Write

Libraries

I grew up in the library. I realized this only recently, but it's true. I grew up surrounded by stories, picking up books to walk in other people's shoes, realizing that just because I was one way, that did not mean other people who were different didn't deserve love.

Raise your kid on books. Show them different ways. Teach them love, tolerance, literacy, and empathy and they will make the world a better place. Education and storytelling are the enemies of senseless hatred. Prejudice dies when you learn the humanity of others.

Loves

Hollow loved quietly.

Her first love had been a flame, softly sparking into a slow burn and then a confident blaze that consumed her. She had warmed her heart on her glowing feelings, ignoring the unrequited ashes drifting into her mouth, the smoke choking her lungs, the burns wrapping around her hands. Only when she was swallowed in pain did she awaken. The marks mottling her skin warned her never to love again. Love unreturned burns. 

And Hollow knew no one would ever burn themselves for her.

Hollow’s second love was an ocean. She stood on the shore, casually admiring the tide as it approached her feet. Slowly the water pooled against her legs and she slid forward, so slowly she never noticed her movement. Deeper and deeper she waded until a wave washed across her face. Intrigued by the coolness of the water, she stepped in. The salt cradled her and she started to swim, forcing her limbs to float. 

She loved the glare of the sun, the nausea of the waves, the grating of the sand, the sea salt in her skin, the scales spreading across her legs as she struggled to keep kicking. She started to gasp on change, inhaling water and coughing. She stayed afloat for an eternity, determined to love the thing changing her. And one day she looked into her reflection and saw a mermaid.

She broke, pulling herself from the water, shedding her skin and gasping for air. She sobbed at the loss of the water’s smothering hold. The tide climbed the shore, wrapping itself around her legs, pleading with her to stay. Slowly, she pulled away from the abrasive salt.

And then the air offered to let her breathe. To support her and to give her space. To kiss her softly and to let her move. To brush her hair softly with it's wind and to whisper comfort on her lonely days.

And the air was her last love, for it neither made her change nor destroyed her nor left her lonely.

:) She wasn't alone

– Virginia Woolf, from a Letter to Violet Dickinson written c. January 1909

[TEXT ID: "I appreciate your concern. None of this is your fault. It's me. It's me and my head. / In winter, I collapse." END ID]

Walk

I watched them walk

These kids my age

Down a tarp covered gymnasium floor

That looked like the streets of heaven

In their angel caps and gowns

To get that precious piece of paper

And salt slipped down my face

Because I realized this most basic of things

Will never happen to me.

I will never take

That walk.

I will never

graduate

high school.

beautiful

Lipstick

Pearls

Gloves

Cradled in metal

Sleeping in tragedy

Beautiful,

They say.

Yet

What is beautiful

About hurting so exquisitely

You could leap off the

Eighty-sixth floor

And feeling so hideous

You begged that you

Be burned in death

And burned she was

Into history’s memory

As

the most beautiful suicide.

Easy

People are hard

And talking is hard

And feeling safe is hard

And forcing myself to reach out is hard

And you are easy

So I kept reaching for you

Until I got slammed with the realization

That I had become emotionally dependent

Again.

You gently helped me realize this

And how I need some space to get better

And while forcing myself to sever that reliance

Is freaking hard

It’s harder to wake up to the fact that it was there

To the fact that my friends felt ignored or replaced

And I didn’t even notice

What was going on in my own head.

I wonder if every eldest daughter has experienced that moment when the family finally collapses and all you can think is I failed

the opposite of easy peasy lemon squeezy-

stressed depressed lemon zest

do with this information what you will >:)

Beautiful :)

kiddos

these kids lick everything they touch, I swear

they ask a question per sentence at least

their emotions are big and volatile and scary

and I look at the messy hair and sticky fingers

and I want to scoop up every single kid I see

and tell them to stay little for just a tiny bit.

Keep painting, playing, telling crazy stories,

because one day, someone is going to tell

these hyper, beautiful, creative, perfect kids

that they aren't worth the space they consume

and they might believe it.

So stay sunny, you little kiddos. Please.

The world needs you.