How the dead can seem so alive, she had pondered as she moved from room to room and conversation to conversation. Eventually, she had stopped moving. For days on end. The dark of her eyelids transforming into the darkness outside her window. That is when they had come—her friends—and pulled her out of the mud that seemed to be drowning her. The mud that was sucking her under as her arms sat helpless at her side. How easily the body can be swayed by the soul.Read More
Like any writer, I spend a lot of time procrastinating the things I need to say because ultimately, writing requires vulnerability. There is also the balance of writing things that can be monetized versus the things you want to talk about. The collection of essays here represents the latter to its truest form. It is my hope that as you read them, you will allow yourself to be as vulnerable as I permit myself.
Do leave me a comment if something particularly strikes you. Happy reading!
** Quote from Meryl Streep's 2016 Golden Globes Speech
2017 is a year for flexing my creative muscles and releasing into the world the things I am not sure of, the ones that feel too vulnerable to make and state. As such, I offer a litany of broken hearts sold as poetry. Of a nonbeliever perpetually in love. The poems (below) are arranged under different titles. The titles themselves, drawn from the work of another artist I greatly admire, Jim Chuchu, whose multimedia exhibit, The Bones Remember, led me to new questions on art and claiming identity.
Feature Image: Taken at Buddy Brew Coffee, Tampa, Florida