Some men leach, some men capture

The wolf who comes in 

wearing grandma’s skin

They infantilize, idolize, fetishize us

their mommy dearests

Rarely daring, she unravels the dream that deemed her salacious,

fallacious 

Once precious, she grows desperate, 

no wild thing to trust 

accept the 

mirror mirror on the wall to reveal the truth, 

proof of her peering in, 

Revering the portal that casts her out, 

Searing at the revelry

Yet like Galadriel,

casts a spell 

to orchestrate her own escape

While jeering at the irony.

I hate my website.

I hate my website. It is so boring. Maybe the woman I met at Cucalorus will help me. Wow perfect connection.

My website is so bland because it’s lingering from that early 2010’s art school aesthetic. You know, crispy clean white walls, with an obscure and generic artist statement stuck on the wall to the right of the door.

[Redacted] was the chair of the Photography Department. She used to say, “Oh, so-and-so just had an opening in Chelsea”. Well, I was a regular Brooklyn ABC hot-girl circa 2015-2019 (never taking up residence there of course - except for that one stint my junior year of college, which would have been my gutter-punk era, so, I’ve digressed), and, let me tell you, Chelsea Art District vibes SUCK ASS. 

At least they did then. No wonder it’s called ChAD (it’s not. I just made that up. But I doubt I’m the first). I went out one night. The coolest thing was a room full of dirt in some random 7th floor office space. So now I’m up there, peering over a 3 foot glass wall at blah blah pounds of dirt, the whole scene illuminated under bright fluorescence. Now feeling a little gaslit, I make up a little game to see if I can hold my breath for the length it would take to soak up the essence of this lazy exhibition and the 6 minute elevator ride down to 23rd Street.

I didn’t do that. I fucking ate that shit up. I just did that now, writing this, as a way to breathe in all this gratitude for how I’ve grown since her. 

Anyway, thank you Professor Redacted for teaching me how not to be a leader.

I was shut-out for expressing my world differently than the way Redacted’s Heathers imagined up in their clammy brains. But I was already callous to that sort of shallow treatment when I rolled up from over yonder, sweetheart. And be it naivety or willful ignorance, I boldly paraded my “rolling locker” as the “number 1 mess-maker” through the condominium-turned Narcissist Harvesting Site, complete with mirrored walls and a coy pond. How fitting.

But why me? How did I receive the coveted award of the Number 1 Mess-Maker?

I see the scene. funGUY-deprived fuckboy’s white-glove dawned chode fingers pull her from the 9900 and pecks it right in a puddle of goopy substrate. Runs to Mommy Redacted.

I’ve always been the perfect scapegoat. But that day, I said “Not today, Bitch” (metaphorically, of course).

TBC…

Anyway, I’m looking forward to hibernation where I plan to mail the homies handmade Christmas cards and bring life to my bitch-ass little peepee website. After having recently resurrected myself, this should be a cakewalk.

#famouslastwords

All my 
ex-lovers
are authors
Their  Selves 
Line my shelves.
I lie with them,
still admiring,
absorbing, 
uplifting
all of
you.

I thought another was a lover
Instead a ghost
sent by an angel
To tell me lies and taunt my dreams
It seems of everything,
I’m scared to death of
what I can’t recover from
Can’t seem to smother
the corpse ‘neath the blankets
her dusted frame is rusty,
unfit to wake you from
your dead

To me,
From me,
In me forms Life
I feel the power within
Please be gentle, it’s my first sin.

Oh,

it’s

Vibrant,
labyrinthian
Riddled with marshmallows
like Candyland,
Oz,
Humpty Dumpty.

But also foggy,

like 

Memories sifted through VHS tape,
his snarl,
or the humid glass that separates
the most vulnerable version of me
and all the world to see.

At my best, I light the room

At my worst, I laugh too loud

and emote,

and roam

My curiosity of the validity of authority

often gets me dismissed too soon

At my worst, I seem too proud

At my best,

I need love too.

