September is Suicide Prevention Month and even if not many people read this, I do hope someone that is struggling finds even a shred of comfort in my message…
The way I see it, suicide is not a conclusion you come to in one day. No, it is years of feeling like the walls are too closed. The voices too loud. And feeling too alone for too long. It is a combination of everything happening at once and without anything to hold on to. So I don’t blame you for feeling like there’s no way out. But, if I could gift you with one thing, it would be the ability to see just how strong you are. We sometimes talk about strength like it has to do with breaking a record or climbing a mountain, or surviving a flood. And, if I could give you this gift, you would see all the times your strength meant more than any of these things stitched together.
Continue reading ““How to Survive a Flood””
You do not owe anyone
You do not owe the world
a reason for your existence
You owe yourself
the journey it takes to know this
There is this thing that happens
when you’re out of words to say.
Continue reading “Heart Beats”
Some humans will unstitch the entire
just for you,
just to show
the kind of love worth
I felt flowers growing
on my skin
from the sound of
Continue reading “This Wilted Garden”
It always begins with a simple idea: What if the next words to come out of my mouth were to flow with ease?
What if I weren’t pouring clumsy thoughts everywhere?
What if, for a second, I carried myself like the rest of the girls?
Because the rest of the girls know exactly what comes next. They know when to lean in for a hug, or when a handshake is more appropriate. They don’t over analyze dialogues and stay up until 4 in the morning worrying about the little things. Their hands don’t tremble before posting pictures, and even if they did, what do hands know anyway when mirrors speak all the right words?
They know how many pictures to take and when to laugh. Not too much, but just an adequate amount that the joke is still funny. Unlike me. Who feels like too much joke, and not enough woman.
I admire the girls that mold this world into a welcome mat. I live my life within a fishbowl. Always wondering who’s looking over my shoulder.
Who’s tapping on the glass.
There never seems to be a place to hide.
I begin to wonder
if every great woman
has had to bury her bones
in pursuit of something
The first house I ever lived in, was painted the color of ashes. Or a setting sun. Any color in between those because I cannot remember just how many colors I knew at four years old. But, my dad rode a motorcycle and the neighbors certainly do remember that. He would always wake up the whole block with the sound of a roaring engine. I don’t recall my house having any windows, maybe, because I would never look for them while I had two palms to look for everything else. I was too involved in asking too many questions. Continue reading “Fragment 18: Rightful Owner of This Time Machine”
Contrary to popular belief
Women know everything there is to know about construction
We know all too well
about calloused hands
Continue reading “Woman”