My mind is spinning again. The room caves in and I’m grateful for closure. I’d be lost without it, right? I’m dreaming of my childhood home. The simplicity of it all. Open palms- I was there for the taking. Summer felt long. I was close and far away all at once. I was young. Nothing…

It’s a May afternoon. You think about how smoking hurts your lungs and pick up a cigarette anyways. Then you remember the way your father used to laugh and feel chills down your arms. Remember him saying that you should quit in the new year. You catch a glimpse of yourself in window and see…

We’re sitting around the table. Laughter echos and we all share glances that feel like the end of a good chapter. The kind of story you never want to finish. You don’t even want to keep writing in order to soak up every feeling and every character and every piece that led up to this…

Begging you to bend with stiff limbs. You are uncomfortable, but grateful. Paint pictures of familiarity and change up the colors. You create a palette that’s a bit brighter and aren’t quite sure how to feel about the color yellow. It’s growing on you. Growing is hard- it presses every pressure point without letting up.…

Your skin stretch across growing limbs. You’re somthing fierce. Reconcile with it until you feel worthy. Every fear grips your chest. It’s suffocating. It’s unfair. It’s depleting. You’re the farthest thing from a hero to yourself, so who’s going to save you? Pray over it. Let it go. Let it breathe on its own. How…

How’s your mind? Is it still holding onto every bad thing that happened? Your heart pounds against your ribcage. You’re almost positive it’s about to shatter. You hear the crunching and thumping and remember that Jesus takes away these things. He holds it all, so you try talking to him for the first time in…

A cup of coffee shattered in my kitchen. The sound echoes and the warmth hit me with ease. I’m not sure why it felt permanent, but it clung to me like a dare. I laughed at the mess. The pool grew larger a swallowed me whole. It was mistaken for a wound. I fell to…

Polaroids of your mother’s hands. They look youthful. Now they shake in a frail manner. Veins lining her knuckles bluer than the ocean. I want to crash in those waves. Have them hold me again. Drift to sleep like the sea. Calm waters greet me. No fear of learning how to swim. Gently washing up…

You built a house made of cherry wood. The beams stood tall, parallel with the ceiling. The creaking in the floorboards to reminding you it’s alive. Etched lines in every door frame with initials. Handprints in cement in the back patio. Tonight I drove past the woodland and smelled the burn. The smoke never left.…

If my worries could talk, they’d scream. They thud around my chest and fill the center. Make me question if I’m actually breathing in my own or if the weight of it all is forcing some sort of reaction. Maybe part of me is a ghost already- like I have one foot in the next…