Mind over Migraine
Red Dress
She doesn’t need a red dress.
She sheds it and with it, her insecurities;
she sheds the expectations and arbitrary standards,
put on her by the layers of her world.
She is bold and undressed,
willing to show herself to the world;
to expose the perfection of her imperfection.
She is powerful
and willing to face pain without defense.
She is done hiding.
Fuck the red dress.
She doesn’t need a red dress.
She sheds it and with it, her insecurities;
she sheds the expectations and arbitrary standards,
put on her by the layers of her world.
She is bold and undressed,
willing to show herself to the world;
to expose the perfection of her imperfection.
She is powerful
and willing to face pain without defense.
She is done hiding.
Fuck the red dress.
Portrait of a Tree I
Portrait of a Tree II
Mercer Lake
Pandemic Therapy Space
Beneath the Winter
I can't take this cold air any longer.
It has sliced me open,
and cut through my core,
and left me...
in a permanent shiver.
I am wishing the winter away.
With each step I take on the frozen ground,
the surface grows harder and harder.
Each step jolts,
up into my frozen bones.
It hurts to breathe,
when parts of me are peeling off.
I get to peel off this last layer though,
and reveal
the warm fertility,
that is underneath.
There is something kind, soft and loamy there.
All of this green is just waiting for me,
waiting in me,
for a waltzing step,
and an easy warm breath.
I can't take this cold air any longer.
It has sliced me open,
and cut through my core,
and left me...
in a permanent shiver.
I am wishing the winter away.
With each step I take on the frozen ground,
the surface grows harder and harder.
Each step jolts,
up into my frozen bones.
It hurts to breathe,
when parts of me are peeling off.
I get to peel off this last layer though,
and reveal
the warm fertility,
that is underneath.
There is something kind, soft and loamy there.
All of this green is just waiting for me,
waiting in me,
for a waltzing step,
and an easy warm breath.
Eric, Prince of Hearts
Maladaptive Daydream
The backwash of uncried tears,
spills against the back of my skull.
Unclean sorrow,
waits for time's washing;
to undo,
all that was dreamt...
done.
The backwash of uncried tears,
spills against the back of my skull.
Unclean sorrow,
waits for time's washing;
to undo,
all that was dreamt...
done.
Emily's Aurora
Inner propulsion,
and then,
an explosion of joyful colors.
You exuberate,
because you are free!
You weep and howl,
because you will be held!
Your eyes and your stories wander,
allllll around,
circumnavigating what you know
and what you can imagine.
You are a bold dragon,
who not only breathes the fire
but eats it too.
You have some of your mommy's magic; let it launch you far!
Inner propulsion,
and then,
an explosion of joyful colors.
You exuberate,
because you are free!
You weep and howl,
because you will be held!
Your eyes and your stories wander,
allllll around,
circumnavigating what you know
and what you can imagine.
You are a bold dragon,
who not only breathes the fire
but eats it too.
You have some of your mommy's magic; let it launch you far!