Wet Earth

I write to smell the rain. Writing marks the pulse of life. Expressing through words with pen and paper allows…

Exhale

It isn’t so much death I fear; living with pain is what I fear. Cracking open with salt and tears…

The Cycle of Bones

Thousands and Thousands. Countless ages stored in my bones. Ash compacting. Tears squeeze out to make room for more. More…

Womb

She moves me. I don’t quite know what to do with these feelings. I try to feel them. Invite them…

Writing in Spirals

We are writers. Creators with perspectives and experiences. Themes coursing through our bodies and dreams and we search for meaning.…

The Curb

The Curb coffee shop. Honolulu, Hawaii. Artisanal coffee. Iced Toddy on nitrous. Skateboarder, jittery, stumbled out, found his feet on…