Updates
The start: 2025/04/22 Freedom Safety Connection Everything else may be transient I'm still in a phase of development Uncomfortable out of my element That probably means it's working Pleasure need not stay lurking The now: 2025/09/16
Poetry
People would look at me with pity, but their kindness was nowhere to be seen. I turned from empty platitudes, seeking shelter through a screen. I stopped getting cat called at least, those same men now recoiled. I stopped hearing about how my beauty made me obnoxiously spoiled. Feeling unworthy
Writing
You don't know me, but I know you, though I've only recently gotten to a deep enough level to be able to understand you and the choices you have made. You'll never read this letter, though doing so would have changed the direction of
Drafts
If I was a dragon I'd live in a cave on a lumpy pile of gold. Every treasure is drenched in blood and it's hard to clean with such big, sharp claws. Too long, doesn't fit. Clearly, I must learn once again—to transform.
Poetry
Black and white pictures hang on the walls Curdling talent Secrets unsung Knuckle stains from her brawl The blood in her mind covers scribbles in oil Rip out my whimsy Poison my lungs Remains willingly toil A gift from the ocean Colorful silks Mechanical oil Magic grows sick Package me
Writing
TW! All the trigger warnings. Seriously. I've been thinking about this question for a really long time. What is my worst Nightmare? Cause I've been through a lot. Ostracized, exorcised, cast out, cat called, shunned, avoided, publicly humiliated. None of that was a nightmare. I'
Updates
It was hard to get out of bed today. The snow fell quite hard and I was shut inside by a blizzard. It stopped though. That snow is piled high on leaves that struggle to hold up the weight of so much icy water. They keep their arms and legs
Poetry
The name I was given never fit An awkward birthright like shoes too tight Pain in every step A god to demand rather than defend I have three names, all of them chosen Within them I write levels of devotion Inky for the world Amethina for my friends Nova for
Poetry
The rot is subcutaneous, it leeches out from inside. My bones were decomposing before any of them arrived. So it's difficult to blame. Was I born this way, or was I maimed? It's not like knowing that would change anything redirect what life could bring, but
Writing
Why do I feel like I can't? There's this pressure to understand it before I send it to anyone. New creations still make me feel kinda shaky, does that ever stop? What did I write? It's a stream of consciousness. It took almost 15
Poetry
The void of my cap spills endless ink Crimson displays passion in belief Gothic romanticism beats in my heart Edges of sorrow restructure my art Hi, did you miss me? I may have found an inkling I'm allowed to make mistakes No need to constantly erase My page