dark poetry
-
There is always a roomwith no windows, a metal table,two chairs,a box of tissuessomeone keeps replacingbecause griefnever runs out. This is wherethe worst thingthat ever happened to youbecomes evidence. Where your shaking handsare asked for details. Where strangerswrite downthe color of the walls,the hour,the smell,the sound you madewhen you realizedno one was coming. And somehowyou…
-
Nobody tells youthe dead follow detectives home. Not like ghostsin white dresses. Nothing so mercifully obvious. They followin smaller ways. A photographthat will not leavethe back of your eyelids. A child’s bedroom. A mother’s scream. The soundof somebody askingwhy. They follow youthrough the front door, sit beside your childrenat dinner, crawl beneath the sheetsbetween youand…
-
Do you always turnpersonal questionsinto jokes? Only when the truthhas teeth. Only when your handsget too closeto the locked drawerbehind my ribs. I learned youngthat laughtercan change the subjectbefore anyone noticesyou are bleeding. So I became funny. Quick enoughto make you laughbefore you could askwhy I flinched. Sharp enoughto turn concernback on itself. You ask…
-
Pharma built walls and counted on silence; Wildfire remembers every lie, every door, and how beautifully secrets burn.
-
A nameless spirit survives as a cold draft beneath old floorboards, haunting the house with the memory of a human name it forgot.
-
The forest seems to understand wounded things, sending home a kitten whose thorns are only fear wearing fur.
-
A little feral creature arrives with claws, teeth, and every reason not to trust hands—then slowly discovers what softness can mean.
-
Softness was never the same as harmlessness; roses have thorns, pretty things have teeth, and survival taught her how to use both.
-
The forest becomes a burial ground for old apologies, dead promises, and the version of herself who kept begging people to stay.
-
At three in the morning, survival looks less like magic and more like a chipped mug, vitamins, cold water, and the promise to wake up tomorrow.
Between Bruises & Blooms 