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Hamartia – Greek hamartanein ‘to err’. An element of cosmic collusion among the hero’s flaw, chance, necessity, and other external forces is essential to bring about the tragic catastrophe. * her skin speaks of non-conformity, holding moons in its strangenessdark ink of past story. each movement of her body is a revolution in its ownContinue reading “Hamartia”

I have no fear in being shown the depths of my unfaithfulness to self. Where I’m living a lie and not speaking truth. My hips begin spiralling in motion like the motion of a wooden spoon-handle stirring potion in a witch’s cauldron.I mix truth and love in mine, illuminating the darkened corners where others likeContinue reading “Spill and descend”

I slither my way through, close to the ground earth my only true home. I get through the crevices of darkness with ease, guided not by what I seebut by the song and vibrations of the underworld.earth, my only true home. Eyes can deceive us in seeing light where there is none; mistaking bright placesContinue reading “skin cracks open”

how many pecan halves does it take to anaesthetise the soul?the solid darkness of cacao to calm the flow of dark blood within; desperate to find its source. then salt. It brings truth to the sweet corners that hold self deceit and half truths. where I sweeten the pain brought by the dissonance of livingContinue reading “your refusals are sacred”

The city swallows me, its gaping mouth widening with illusion. Dreams here get trapped in the sharp corners, straight walls grasping your freedoms, air so heavy with a pale amnesia. I belong to a forest that opens me up, expands me like a flowering bud. Like a heart that dilates into feeling. A love rising.Continue reading “Enchantment”

You grow and grow, but unlike trees, you detach yourself from root. Only the root of home remains stuck to the sole of the foot, a root that guides your choices, feet that take you on paths that the mind cannot comprehend. What detaches is the root of innocence, the gentle naivety of self thatContinue reading “Roots that no longer hold you”

I feel a heaviness when I think of home. A soft sorrow when I think of my grandmother kneeling alone in prayer, visioning our lives so far and separate and incomprehensible. A certain heaviness when I think of my father, trapped within cages of his own making, a life of battling shadow. And what treasureContinue reading “Thoughts from the end of summer”

How much of what I have been giving to this world really comes from source, or from the wounded child? How much of my desire is mine, and not his asking? He is in me, and his pain is the only thing demanding to be felt. The wounded child masks himself as a woman ofContinue reading “Tending to the Wounded Child”