🖊️
2025-03-04
Transition is elegaic—time unspooling, in susurrations, each second echoing— a thousand dying sighs.
2025-03-22
Pain is inheritance—
(to unlearn)
Healing is whispers—
(unnamed)
Mar 25, 2025
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✍️
May again,
and poems leaf out
from this old typewriter
shading the desk in half-light.
You at a college desk study different poems,
hold them warily by their dry stems-
so many leaves pressed to death
in a heavy book.
When you forget again
to call
it’s poet and parent both
that you deny.
This is what I didn’t know
I knew.
You woke up
on the wrong side
of my life.
For years I counted myself to sleep
on all the ways I might lose you:
death in its many-coloured coat lounged
at the schoolhouse door, delivered
the milk, drove the carpool.
Now I catalogue leaves instead
on a weeping cherry.
It doesn’t really weep,
nor do poets cry, so amazed
they are at the prosody
of pain.
You have a way with words yourself
you never asked for.
Though you disguise them
as best you can
in Gothic misspellings
there they stand in all their new muscle.
You will use them against me perhaps,
but you will use them.
Sep 20, 2024
I hope you keep what resonates, and leave what doesn’t. I deleted IG for years. I got back on last August and have felt compelled to write - usually in moments where I’m broken open. My most recent piece I lay here for you:
My Melodramatic Dispatch 💌 (pt 1 of ?)
TLDR: The girls are fighting but they’re metaphors. Enjoy :)
(ft. life lately)
I like to think that Quiet and Silence are like sisters.
And what’s the difference between them?
Quiet sighs sweetly with you in small and unnoticed moments--like pausing to admire spring blossoms, or the stillness after finishing a book you didn’t want to end.
She reaches for your hand and pulls you close--offering an embrace during life’s painful moments.
In grief, she sits beside you, feeling your ache and holding space for precious memories.
She smiles wryly as two strangers catch eyes--feeling the world fade, and the pull of an invisible thread between them.
When words fall short in sacred moments, she holds the fragile stillness of a shared, knowing gaze.
Quiet is a gentle strength.
She is permission to savor, to soften,
to stay.
Quiet is a doe resting peacefully on a sunlit patch of earth, present & unafraid.
Silence looks at you sharply, unrelenting. She sees past your facade and dares you to face the truth.
She sits--sovereign & accusing--in the breathless gap of a lover’s quarrel.
Her presence--undeniable and weighty--strips you bare, leaving only your soul.
She leans against the doorway, arms crossed, as your lover walks through it, slamming the door behind them.
She doesn’t flinch.
She walks over, kneels beside you,
& calmly places a hand on your shoulder.
Silence is not cruel,
but a reckoning.
She rages.
She deafens & consumes.
She is a wave--denying you air as she pulls you under the weight of her.
As sisters, of course they argue.
They arrive at the door of your moment--an unanswered text, an awkward pause, a delayed response--& bicker about who the waiting belongs to.
Silence sneers, mocking your vulnerability. She floods your head with panic, cringe, & regret.
Quiet protests gently, insisting there’s no need to spiral--nothing has been lost: not your dignity, not your strength, not your beauty or worth.
Ironically during the purgatory of a message left unanswered, or the unnatural lull in connection,
you have neither sister.
Only a cacophony of what-ifs & anxiety.
But as sisters, of course they reconcile. (To be continued…)
1d ago
😃
Such a shame
so much love lost to entropy
Who’s to blame
for the high cost of a memory?
What remains
when the tides wash our energy?
Recycled lust
must be just fine for us to glean
I can’t afford what I’ve left behind
I ruminate on love lost —
or rather dispersed
For I have so much to give you
But no mouth to find the words.
May 4, 2025
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The smell and just the sound itself feels healing!
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You don’t have to like everyone. Sometimes it’s okay just to say I don’t like you. It will let you feel a little lighter.
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