An encounter I had with a makeup artist.
Cluttering Shadows
But light does not erase everything. Some habits are simply relics
When the Wolves Begin to Sing
Movements of the sacred ache I. The Knowing There’s something I have always known, in my hips, in my breath, in the heat that wakes me when no one’s there. I was made to be met. Not claimed. Not chased. Met. I do not want fingertips that search, I want hands that remember. Mouth that …
Who Will Be My Everyday
That what I long for is never too much.
I Don’t Believe in Manifestations
But It Will Get You to Where You Are Meant to Be
Things I Carried
This is the beauty of reflection. You remember the swing, the fall and the quiet.
Reality vs Pessimism: The Blurred Line
Let the ground be hard — I’ll grow anyway.
Nene's Corner 