the hard children

the world is a hard place so we raise children with fire and brimstone with grit We harden them to the embodied parts of themselves. prize reason, and rationale over feeling and being the world is a hard place so we raise hard children and so the cycle of the hard world continues perhaps we…

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waking up to myself

I am here waking up to myself. It is as if I came from a long slumber, where who I was, who I became, was predetermined by the circumstances of my life the pain caused to me and the forced moulding of white-supremacist education. In that slumber, there were moments of joy and laughter, it…

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the obscure hall and its hollow walls

I am wandering around the obscure walls of the sunken place searching its oblique halls and I can’t see past the darkness and the emptiness. there is only hollowness. I am alone, frightened, unable to fathom my surroundings. It is as if the hollowness of this place came to hollow me out. It reverberates through…

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-dear diary

all I used to have were unfinished thoughts dear diary… fragmented parts of myself, that stopped writing at the fear of being uncovered. having your privacy violated, particularly when it is your innermost thoughts, makes you lose trust. not only in those around you but even in yourself- how can you trust the words not…

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-breaking apart

sometimes, it feels as though I’m melting spreading into lather-like substance losing firmness consistency breaking apart, slowly- irrevocably a withered fern losing its light other times, melting is like healing its the scabbing of old scars its taking me into surprising new forms its as though the fire of pain came to glue me to…

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the sweet solace of the moments we give to our selves

there are few things sweeter than the moments we give to our selves. the solace of meditative silence deeper breaths longer baths and slowly slowly preparing meals for yourself painting your nails singing an old song. then there is the healing from crying the small freedom of letting go of all that has attempted to…

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