Passive morning shine
Filters through my religion
Pastel pods release
Eyelashes kissing canvas — Read More
Warrior of the inkwell moon
Taking (back) your life
Evaporating to nimbostratus chorus
The high crystalline tones of water dripping off wet strands of hair into pools of earth
amniotic deluge from the womb of swollen skies Read More
I am touched by this shining soul who has written a piece in response to my journey of rape and forgiveness. Honestly, I feel embraced by God after reading Lona’s introspective narrative and poem — a supernatural support I suppose I’ve been seeking ever since writing about that nightmare, the maddening twelve-year healing process, and releasing it to the world; maybe even back to the fateful night itself. I, just one more lost sheep under a fractured and beautiful sky.
So much love to you, Lona Gynt.
Sometimes the very angels weep, perhaps that is what they mostly do.
Editor’s Note: (meow) This post starts pleasantly enough, but I need to warn you that it might be a trigger of sadness or anxiety for victims of abuse, assault, or rape.
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In attempt to love them
Yea, I become them
Before no walls were there.
Now built round
Notion of in-and-out has height,
Keeps out the sunlight,
Of home-and-world… Read More
You who have lived many layers of lifetimes overlying just one body. The serious kid who took pride in her father — and her mother, for granted. The college girl with once a head of “dreamy blonde” highlights who spent her restaurant paycheck on $220 Versace sunglasses, a tank of gas, and a bottle of Bordeaux. The fervent penitent who sought God within church walls… Read More
Letting the day
Or night fall into illusory questioning, Read More
A tidal child sings a sinner’s prayer
From wet sand castles ashore
Connected through their words and air
Withering the fruits of their labor Read More
Drug addiction and mental illness are widely known to be, however debilitating to one’s health and relationships, benefactors for art creation. The song, ‘Wet Sand’ off the 2006 Red Hot Chili Peppers’ album, Stadium Arcadium, and written by John Frusciante and Anthony Kiedis, describes what it’s like living such a self-destructive paradox. I believe the appeal to try mind-bending substances and the twisting of the word ‘crazy’, making it a desirable trait and a near-virtue, are symptoms of a dying spirit desperate to be validated, nurtured, and ultimately, reflected in the wide world, Read More