Spelunking

I am free

I trust easily, lead with vulnerability

The decision I make to be me.

Her absolute faith in God gave her absolute faith in herself, you see –

They lusted her effortless confidence

like moth to a flame

like a wild fawn to lame

buckshot spoiled just for a taste.

Their haste inspired a new rhyme

Emotions, Body, Mind

We own them

Creation’s gift, dare not waste it.

Nature moves me,

Light runs through me,

Spirit erupting,

Hear that rumbling?

the hushhh

of a mind no longer framed,

a body no longer shamed,

emotions running wild

and tame

That is to say,

not dangerous,

gentle,

disciplined,

domesticated,

finally not frightened of humans.

She was one with the cage

contained

Believed that inner voice as The One.

But now

her posture is great

she’s dancing again

Body Movin’, Sunshine Groovin’, top of the roller coaster, provin’.

Choosin’ the misfit within them

weirdness that brings depth to a luxurious mental,

a soul full of unity

2 hearts fulla sleeves

A sentimental being, seeing the irony of an hourglass -

sand sifting through itself, just in female form

We all are one.

Ever-evolving mechanisms

Replaying perceptions of personal histories.

Anyone else get transported in a moment when

the music’s in the feels?

I recently saw someone say something like,

The music of our adolescence creates spaces in our memory.

A place to return to in perpetuity

A place where you feel safe.

“Kristen’s Station” is poppin’ off

Genres all over the place

bringing Spirit to a humdrum dum dum

moment when I’ve fallen too deep into outer space.

[Spelunking verse]

When God feels out of touch
an endless well becomes a crutch
’til there’s nothing more to dilute your fears
This soul is deep but useless now
I sit in silence asking “how
have I been adrift so long?”
Wandering, and not a righteous wandering,
in a dream of what I thought life was
wonderin’ how to make my way back home.

Is it you,
elusive traveler?
Have you crossed my path
to lead me back
into the other side of my mind?
The child in me says, “go,
learn what you can of letting go”
I won’t know
until I follow you
to the river where this desert ends.

Can’t end on a bad note, so I guess I’ll never leave

beat flow

In the end we are dust
There is no end
We are dust
In the end we deconstruct
And fall back into
The particles, the dots, the moisture
That we once were
Capture light with pixels
Formulate a plan to control the chaotic doodling
Make it mean something 
Make it look like everything and nothing
Build it up
Break it down
Build it up
Break it down
A method to connect the
Pieces, the puzzling connections
that I know are real
A belief that follows me, carries me
A belief that keeps me safe
yet not at all
The faith in what guides it can only make sense through this lens
And then I’ll share it
And then they’ll see it
They’ll make it mean something 
They’ll see everything and nothing
Break it down
As they build upon each layer
If they pause enough to listen
They are, too, connected.
They, too, are consulted in the next deconstruction 
In the end we disconnect
And fall back into
The particles, the dots, the moisture
That we once were
As we were constructed in every womb

Four girls sit around a table, all looking at a phone screen in hand
“My dog doesn’t like mailmen”
”He doesn’t like mail-PEOPLE” the friend corrected pontifically

You lie to me, the flood flows
from deep wells
I can tell by the ways you manipulate
I can hardly tell what truth to take
A lie
A cry for help to ease the strain
But I know, believe me I know
Because I’ve listened to you all my life
I feel the difference in your speech
I fear the depths from which she springs
In my dreams I lay awake, pause, replay the pain
Never doing it in vain,
In there I feel gravity in an instant
and see the choices I didn’t make
(this is what Hell is)
it is watching,
Heaven doesn’t wait.
The well walk deep to exit on the other end
and in the end she’ll catch up to her again
and gain again the recent present she knew she would always comfort her
Alone amidst 10 mile roads
The west is the best for heavy loads
Alive, you cannot bring it home

You met me just before the fall
And patiently waded as I lay floating
on the other side of drowning
You were always what I needed
Even when you didn’t want me and I didn’t need you
You were always what I needed, what I thought I wanted
Was I always just projecting a protected
image of me and you and who I want to be?
Imagine who I’d be if I just stopped trying to be free

Morning Meditation

I am strong.

