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It took a long time for me to consider myself a writer. I still struggle with saying it. I started writing at a young age to work through feelings I didn’t dare tell anyone. I learned that once you start writing, it becomes a part of you. It’s something you always go back to whenever you are overwhelmed with certain emotions. People don’t always listen to your words, but the paper always listens to the pen.

noyade.

noyade.

these nights are slowly killing me i called for you again. do you see me sinking? i am drowning off the dream coast, drifting in a sea of talking ghosts (it’s your voice that is going to swallow me whole) how am i to breathe in this ocean of memories? how am i to swim...

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beauty in the daylight.

beauty in the daylight.

bewildered and bewitched, we unravel the night, stitching it back together with threads of light from the wings of aphrodite as she rises, a shining beacon of beauty moving in the company of flowers, scarlet camellias and purple orchids and burgundy bougainvillea we...

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reverent.

reverent.

i wear your words around my neck, a rosary of letters and lines scored into sacred stones, beads of viridian and violet and verditer twisting between my fingers i recite each one like a prayer, an evangelical invocation, a whisper of reverence your poetry anoints the...

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the change of seasons within us.

the change of seasons within us.

our last days of winter were spent inhaling poetry, high on smoke and spice and a whole lot of s o u l, our lungs like hidden chambers filled with a breath of ashes, our hearts like hollow canyons filled with the echoes of prose we took a drag of every line and purged...

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let’s make a place of our own.

let’s make a place of our own.

the world keeps changing / in the blink of an eye / and we keep finding ourselves / in places we don’t fit / with people who don’t understand us / let’s run away / follow me / to where the river leads / stay with me / and we will make our home / at the water’s edge /...

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a recipe for winter.

a recipe for winter.

ingredients: one december moon the burgundy-orange glow of a fiery hearth one tree decorated in lights two hours or more of uninterrupted time together a few gentle endings the promise of beginnings mix thoroughly with a whisper of wishes born under a star on a brumal...

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