The wreckage of her soul is poetic.  Her verses cascade from her eyes in iambic pentameter. Her survival is a fiery resilience, that engulfs her parchment; each page set aflame  and extinguished in her storm. There is beauty in how she rises from her ruins, in the midst of her own destruction. Advertisements

i am responsible for my own haunting

On days like this, I am the house and the ghost, responsible for my own haunting. My brain is a revolver with, “Am I good enough?” in every chamber. So I turn into a factory that only makes the word “yes” and I say it until I can easily Mistake it for the truth, but […]

The Birth of a Rainbow

  That night was darker than usual.   I blame the gloom and despair that weighed down my spirit.   I woke from a restless sleep, feeling excruciating pain.   This was it.   This was what the doctor said would happen.   My less than 2% of hope disappeared and stole an enormous piece of my heart.   My body […]