âOnce, I saw a bee drown in honey, and I understood.â
â Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco

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@coyoterwrites
âOnce, I saw a bee drown in honey, and I understood.â
â Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco

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I will strongly deny it if they ask me but I always wanted to be treated like a princess..
Like an orchid, you let yourself be picked. You got tangled up in me. I grew attached to you. I thought that I knew where you were headed and that you knew my roots, my strength, my weaknesses. We could grow together, each flowering in our own way. But you cast the first unexpected bud to the ground, without considering that it also contained part of me.
â Astrid Roemer, On a Woman's Madness
After years posting my poems here on Tumblr, I got a book published!
The Secret Name of Things is available on Amazon.
Something's gonna break one way or another

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After a few years posting here on Tumblr, I finally got a book published!
The Secret Name of Things is a collection of poetry and it's available on Amazon.
"To the Ones Who Called Me Too Much"
I learned to speak in lowercaseâ¨because you flinched when I spoke in bold.â¨You called me annoyingâ¨and I swallowed that word wholeââ¨let it ferment in the soft of my chestâ¨until it turned into silence.
You laughed when I was loud,â¨but not the right kind of loud.â¨Not popular girl loud, not main character loud.â¨I was background noiseâ¨in a classroom whereâ¨you wanted music, not static.
I was a frequencyâ¨you didnât know how to tune into.
But here's what you didn't see:â¨My mind moved fast.â¨Faster than my mouth could catch up.â¨So when I spoke too much,â¨it was because my thoughts were sprintingâ¨and I didn't want to leave them behind.
You called me weirdâ¨because I noticed too much.â¨The way the teacher's hands trembledâ¨when she passed back tests.â¨The crack in your voiceâ¨when you said you were "fine."â¨The truth behind thingsâ¨people wished I hadnât seen.
I used to shrink myself to fitâ¨into your lukewarm approval,â¨until I realizedâ¨you were just uncomfortableâ¨with anything not lukewarm.
I am fire.â¨Not for burning, but for forging.â¨And youââ¨you were water trying to put me outâ¨because no one ever taught youâ¨how to sit in heat without boiling.
So to the ones who called me too much,â¨too loud, too dramatic, too intense:â¨Maybe I was.â¨But I was also alive.â¨And that scared the hell out of you.
Iâm not sorry for being flame.â¨Iâm just sorry you never learned to warm your hands.
-R.M.
âThe things weâve done stay with us.â
â Colleen Hoover, This Girl
âYou were unsure which pain is worse - the shock of what happened or the ache for what never will.â
â Simon Van Booy, Everything Beautiful Began After
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Albert Camus
âIf f youâre not tough itâs hard to survive in this world; and if youâre not kind then you donât deserve to survive.â
â Raymond Chandler
I always kept my hair short. Not for fashion, not for easeâbut because of an old folk tale I once heard: trauma lives in the hair. That every inch holds memory, that every snip lightens the weight we carry. So I cut mine often. Chopped it back the moment it started to brush my neck. It was my ritual. My release. A quiet way to shed what I couldnât speak out loud.
Then one morning, my sonâbarefoot and still wrapped in his cartoon blanketâlooked up at me and said, âMom, will you grow your hair out? Iâve never seen you with long hair.â His eyes were so gentle. So curious. Not demanding, just⌠hoping.
And in that moment, something in me shifted. I realized healing doesnât always have to be about letting go. Sometimes, itâs about holding onâto what matters most.
So here I am. Growing it out for the first time. Not because the trauma is gone, but because his smile is worth more than the weight I used to cut away.
âThere is a weight on my chest that no hands can lift, a silence in my mind that no words can break. I am trapped between the need to scream and the inability to speak, lost in a storm where every path disappears before I can take a step.â

