I don’t want to write about love. It hurts. I don’t want to tell you stories of when love existed in my life. Too many nights have passed and I’ve accustomed myself to sleeping in the middle. I don’t want to write about the beautiful beginnings. How nothing else seems to matter and how quickly passion can override sanity. How love can fill you with substance that was never imaginable. No. I don’t. I don’t want to. Because love for me was once as beautiful as the ocean, sunsets and night skies. I loved with all of my being. Not … Continue reading I don’t want …

Do not tell me that it is impossible When I’ve fought half-life, Show me the improbable And I’ll help you find a way out, Countless times I pretended to be what I was not I wanted to feel what I did not felt, After doubted anyone claiming to be sincere But with this, never felt joy, I saved the time of my outpourings I saved the world for putting up with me, I closed the door of life And the world without color, I continued to mourn, I wanted to scream, but I had no voice I wanted to cry … Continue reading Listen to me

Mother, I have pasts inside me I did not bury properly. Some nights, your daughter tears herself apart yet, heals in the morning….❤ We miss you so much..😓 Continue reading Mother

Your first mistake was loving someone who doesn’t know what love really is. It was giving them the power to ruin you, giving them enough strength to crush your soul with two fingers, and even worse, a few words. Your second mistake was telling them how much you need them, how your soul longed for something like this, how you can’t imagine long nights without them. Your third mistake was falling too fast for the idea of who they were, the soft hints of hate you missed in their words, the points of concern you should’ve noticed. Your fourth mistake … Continue reading Your first mistake, also mine…

You know, what strikes me is how desperately we all need to know that we are seen and heard. We don’t need our lives to be different, or easier, we just need someone to see the pain. To know what we’ve faced and overcome. To say: Yes. I see this. This is real. We don’t need a magician to take it all away – we just need a witness. Namaste! Continue reading What strikes me…

Compassion happens when we are moved by the other. We receive what comes from the person and we begin to understand what is inside her, but without losing ourselves, our center and our being. For this we have to be free of the ego, the person. We have to be empty to feel the other. In the state of the ego we want to save people and this desire generates a tension, a symbiosis that binds us unhealthily to them. But in a larger state, in the spirit, we are like the diamond, which reflects all colors and has no … Continue reading Reflect as the diamond

Your confusion is not pathology, it is path. It has something to show you that clarity could never reveal. The nature of chaos is wisdom, but you must provide safe passage for the mystery to unfold. Your feeling of heartbreak is not neurotic, it is intelligent. It has something to show you that the unbroken could never reveal. If you will provide holding for the broken pieces to reassemble, they will reveal an unmet doorway. Your loneliness, tenderness, and vulnerability are not mistakes. They are not errors or obstacles which must be remedied by way of spiritual process. They are … Continue reading To the shaky moments

There are times when the ground has fallen away, and there are no longer any reference points from which to make sense of what is happening. The rug has been pulled from under the life you thought was here, and were counting on to provide depth, solidity, and meaning. The narratives are conflicting, the feelings are contradictory, and the path forward is hazy. It’s as if you can’t access what was so clear from even a few days ago. All of the work you’ve done – the surrendering, the healing, the insights, the discoveries, the realizations… for some reason, it’s … Continue reading Note to Self …

I am the fourteen-year-old-girl who will never know how to extract a simple joy from life such as savoring the taste of goat cheese and honey on a plain cracker because I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror. I starve myself to fit a mold I wasn’t made from while wearing clothes that turn-on pedophiles and cutting the skin that I will never feel comfortable in. I am the seventeen-year-old-boy who dresses all in black and draws skulls on everything and listens to Pantera. (Not really listen but more like play it extremely loud so it’s … Continue reading Who I am…