Earthquakes rack my body-

constant tsunamis

of self-doubt surface

smashing against my

self-consciousness.

The tectonic plates

of my muscles

crash together

rumbling right through

my rhythm-

A daily disruption.

My emergency responders

are mantras and prayers

My Red Cross a Worn Book

A rescue team of crinkled papers,

plastic toys and small rituals

Repeated.

In tornado alley

when asked what

they would do,

after a storm had

ruined everything

the man on TV said

“rebuild”.

And so I do,

every day building walls

and supports,

building small safe spaces

to stay away the sensation

of dread.

A first aid kit for my mind

that makes my mess

manageable.

This is my path,

it is all I can do

Like there are plenty of legit criticisms of House of Usher, but people being all, "after all the poetic deaths of truly terrible people hers was so jarring/Verna should have spared her" and like.

That is the point. Impossibly wealthy, cruelly selfish people kill thousands of innocents all the time. Even when they get their own cruel end, innocent people get taken down with them.

🥰💕🥰💕

"We came together at completely the right time and I think there were doubters in the paddock who probably did think he was in the twilight but I think he has proven everybody wrong. It has been a new beginning; it's a team that suits him really well and that he has said many times that it's a team he feels comfortable in. He's a great personality fit for us."

She normally falls asleep painting, wakes up with bleary eyes and oil paint on her cheeks and rolls on with her day. But Basil is a different kind of normal-- a terribly new normal and she cannot fall asleep the first time he is there. He is warm, and heady--and solid next to her. Something she will wake up to in the morning. Someone she will wake up with--and it is a strange thing to contemplate when you are so used to solitude, and oil paint. He is still awake now--still listening to her speak, her accented voice dipping in and out of native tongue when she gets too excited--too much like a rambunctious child in his presence. She is high off of him, and the way his lips graze her collar bone. Today--wasn’t an easy day for him. So she wraps her arms around him-- holds him to her chest without too many words or explanations of why his eyes didn’t light up quite the same when he laughed. She didn’t need to pry. She is a comfort giver--by nature. And if she cares enough to give, she lays all at your feet. She toys with his hair, and giggles at his words, and lets the evening unwind around them-- it is simple--and sweet and revolutionary for her. 

// Good morning, afternoon, and evening to you all!

First and foremost, I didn’t expect to open my tumblr for the first time in months to dozens of messages. I’m getting around to responding to them all, but I’ll answer the most commonly asked now:

Am I still alive? Why yes, as a matter of fact, I am.

I believe the last time I posted anything to this blog was back in February, and here we are, staring down May at the door. It’s been a really long time, and I apologize for my absence.