I wrote this poem when I was 15: I feel like purple today. Not like just a color to wear, But the entire skyscape of May. A whole late Spring cloud scene. Why can’t I rain on trees! Or soak

That era is supposed to be over, both the propagation of the myth, and the rebellion against it. And yet… We still recognize it We still discuss it And some of us still expect it. Maybe the only real evolution

I write because I want you to read. I write because it’s my way of sharing my humanity. I write with a pen in my journal to whisper secrets to my future self. I write in a box on a

He thought asking me if somebody could explain why the full moon got him wylin out like that was a rhetorical question. Silly man, I thought, there is nothing rhetorical about the affect and effect of a moon like that. The yin moon,

The inviting shield of mosaic interaction That hid her soul from rejection The shiny orb of fractal distraction Convinced a disco could be her protection Always exciting, that sparkle and shimmer Dazzle them, dizzy them, keep them off kilter Never

I had one of those moments this morning where I could feel my place in the panoramic I was standing in. Do you know that feeling? When the street elongates and the horizon becomes narrow and the train that is

I had a metal plate placed over my heart for a very long time. My center sealed, hidden, protected. The energy required to manifest A collar to keep myself safe, was exhausting. And yet I felt myself harden. The iron

I remember… Pressing my forehead against the glass wall as the wind hurled the rain against the window. Leaning on the floor to ceiling pane, willing the swirling storm to envelope me. Looking over the water at the dense clouds