing a desert of broken time, each tear falling and hardening into glass crystals the Gods would later use to read the future. They mistook my silence for shattering, not knowing that I had entered the underworld to retrieve the parts of myself I once left behind. Every wound of mine became a doo
4 days ago1 min read
Wild Wings
I honor the way that I am built, wild edges and all. Weird, chaotic, clumsy, creative. There is no other shape like mine
7 days ago1 min read