Stripped of my innocence,Dissociating from my body each time you laid your hands upon me,Paralysing at the unwanted flashbacks of the look of satisfaction plastered across your face,“It was not your fault”“It was not your fault”Stripped of my innocence,I screamed in pain,Pushed you away,Your grip tightened,The sound of your laughter as you pushed yourself inside of me still echoes in my mind.Dr...

i made this graphic bc i was on tumblr and there was a post about healing and growth came into my mind and i had the thought of “growth and healing.” as i was doing my graphic, the thought changed into “growth IN healing.” i’ve dealt with my depression and anxiety for about 7 years and still counting. and in the process of recovery, i learned that in healing from all the trauma and pain, i’ve ...

fallen between the abstract | a distant hallelujah          next to the clovesI slip and am unsalvageable, but I know howforgiveness is shaped even if I have never knownthe scent of purity | lashing out at horns thatbreed like passing streetlights before the fire ever began           nightswithout fire, without heat | the estrangementnow named home, the fireflies of Connecticutthat move me from...

I ask who I’m fighting-Knowing damn well the answer is “my traumatized inner child”. Constantly wondering if child is fighting adult or adult fighting child. Can we coexist? Actually, fuck that. Can we heal? It’s two against who. Now, child- take my hand. We’ll get through. 

This is where I came from, not proudly.Evening blood rippling unevenlyAcross the icing of an artexed wall,A dining table for instance, busted,That airless intoxication of shame.Those were my days.Not Beirut or Belfast but home.The mind framing that jagged realityIn a spray of family snapshots,Laughing at itself in quiet times,Mutilating imagined enemies in dreams,A daily pill the cheapened pri...

A powerless night coldly oozes,Bruises and creeps; shame rests in the moon's pillow,Crisis curbs the balm of sleep. No sympathy, please, I'm on the meds!A damaged brain in its cup disassembles In dreams, confused, lancinated By the pain of extremes.No sympathy, please, I'm on the waiting list!Through unarmed memories flashbacksPush their way, haemorrhaging Into an innocent day.Copyright © 2022...

Fine lines wrinkle the face I once caressed with tiny hands While being cradled in the security of her armsThe auburn hair I ran my fingers through in the darkness of her bedroomTo chase away the nightmares of her dyingIs now the color of sunshine and honeyHer once soft exterior has been replaced by a hardened exoskeletonA suit of armor pristinely polished by every hardship she has sufferedShe ...

  Whispers in her ears, Tongues tickle her cheeks. She walks alone in tears. Will she forever cry stones? Each Time she faces her fears? First, she held her head high. Hair in a little pony puff Head is hung low in shame. All she wanted was for them to  remember her name. Now they do  Leaves a bittersweet taste. Stops men in their tracks. Never to breathe again Steals hearts Hardened exterior ...

In Ari Aster’s 2016 short film C’est La Vie, Chester Crummings, a homeless man, speaks directly and combatively to camera about his life and society at large as he wanders the streets of LA, surviving, begging for change and casually murdering people. At one point, he says: “You know what Freud says about the nature of horror? He says it’s when the home becomes unhomelike. Unheimlich.”  In Sig...

In Ari Aster’s 2016 short film C’est La Vie, Chester Crummings, a homeless man, speaks directly and combatively to camera about his life and society at large as he wanders the streets of LA, surviving, begging for change and casually murdering people. At one point, he says: “You know what Freud says about the nature of horror? He says it’s when the home becomes unhomelike. Unheimlich.”  In Sig...