the Vixen of Verse

Since 2024, I have been chronically homeless due to worsening health conditions that have made it impossible to consistently maintain employment and stable housing.

In January 2026, I was formally diagnosed with Sjögren’s syndrome and fibromyalgia. I am currently undergoing testing for possible temporal lobe seizures and being evaluated for secondary lupus related to Sjögren’s. My health has been unpredictable and, at times, debilitating.

Recently, I experienced a flare so severe that I couldn’t walk — even with a cane. The pain, neurological symptoms, and fatigue can be overwhelming. Despite this, I am doing everything I can to keep moving forward. I am actively applying for disability benefits and working as much as my body allows.

Right now, I am temporarily staying with a friend — but that arrangement is not permanent, and time is running out. I urgently need to raise $250 per week for the next two months to cover:

• Temporary housing

• Uber transportation to work and medical appointments

• Medical supplies and basic necessities

This bridge would give me stability while I continue pursuing disability, managing my health, and working toward a sustainable living situation.

Asking for help is incredibly hard for me. I have always worked. I have always found a way. But chronic illness has changed what I can physically do, and I cannot get through this alone.

If you are able to donate, share, or simply send encouragement, it truly means more than I can say. Every contribution helps create safety, stability, and space for me to focus on healing instead of survival.

Thank you for reading. 🤍

I’m warning him now,

like I’ve informed the others—

whatever is surging through

my vitriolic veins will alter

his very essence.

My lips are laced with delirium,

a simple kiss will have him

stumbling into kaleidoscopic oblivion.

He’ll see fractures of a future

with a girl who he had only hoped

to smear the lipstick of.

Blinded by electric hues of eternity,

he promises his time and effort.

For however long it may be,

he’ll keep up appearances.

The flickering hallucinations

that dance before his eyes

when he looks at me

are for some reason enough

for him to do so.

But soon enough,

the salt from my skin

will rub into

his open wounds,

aggravating old insecurities.

This results in agitation, restlessness,

sometimes even confusion.

He doesn’t understand the reality

of the woman that stands before him;

unable to conceptualize the notion

of a multifaceted being.

Questioning everything

that he once was so devout to,

he finds that the edges of his mind

are beginning to fray.

Once he starts unraveling,

so do we.

Pitiful proclamations of,

“You didn’t do anything wrong /

I just don’t want to hurt you”

followed by the cruelest acts of desecration to the deity that he used to worship.

Soon,

the vibrancy of the fantasy fades,

and with it,

the light in his eyes.

He becomes a shell of the man

he was before our encounter,

cursed to spend the rest

of his shameful little life

chasing after my amethyst splendor.