You do not need to be excellent. The earth does not ask you to be. The trees do not ask  how many dollars you will make of them, and the worms do not ask how fast you travel in your car. The earth just spins, and the worms just crawl. The only thing you need to be is alive. The only thing you need to do  is love how you live. The dogs do not wag their tails at how well you do on a test, and they do not bark  because they do not have time for you. You mustn’t walk through hell

I felt so much,  that I started to feel nothing I wanted to say so much,  That I said nothing   Yet that was everything. Too much of everything.  Stop me before my heart begins to race I'm reliving every second I promised wouldn’t leave a trace  You can look back sometimes, But don't ever fully turn around. Those feelings are an anchor, Proof you are alive. Because at least you can feel. Reach into me with your hands And your fingertips will kiss  the nothingness, That inhabi

The earth hums, beneath the roots. A language of shadow.  Dust,  each grain a word. Too small to grasp.  Each breath of hesitation. Between the old,  and the  forgotten.  The sky fractures  into a thousand pieces. Not one, fit together. Whilst clouds curl like smoke. They do not rise, only do they fold back into themselves. Carrying stories they refuse to tell. A stone sits heavy.  Its skin worn smooth by times of quiet insistence. No meaning in the smoothness,  only absence

There will come a day when i’ll be six feet under. The bugs will begin to consume me, slowly watching visions of you unfold, they’ll hear your name—over and over again. They will consume my skin and flesh and engraved in every crevice, they’ll find reminders of you. Reminders imbedded in the scars you kissed, the touch you left on my body, my eyes which had you memorized, head to toe, inside and out. And when they start to eat my heart, they will realize that the only thing c

During this 2026 winter break, I went to Washington State to visit family. Though we are approaching springtime, I still wanted to share a small photo dump from the trip!

Some Questions I Have What do my plants think of me? We want you here– but not there! And please, don’t climb up that fence. Oh, how they must be so confused! What does a worm look like under the soil? It is never seen there. Only lifted from its moist womb, laid out in daylight, squirming with impressive speed beneath a sun it has no interest in.   I imagine it moves with ease in the dark underneath. The compost pile often receives the usual suspects. Papaya seeds, coffee gr

trees curled and blackened, scarred not only by the natural environment in which they grew, but their corpses defamed  by the very forces that took their lives flame hoof hand desecration of their corpses. yet not so far above lives  wild green serene a bright shadow a reminder of what used to be. take a walk among it and realize just how much we have lost. lose yourself in the vines, twisting and curling, wild and mangled, a thousand  shades of green. reaching out fingers of

I remind you of a time,  running through the hills and dips  of the park—past. The grass still wet, the earth soft  enough  to forgive your steps. Hesitating over the bridge, as I once did, fingers grazing over the wooden railing. Knowing once you cross it  something will already be different.  Sitting in the sun that feeling arises again,  settling into every vessel of your body. Every muscle tightening and loosening all at once, almost  embracing the encapsulation  of how y

Maybe I should stop kneading bread I cannot eat, pressing my hands into the dough folding into its weight it can’t hold. some loaves burn on the edges, the crumbs stick to my hand, baking, a science I simply just don’t understand. I wait for it to rise, patiently watching, but it never stays. some loaves burn completely, blackened bitterness surround the crisp middle, the edges stick to the pan forever. Others collapse under their own weight, soft centers folding in. one loaf

I thought hydrangeas were meant to bloom in October, but they’re no longer growing. The flowers by your empty room wilted, their stems bowing as if mourning with me - or maybe it’s me mourning them, mourning you. I remember when you arranged them, humming a tune I can’t remember the name of, but can still feel deep in my chest: a melody that lingered even after the final petals fell, a love that remains, even when you can’t hold someone’s hand anymore. The hydrangeas outside

Sometimes the hill is so steep that you can't lower your feet against gravity slowly enough to cool down the pace. Each step gets faster, your heels pressing harder into the earth, your backpack pushing down on you, making any attempt to slow yourself futile. Muscles resign, and then you’re running. When you were young, were you ever so excited when a loved one arrived that you dropped the kendama and were out the front door before it stopped bouncing catawampus on the floor?

Pomegranate in hand. Heavy, firm.  I cut the protruding tip From the top of this round fruit. Unfolded, I am amazed by the complex...

There is something that passes by,  with my every move.--Oh look! Is that a caterpillar prancing in my shoe? I watch as it trails higher,...

a bird sits upon the silence of dawn, Its colorful wings, like a brushstroke on the sky's pale canvas. across the stream, i bend down to...

The day before yesterday, I woke  to a room  empty of your name. The air was thick with the weight  of unspoken things– quiet as the...

To my great surprise, my huge and unruly delight, tasting the blackberry brought almost unimaginable joy that spilled from my soul like...

Is anyone else scared? Not just “I’m worried about a thing or two” scared— I mean the kind of scared that lives deep in your bones. That...

The second silence hits She never knocks, just slips in like smoke through the cracks. Soft and sweet, but always sharp around the edges—...

Take a moment to imagine the anthem of the body.  The heart, a basal duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh, governed by both rhythm and spontaneity....

The ocean sits beneath the sky, the sun drifts by as it shimmers. Mountains crumble to their taste, Time, in waves, is never a waste. She...