the bold type

The truth is, I have too often not risen to the occasion of myself. I have too often draped myself in the cloaks of softer, quieter.Fine.But I am not fine.I laugh too loud and fight too hard. I cannot manage a low key entrance and instead show up to trumpets. I like my sex rough… Continue reading the bold type


all my boring lives.

last year i wrote about running. how i have worn out many a figurative sole by simply fleeing, removing myself from the life of whomever i was currently sharing it with. i don't think i'll ever not feel the itch to just run, when things look funny in the light. but now i understand that… Continue reading all my boring lives.

#52Essays2017, Muzings

4. Mother’s Day

sometimes it's easy to forget it ever happened, to go about life and never have it surface inΒ the forefront of my mind. even when i am reminded by my naked reflection, the now barely-there line of a scar etched below my pelvis, a slight kiss from a scalpel in yesteryears past; theΒ small Bs that were… Continue reading 4. Mother’s Day


Dirty Thirty

Thirty. Ah yes, the big three-oh. The age when women start keeping track of ovulation cycles and mourning each egg lost during monthly visits. The time when a woman examines her face in the mirror and takes note of each wayward line and makes a promise to her (now obviously fragile) reflection to not laugh… Continue reading Dirty Thirty