I am courageous.

I am compassionate.

I am nurturing.

I asked myself how these things are displayed in my life. Trust the first response:

I am strong. I hold my own weight

I am courageous. I move forward in spite of fear

I am compassionate. I recognize the inner child and trauma of everyone I know

I am nurturing. I care for their inner child and give that child what it needs (or did not receive) to help heal from their trauma

If they want to heal. Not all want to heal, even if they recognize that they are in pain. I heard this today. Do not force it. Do not allow the denial of your gifts to discourage you or lead you to doubt your power. Recognize that the rejection from the other has nothing to do with you. Adjust the way you nurture them but don’t stop nurturing yourself.

I also learn from denial and rejection that I may be wrong. That I may only be seeing that inner child from my own perspective. See it from their perspective. Expand your capacity to nurture. This is what empathy looks like.

Maybe they don’t need healing. Do not assume everyone is broken and needs to be fixed. Just see and honor the inner child.

Big learning today.

Continued, about healing

I had a barrier to my own healing for a long time and it has taken a while to chip away at that wall. I was chipping away though, I know that to be true. In a decade of journals there are some common themes - dreaming of a happy life, one clearly different than the one I was living; emotional weightiness; obsessive curiosity of thoughts and things unseen; “I am growing, I am learning”. All of that was necessary work that has led to actual holes in this wall, allowing me to finally see what is beyond.

What is beyond the wall? More walls. What the hell?? Where is the field of green pastures and Springtime? All that I hoped for does not exist “on the other side” of the wall that I’ve been trying to get behind me. No, but the chipping away is still necessary work to understand what’s next. From this work I have learned and grown, I am able to encounter my disappointment with emotional intelligence and experience. With more walls ahead of me, I have a choice to spend another season of my life beating and destructing what I am facing. But I know that this cycle never ends, at least not with this approach.

I look beyond the wall, and get a glimpse of the whole from above. This is no border wall at all, separating what was from what will be. This is a labyrinth. Choosing to make my life difficult with incessant chiseling seems so wasteful and destructive to my own healing now. I can instead walk this path and engage my posture of dreaming of what’s to come, I can exercise emotional depth and stretch my curiosity as I continue to grow and learn how to navigate these walls without fighting so hard to get through them.

When I know that I am worth as much as Jesus, I WANT to treat myself better. Because that means that I am as complete, present, and loving as Christ. And he is the GOAT. I’m worth the same?! I immediately want to care for this temple, the structure of my being that is my mind, body, and soul. Its preservation comes first, it is all I need to survive. The joy of knowing and loving myself builds the foundation for my ability to react and respond to the world that exists around me - reality - and gives me the security to accept that reality. It is no longer about the emotions I have about the world or my feelings about myself. I never have to question what I’m worth, and can therefore pour out the overflowing currency onto the world. 

Is this instantaneous upon realization, or does it take practice to fully believe? It is a lifelong goal - getting closer with diligence until we arrive at full consciousness. That’s when we die.

Is dying just beginning again on the other side? I theorize that Heaven is the state of ultimate knowing - existing in and sharing the mind, body, and spirit of God. Though that is to say the God has such things. I think it’s just the best way for me to understand what it is. Fully conscious, present, and loving, as we are intended to be.

Blindsided

Honeymoon lasted until the summer came

Swept up by the waves

No sense in asking ourselves why

Just keep it movin until autumn fades

It will all start falling into place

They say we argue way too much

But I just said too much

The problem was really never you 

And if I’m wrong then let me roam beside the tide

You’ll find me in the winter night

When all is dark and starry eyed

I will fly

I will not fight

if you keep drifting out of sight 

and out of mind

——

Blindsided

You gave up all your moves

I knew me more before I knew you

Who knew you

before me?

