Everything

My Mother's Hair, My Father's Rage

Some people are made of flower petals, or hard, stony rocks. Some are black holes draining the light from everyone nearby. Some people carry the elements inside: water, wind, earth, metal and me: fire. My mother once brought home a psychic who told her I was too much fire. Said to drape the room in blue with curtains, sheets, my clothes too to cool the heat that lives in me. A little color theory. But there’s a small ember tucked beside my lungs deep flames simmering like the

1 min read

We Were Once Fish

I like eating dinner for breakfast and breakfast for dinner. I like the smell of rain in the air. I like counting the gulps of water I...

1 min read

My Pomegranate

Survival is not experience. It’s luck — pure chance. And every day I feel the devil digging his heels into me one step at a time...

1 min read