What they don’t tell you is that when the cold fire of metal handcuffs encircles your wrists, even loosely, you’ll believe, for a second, that you are a criminal. You are not safe. You’re a danger to yourself and these metal rings prove it.
Dear writers of trauma, You and I both know that writing about trauma can be cathartic in any form, be it fiction or nonfiction, novel or personal essay. We are encouraged, as writers and storytellers and trauma survivors, to “write our truth” so we can heal but there is an underlying occurrence that I don’t... Continue Reading →
*I wrote this poem after reading an article about James Baldwin and his struggle with suicidal ideation* If I ask you to martyr me within your pages,blank and crisp, like unvarnished potential,don’t let your memory of me fade awaylike forgotten, abandoned childhood dreams.Don’t listen to my mournful woes.Write me beautiful and stellar,glamorous and headstrong.Paint me... Continue Reading →
I woke up this morning thinking about Judas Iscariot, you know, the guy history remembers as the "son of hell"? The one who betrayed Jesus to the Pharisees for 30 pieces of silver (roughly $250 in today's money, but that number varies depending on which scholar you ask). Most of us know the story: Jesus... Continue Reading →
None of us clapped after he read AN ENTIRE ACT OF SORROW and I wonder if Rebecca is the bridge he still can’t burn which is to say, if he was there, could he, would she have allowed him to, be her knight in shattered armor? He offered no thanks after finishing, like lost gratitude... Continue Reading →