I Am Extraordinary

I am extraordinary.
I am a wreck
and a masterpiece,
in equal parts.
I am a warrior,
I will get through
no matter what it takes.
It won’t be easy,
but I am determined
and unstoppable.
I will overcome
and rebuild.
I will bloom from the decay,
and I will thrive.
I will burn, break, and bleed.
I will wear my scars proud,
and I will rise from the ruins—
not unscathed,
but free.

Dismantled

There was something in the way
she dismantled herself—
the way she pulled fire from the sun
and burned;
the way she lay face down
in the rubble, breathing in
ash and despair;
the way she tasted the destruction
before she carved herself anew
from the black sky.

This is an excerpt from a piece I’ve written for my book.

Song of Flames

They tell you to follow the sun
as if night isn’t upon you
as if the shadows aren’t real

but night is still upon you

The thing in your mouth, copper hush
rage whispers
silence screams
until you sing your song of flames:

Let them come
Oh, let them rage
Let them find me in the shadows
Let them say my name
And quake


They tell you to let go
as if you’ve unpacked your pain
as if you’ve poured it into the earth

but hell still sits in a suitcase

The thing in your belly, it knows
the magic lies in the coming apart
in the middle of the wreck
in your every season
and every room
it waits

Hurt is hard to feel
but still the wound must speak
and speak it does
before you heal


They tell you to sit on the moon
keep fishing dark skies for stars
as if hope isn’t hanging by a thread of nostalgia
as if you didn’t notice the rage behind the flowers
before they were plucked from your garden

but his hands are still entangled in your hair

The thing in your center, it calls
little by little
in waves
it comes

Pull up a chair, sorrow says
out of body, slip
you will rebuild yourself
but first, rest