I built a story that was tall and wide, stretching across miles of land like the Great Wall of China. I did not use brick
I had a satchel filled with poems that I tossed into the sea. I wrote them on tiny circles and squares and rectangles woven with
I spilled ink across the blank pages of my notebook. It was then that I decided to write stories with my fingers.
We all seek freedom in one way or another. But in the end, we live in an age where none of us know what true
In the space of memory resides the fence we stand atop, teetering on the edge between hard ground and water. In that space we remember
Your lies won’t save you from death. You will die anyway. Death is the great truth teller. When it comes, all you will know in
I have lost the words, their life force spilling at my feet after slipping through disconsolate fingers. The letters tumble and roll, trying to find
I do not celebrate culture created holidays. None of them. I celebrate each day, all 365 of them, and find ways to make them beautiful
i collect beliefs and put them inside glass jars, rubber sealed and sometimes placed in the sun. i shake them to see if they will
Photo Challenge: Edge I cannot sit. The edge is too near, too daunting. The cloth is stripped away as surely as my soul is stripped
Writing Prompt: Elegant Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt. The waters are not blue. They are the mirror for the royal
i want to tell you something. i want you to know how sorry i am that i could not save you. maybe it was never
I no longer remember who I am, nor why I am. Inside this foreign skin I breathe. I inhale the world I’ve wished for in
When all is said and done, we are all rendered mute. Death does not care about our feelings nor opinions about our political leanings, religious
Burn with anger, woman. Your fire voice was temporarily extinguished with water, but you did not let it drown you. You turned everything that touched you to steam. The destroyers dissipated into the air, mixed in with the ancestors who lost their way and told un-truths about the place of woman. They now mourn their…
My mind grows, inch by inch, into a place where all of nature exists and evolves.
The clouds interlace fingers seeking prayer, an impassioned supplication to the un-gods. They spread across skies gathering stories of un-time, spaces inside cycles that collect
There is nothing here. Only waves of memories folding over unrelenting experiences. I will no longer question my thoughts, but instead, carve question marks into
I am lost in thoughts that I do not own.
Photograph by zaji This was the sky over my house yesterday. Such a beautiful sight. The sky is a constant reminder of my mortality. When