Far sighted

Too close to see the truth

You knew me more before I told you

What to do

I blame me

——

Your pheromones and gentle tone 

drew me in

No chance to waste any time

with salt sifting through soft gracious hands 

You remind me that it can all be neverland

I stay because I learn so much

Because I’ve thought too much

About all the things I’ll never do

And if I’m wrong then let me roam beside the tide

You’ll find me in the winter night

When all is dark and starry eyed

I will fly

I will not fight

if you keep drifting out of sight 

and out of mind

——

Blindsided

You gave up all your moves

I knew me more before I knew you

Who knew you

before me?

Far sighted

Too close to see the truth

You knew me more before I told you

What to do

I blame me
——

But an endless well becomes a crutch 

When God feels out of touch

There’s no more water to dilute insecurities

That soul is deep but useless now

I sit in silence, asking how

Have I been adrift so long

Wandering, and not a righteous wandering,

in a dream of what I thought love was

Wonderin’ how to make my way back home

Is it you?

Elusive traveler 

Have you crossed my path 

to lead me back

Into the other side 

Of my mind?

The child in me says go

Learn what you can about letting go

I won’t know until I follow you

To the river where this desert ends

And if I’m wrong then let me roam beside the tide

You’ll find me in the winter night

When all is dark and starry eyed

I will fly

I will not fight

if you keep drifting out of sight 

and out of mind

——

Blindsided

You gave up all your moves

I knew me more before I knew you

Who knew you

before me?

Far sighted

Too close to see the truth

You knew me more before I told you

What to do

I blame me


Blindsided

I gave up all my moves

I knew me before, but didn’t know you

Who knew you

would know me

deeper than I knew myself

The dream was untrue

Realer than the love I thought I knew

The love is you

now salt sifts through soft gracious hands 

don’t look back now, take a stand

You remind me that it will never be neverland

It is all real. 

I feel as though I am mourning the loss of who I once was. It is the most intense bittersweet loneliness.
Mourning the loss of someone who is now at peace, out of misery, no longer suffering. But the death is still so fresh that it aches nonetheless.
There is a rooted understanding that this death is making way for new growth –
like a forest burned to the ground
I am hopeful, even though I am smoldering.

A Meditative Prayer

Only Goodness goes
in and out of here
Only Peace grows, there is no reversing
No need to rehearse these lines,
they are true
and Every light points to You,
only guiding light
No need to hide in shadow’s fear
There is no darkness here.

Could I truly be the artist of my nightmares –
In some age-old western scene,
runnin’ off-uh cigarettes, the blood on my sleeve showing up to soothe the pain I paint.
Factory fantasies,
a lover on my chest
yada, yada, forgot the rest –

Swiftly, lover’s wife
overlooking fields of purple, prime trim and canvas white.
Adjourn a toast to melancholic vintage tombs
to fumigate goose-feather downs for two runarounds
and drown in hibiscus clawfoot afternoons.
We stare, fair well and hold onto our eyes, printed larger than life, nailed above the couch.
It is a titanium house, buried in the grey. Maybe there is a lake.

Burn it to the ground if I reside without described content.
If you are, too, a solitary dweller,
at least accept the invitation and make my vision your vacation

trade it for grills and baecations
all these thrills are raging and boring
One day, in some age-old western scene,
the artist of my daydreams
sunnin’ like a raisinet, the heart on my sleeve giving up to soothe the brain-ache’s fate
Lactating fantasies,
a lover on my chest
yada, yada, forgot the rest.

Cleanse me
take me away from myself
and closer in to you.
Leaning in, all or nothing, sometimes I fall.
but I am listening, even if my ears are full.
Hang me out to dry
in the warmth of the Son.
Sway in your breeze,
I am clean.