I want to live in a house made of poetry. Each wall, each corner, each crevice would be a stanza, a verse, a line that sings to my soul. In the night, I would sleep under blankets sewn from poetry, feeling the gentle caress of words as they lull me into dreams woven from the finest metaphors and similes. My dreams would be a tapestry of poetic imagery, a dance of rhythm and rhyme. In the morning, I would bathe myself in poetry. The words would flow over me, cleansing my spirit and invigorating my mind. Poetry would seep into … Continue reading July 2024 – Living in a House of Poetry II

I’ve come to realize that I haven’t always been gentle around other people’s vulnerable wounds. My big ugly tail, the one I drag behind me, is my tendency to get self-righteous. When I see someone else’s big ugly tail, I make myself “superior,” casting myself as “right” and others as “wrong.” My ego, whom I’ve named Morgana Bells—the indomitable and often bitchy—convinces me that I shouldn’t have to tiptoe around someone else’s stinky wound. Yet, I’m learning that sometimes walking on eggshells around someone’s raw wound is the perfect opportunity to practice compassion and to demonstrate love. It’s a delicate … Continue reading My Big Ugly Tail

Se algum dia minha história for contada, diga que caminhei entre as estrelas. Que meus passos, embora terrenos, sempre buscaram o brilho do infinito. Que meus sonhos, vastos e luminosos, se entrelaçaram com a poeira cósmica, criando constelações de esperança e coragem. Diga que, mesmo nas noites mais escuras, eu olhei para o céu e encontrei força nas estrelas cintilantes. Que cada desafio enfrentado foi uma estrela cadente, um desejo realizado, uma prova de que a luz sempre prevalece sobre a escuridão. Que minha jornada foi guiada pela luz das estrelas, e que, em cada momento de dúvida, eu encontrei … Continue reading Se um dia …

Our skins, like ancient manuscripts, tell stories of fire and love, etched in the lines and freckles that map our histories. Yours, a canvas of moonlight, soft and yielding. Mine, a tapestry of sun-kissed resilience, bearing the weight of generations. When we lay breast to breast, our contours align—a celestial choreography of curves and edges. The beauty lies in this convergence, the way our forms tangle and seek solace in each other’s warmth. Yet, as I trace the contours of your shoulder, I find no wildfire burning into my flesh. No searing imprint that lingers long after our embrace. With … Continue reading Between the Galaxies

Before they begin planting flowers in you, take a moment to ask if their roots will intertwine with yours through the spiteful winter days, when the world is cloaked in frost and the air bites with a sharp chill. Will they stand by you when the blistering sunshine creeps over your shoulders, relentless and unyielding, testing the strength of your bond? Inquire if staying is more than just a fleeting action, but a steadfast presence, a verb and a noun, etched in the dictionaries on the shelves of their ribs. Is their touch a promise of constancy, or merely a … Continue reading The Garden of Promises

For women who are tied to the moon, love alone is not enough. We demand that each day entwine its knuckles through our heartstrings and pull, drawing out the lows, the joy, the poetry. We dance at the precipice of existence, where you have tumbled into the abyss. Yet, as the moon waxes and wanes, so too will you rise again. You, rare girl, possess a body that belongs to no lover, no father—it is yours alone. Wear your sorrow like the lines etched on your palm, like a shawl that shields you from the chill of night. Do not … Continue reading Embracing Lunar Love