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Creative storyteller with passion for art & connection. Portland, Oregon.


She’s an abstract idea,

far from the nurturing or warm ideal of a first home;

a garden without a gardener.

her cruelty echoes,

screaming anxious obscenities in my mind, making me question my own motherhood.

I fear self reflection and the inevitable discovery of the same seed,

left unchecked,

taking over the entire emotional ecosystem within,

repeating the history she herself repeated.


but I don’t want my children to fear me,

and I don’t want to hate myself.

And denial of our similarities only paves the way into becoming everything I despise, everything I feared as a child.


So I force myself to look,

to see the ugliness of the weeds that have taken over and pilfered resources from the parts of me I wish would grow, and

I force myself to dig, extracting them by the root,

lovingly coaxing them to release their grip,

before setting them aside for good.

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let me nestle in the space under your collarbones

i'd crawl underneath your skin, nestle in the space underneath your collarbone or snugly between your ribs watching your heart beat hoping to understand you better i'd see the world through your eyes

love at 20.

closer pull me in closer crush me with the weight of your expectations my expectations the roles we're supposed to play but forget that now pull me in fall faster deeper let me feel the fullness of yo

Please, just be honest

i want you to be honest with me brutally, completely, honest in a way that lays you bare. then exposed and vulnerable, i want you to see me to see how i've always known you i've always seen you you've


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