Witness

What is there to witness but the realization that there is so much more?

A blade of grass, the tender platform for the sole of a child.

A spectacular view of floral escapades flowing densely against the walls of Babylon.

What is there to witness but the beauty of entropy, enveloped in the emotional notion of freedom?

There is witness to freedom, dispensed in the darkness of solitude and respect.

There is witness to bear in the overarching entropy of truth and the holistic escape from fear.

Spatial isotopes settle in disgust, and havens are dismissed by those who can bear witness to identities sourced in indulgence.

Preserve the peace, love, and guidance found only in the spaces where proportionate ripples vibrate through time and space.

Witness.

Witness the oddities and truths that lie between the fingertips of knowledge. Witness what it is to experience life through the eyes of a soul not of this earth.

Grieving in Silence

I am sitting quietly, grieving in silence. My hands rest neatly in my lap. My new bangs hide my swollen eyelids. My fingers — raw from being picked at — tell on me. I look out the window, tempted to publicly shame you. But I don’t. I won’t. So I

Look for the Moms

None of us asked for this version of the world. But here we are. So we teach our children how to move through it... where safety lives, where it doesn’t, and who to call for when fear rises. Mothers have always been the quiet network. The watchers. The ones

Softness

There is a softness inside me that I wish I could share with the world. But I learned very early on that softness is an open door for those who want to come in and wreak havoc on my soul. One time, I was extra soft. I showed someone the

Gypsy

I was a gypsy in your winds. But now I've settled into something I didn’t know I was supposed to become. Secretly…between you and me… I feel trapped. The darkness that once empowered me is trickling away, and all I once was is no longer welcome.

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Grieving in Silence

Look for the Moms

Softness

Gypsy