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therapy can't replace getting so angry alone in your room you feel lightheaded
"When I decided to wage holy war, it looked very much like staring at my bedroom floor."
--Florence and the Machine, Girls Against God
Part 1:
High Hopes and Space Probes
So there I was, outside, absolutely baked out of my mind, staring at the stars like they owed me rent. The night sky was doing its usual thingâquiet, sparkly, mysteriousâand I was having one of those deep, why-are-we-here moments. You know, the kind that only hit after three bong rips and a long day of procrastinating real life.
And then I saw it.
A tiny light, cruising across the sky all smooth and confident. Probably a satellite, right? But then my brain was like, hold up, Chanel. What if itâs not a satellite? What if thatâs, like, aliens? What if theyâre just chilling up there, watching me butcher ârealityâ with every inhale?
Thatâs when the paranoia-slash-curiosity spiral began.
In my head, the light stops. Full brakes, no signal. And suddenly, itâs not just a twinkle anymoreâitâs descending. Quick. And itâs bright. My chest tightens, and my brainâs like, Youâre about to meet extraterrestrials, sis. Better act cool.
Thenâboom. Spaceship. Not even subtle. This thing just materializes out of nowhere and parks itself right there, like the universe decided I was on the VIP list.
The door slides open, all dramatic and glowing. Iâm frozen, gripping the bong like itâs a magical talisman thatâll save me. Then he steps out.
Okay, he. I donât even know what to call him because this dude is giving main character energy. Heâs not your typical alienâthe gray, big-headed kind from low-budget documentaries. Nah, my guy is shimmering, like his whole bodyâs made of holographic glitter. And his eyes? Whew. Theyâre like mini universes swirling around, each one telling me, Yeah, I know all your secrets, Chanel.
He doesnât talkâat least, not with words. Instead, I feel his voice in my head, which is kind of rude because I wasnât ready for him to just hop into my thoughts uninvited.
âYouâve been waiting for this,â he says.
I blink, confused. âUm, waiting for what? My SHEIN order?â
He doesnât laugh. Aliens, apparently, donât do humor. Instead, he steps closer, and the air around him buzzes like the universe itself is hyped he showed up. âDolores Cannon was right,â he continues, like Iâm supposed to immediately connect the dots. âOther lives, other dimensionsâitâs all real. You know this, donât you?â
And honestly, I kind of do. Dolores Cannon was my jam. Her books? Life-changing. But hearing it confirmed by a space dude standing in my backyard was a whole new level of what-the-actual-hell.
âYouâre not just this body,â he says, all profound. âYouâre an infinite being, connected to everything. And now, your suffering ends.â
The way he says it, all serious and cosmic, makes me want to cry, but also maybe laugh because, like, what suffering? My only problem right now is deciding between sushi or ramen for my post-bong munchies.
But before I can say anything, he lifts his handâor whatever aliens call hands. Itâs glowing, pulsing, like heâs about to gift me some kind of galactic superpower. âCome with me,â he says. âTo a place of light. Of understanding. Youâre ready to know the truth.â
And suddenly, Iâm floating.
Like, literally floating. The grass, the Earth, my whole backyardâitâs all falling away, and Iâm just⌠drifting. The stars are so close now, I can feel their light brushing against me, warm and alive. Itâs like the universe is giving me a hug.
The alien reaches for me, his galaxy-eyes locking onto mine. Iâm about to take his hand and ascend to whatever enlightened alien paradise heâs got planned whenâ
CLUNK.
The bong tips over, and just like that, Iâm back.
Iâm not floating. Iâm not in a spaceship. Iâm sitting on the couch on my balcony, my hoodie pulled up over my head, staring at the sky like a stoner clichĂŠ. The only thing in the air is the smell of burnt weed, and the only light is a satellite, lazily drifting across the horizon.
I burst out laughing, so hard I almost choke. âGirl,â I whisper to myself, wiping tears from my face. âYou need to chill.â My imagination is out here doing full laps around reality, and Iâm just along for the ride.
But still, as I pack another bowl (because obviously, I didnât learn my lesson), I glance at the sky again.
What if it wasnât just my imagination? What if heâs still out there, waiting for me to be a little less high and a little more ready?
I blow out a cloud of smoke and grin. âYour move, glitter guy.â