When do I turn brand new?Does it happen all at oncepoof, she’s gone,like the flick of a magician’s wand? Or is it gradual,unnoticeduntil one day you look backand see the distance? Like staying with my auntwho lives next to the freewaythe first night,the roar is all I hear.It rattles the glass.Then one day,I realizeI don’t… Continue reading When Do I Turn Brand New
When I was young, it was easy for me to love. I handed out my heart like there was an infinite supply, like it was a thing that couldn't be dented, or bruised, or tossed aside. There was no math in my affection or comprehension of the harm others could do. At that age, love… Continue reading Here Anyway
In farming, there is a season where the land is left unsown. To anyone passing by, the field looks empty. Quiet. Even wasteful, especially when the sun is high and the growing season is in full swing. It can look like neglect. Like laziness. Like something is being missed. But that stillness isn’t absence. It’s… Continue reading The Fallow Season
My heart has called me home. There was a certain sheepishness as I followed her call; I hadn't realized I'd abandoned her throne, leaving nothing but dust on her seat. Stress and anxiety had lured me away, whispering that my value lay in the lands of others. The relentless machine of obligation overwhelmed me. I… Continue reading My Heart
Insecurities are an interesting thing. We treat them like small, shameful secrets, yet we allow them to dominate large swaths of our lives. For some, that insecurity might be a vice; for others, it’s the shape of their body or the weight of a decade-old mistake. We live in constant fear that we’ll be "branded"… Continue reading And It Worked
I used to fear the word content. I heard it as a heavy, rusted anchor, a settling of the soul into the silt of the mundane. I thought it meant the end of the climb, the extinguishing of the fire, the quiet surrender of a heart that had simply stopped trying to grow. I saw… Continue reading Already Home
Memory is a story we tell ourselves to survive; the body is the truth we cannot edit. When I was young, I was molested by a babysitter’s son. I didn’t remember it for a long time. My young mind did what it needed to do to survive. It folded the memory neatly and tucked it… Continue reading What I Wasn’t Taught Was From Whom
Sacred Rose Dear Blossoming Soul, This month has been a journey. I once thought this would be something I did alone, even while sharing it with others. I was proud of creating the Sacred Rose journal. This is my third year following the phases of the moon and the blooming rose as a way of… Continue reading Day 28: Waxing Gibbous in Leo
Sacred Rose Dear Blossoming Soul, How often do I shrug off a compliment without letting it land?Laugh it away.Deflect it with an awkward chuckle. Let discomfort decide for me. It is hard for me to receive. Compliments.Help.Love.Care. Because if I allow myself to believe they’ll stay, what happens when they don’t? What happens if I… Continue reading Day 27: Waxing Gibbous in Cancer
Sacred Rose Dear Blossoming Soul, How many things do I want that I don't let myself voice, let along think about. Why? Because if I accept these things, if I let them land, if I get used to them being here… what happens when they leave? What happens if I open my hands and they’re… Continue reading Day 26: Waxing Gibbous in Cancer
