The heretics, wild and unrepentant, beyond gifts, lighting up the dark.
The sacred sensuality of incarnation and presence.
The heretics, wild and unrepentant, beyond gifts, lighting up the dark.
Just be you, kid. Momma’s got you covered.
Random fits of joy just because she is joy, and I’ll cultivate safety so she knows that about herself.
Welts on our legs, a little blood. A rather serious game of fun.
The warmth is lovely. The terror of investigation into my pre-teen crushes is not.
We smiled at each other down in the dirt, sharing the strange moment of having survived.
My vessel no longer commissionable to holding anything I don’t choose.
My instincts are for me first, then they guide my actions so they can be chosen with consciousness.
I learned to build a fire out of necessity.
He wore those slippers until they split at the lip, wore down the heels to holes.