I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable

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  • Let her in.

    She’ll come in the after,
    once everyone else goes back to their lives
    leaving you alone and full of holes.
    When she knocks at your door,
    let her in.
    She’ll stand there on your doorstep forever otherwise,
    a barrier between you and all the life still left to live.
    Take her in.
    Care for her.
    Lovingly, tenderly,
    as you would a small child.
    She too is confused and terrified,
    and yet somehow holy.
    She will haunt you for the rest of your days.
    She is sacred; the light of every loss that created her shines so bright
    under a cloak of melancholia.
    She is nostalgia for moments long-gone
    and the ache of love left behind.
    So let her in.
    Wash her feet, let her rest,
    let her settle.
    She isn’t going anywhere.

  • In my head

    reflecting and being honest with myself about my readiness to accept less than I know I need for my happiness and fulfillment instead of confronting something uncomfortable.

  • 2025’s lessons

    1. The people you surround yourself with are a direct reflection of you.
    2. Your intuition is usually right, stop doubting yourself.
    3. It’s possible to make a life worth living after grief destroys yours.
    4. #3 is an excruciatingly painful realization.
    5. People will talk all day but their actions define their true character.
    6. Sometimes you have to meet people where they are, and sometimes you have to walk away. The wisdom is in knowing the difference.
    7. Addiction is insidious.
    8. Asking for help is a sign of strength, not weakness.
    9. You would probably benefit from therapy. We all would.
    10. Not a whole lot of good happens on social media.
    11. There’s always hope; you can always change.

  • to everything there is a season

    it all passes eventually. five years from now, the very moment you’re existing in will most likely have faded into oblivion, wherever memories go to be archived when they aren’t needed.

    you know, the mundane things of life: what you did at your job today, what you’re having for dinner, the fight you had with your partner. in the grand scheme of things, none of this matters.

    but right now, right here, it matters at this moment. i’m committing to making my moments more meaningful, even if they’re inaccessible to me years from now. because i will remember the joy, if not the specific circumstances.

    and i want to remember the joy. all of it.

  • Walt Whitman Said It Better Than I Ever Could

    These are the strange in-between days,

    a fever dream I can’t escape,

    the unsettling quiet after the war.

    But is it after or is it before?

    Stuck in purgatory in this place.

    All I ever wanted was more.

  • still

    my grief’s razor-sharp edges, now blunted, still cut. i still bleed when i pick it up.

  • “I am loved, I am not a disappointment.”

    This text was from 2022 just before I checked myself into detox for alcohol. She made me cry. She took all the best parts of me with her when she died, but I’m determined to get them back. That’s what she would want for me.

  • Strength is quietly doing what needs to be done because it’s important, even if it hurts or isn’t fun.

  • Man. Ya hit your mid-30s and the aging process really revs up its ass kicking, huh?

    8 years between these two photos – 27 vs 35

    Brb, off to inquire about Botox and just how many units one face can stand, slather myself in sunscreen despite it being 10pm at night, then guzzle a gallon of water before my 12-hour beauty rest.

    February 12th, 2017
    May 10th, 2025

  • Lizard plays dress up

    I muck about in my ill-fitting skin.

    I grind my jawbone into grit. 

    I waft and I waver, and I wait and I wait. 

    My scaly shoulders suffer in the thick air. 

    It’s putrid, even rancid; every inhale burns. 

    I can’t stay here. 

    I make it halfway down the road,

    I let out a chilling scream then, and turn around.

    My sandpaper tongue probes the spaces between the dentin of my teeth.

    I lick the sediment from my gums and I wait and I seethe. 

    Oh, this alien skin. 

    I grimace, spitting out sawdust remnants. 

    The first scale has sloughed off and hangs suspended halfway down my back. 

    I am reptilian. I am panicking, and wishing for the grace that I lack. 

    A quick glance around, but I no longer care who sees. 

    I unzip this human suit, step out. 

    No, I step in. To myself. To me.