I don’t remember when we are suppose to realize that our bodies are made out of poems, but I remember the first time I found a poem tucked in my vein. The words had stained my skin and I could not find a way to forget poetry. Ink was left in my palms and at the time I could not write poems and I did not know how to tear of skin. By writing poems, I understood that they were not meant to rust in our ribcage, but lay underneath the butterflies that have swallowed the poems from our skin….❤ Continue reading I don’t remember…

I am a collective of souls. I am all their hopes, all their dreams. I am both their greatest disappointment and most cherished possession. I am everyone and everything. Or at least it used to feel as if I had to be. I am. Whatever that means. Whatever that is. I don’t know. Once I was a daughter. Once I was a friend. Maybe even an enemy. Once I was a lover. Once I was comfort. Once I was anger. Once I was an inspiration. Once I was nothing. Once I was all. And now I am. I am less … Continue reading Souls