Non classé

We are all flowers, in the end.

I try to write. To post. To keep it going because I said I would – but I don’t have words in sentences for you to understand. I only have feelings and changes and a hurricane of a life. I am living on my mat these days and in poems. I am not writing pages to make sense of something that just is what it is. And I am definitely not writing to give you an explanation. I am just being, here, today, with what I have. And what I have is fresh air, a city that holds me and space. A space I am trying to protect, to not give away too much. A space that is booming, blooming. I keep wanting to write things on here and something in me thinks I can’t because I am supposed to be sad and broken. I can not celebrate the wins in the middle of an ending. That I can not feel powerful when I am supposed to be lost. And maybe it is weird, and maybe I don’t have to care.


Don’t ask me how I am when you already made up your mind of what that should be.

You want to hear a story that is not mine to tell,

Details that are not mine to give.


Don’t project what you think should be next on me.

All I see is free.

You see?

These days feel like rain,

and I am the flower.


She blooms.

Leave me be.

Don’t look for me where you last me saw me.

I am gone.

Big wins and big losses tend to come at the same time.

What is what?

Who is to tell?

A crash sets things in motion, go on, go on.

It is hard to be lost when everything points in the same direction.


I will cry with you. I will laugh with you.

I will be naive and go to fast.

I will take too many baths, slow down.

I will show up and get the job.

I will be fine fine fine.

I can celebrate quietly, if I must. But I will.

I will be all of me with you,

But I will not pretend not to be okay, for you.

It is raining.

We are all flowers.

How dare we stay the same.



Don’t be sorry.

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