how to survive the unsurvivable or what I do while waiting for the world to regain its color

scrollthrough the photosapp on my phone28,000 pictures and counting-delete duplicatesthe way I want to disappear myself(but I’m not a copy)stareat an image that appears inarguably beautifulor one in which I dorelish in howmy eyes see splendoreven through all the bullshiteven though somedays they can’t on those days death feels like a long awaited pause buttona

The future is crowdsourced.

we pick each other ‘s brains like wildflowers. capitalism has never been tender with us so we are relentlessly soft with one another. This system leaves us for dead but we keep bringing each other nourishment gift-wrapped as laughter. we keep bringing each other Alive.

the first person in the bloodline to analyze their trauma does so after causing their weight in it.

for years I became the shape of my anguish. I wasn’t just hurt. I was the hurt. when you are the wound and the salt you would do anything to stop the hellfire you have become but not before you enact the pain, make it reverberate into someone else’s lap say heavy say here say

My least favorite thing about being an artist is continually convincing myself I am not one.

Imposter syndrome taunts in a voice that sounds exactly like mine. Anxiety hands it a microphone. ADHD plays 52 card pick up with my thoughts- hyperfixates on negativity. Invisible illness renders me too damn tired to fight back. Capitalism builds an entire amphitheater for the performance finds a way to fill the seats and profit

it’s been a year of years.

time, head down concentrating- lacing their shoes like a fever-dream I trip over sometimes, I look at the people I love and I see cheekbones and eyelashes. smiles brave and worn. In recent weeks I smile at myself in the mirror every single time I step out of the shower. (it’s liberating to unhold a

When I laugh it is a holy sound

It is the thing I do in rebellion to the many things that try to trim my joy and sometimes gouge and sometimes win so when I smile, It is vast like the solar system stretched like a big top tent, wide as a tug boat pulling everything I’ve ever been right alongside me and

I am not the handcuffs on my bed post,

nor what you assume they say about me. I am the steady voice that asks them to be used. not just IN control I am control even when I consensually give it away. I am a sovereign entity, allocating all this power exactly as I see fit, boundless even when bound I am safe. I

I. In my family it is an heirloom to stand in doorways with men and watch their going

to freeze in gridlock and wonder, “Should I revolt against this? Should I play this game of tug of warring elements? Is that form of protest worth the tsunami?” I am the one in the family who usually decides it is. As I watch my tight rope walker fall or jump or dive from the

“You know you can’t be walking around looking all cute like that, getting me all worked up like this.”

As it turns out, I can. As it turns out, your being turned on is not an excuse to turn off your brain. This honestly sounds like a personal problem. This is something I don’t have to don’t want to and am not going to help you with ‘cause this is what I damn well

Perhaps you fell in love with the idea of me.

It was my hair, wasn’t it? it accented your t-shirt at the time or your eye color, or your endless insecurities. you forgot entirely that i am a person entirely- not just a big smile, an aesthetic, some kind of misplaced manic pixie dream girl let loose in the wild for you to discover and