There’s something malignant
inside me—something that
hums in the dark,
fingers strumming a guitar
against my ribs at midnight.
By morning, a daisy unfurls
at my throat—
its tendrils trailing downward,
like thoughts searching
for stillness at my mouth.

Patience is the drug.
The more I taste it,
the more it lingers—
a stillness I now seek.

I swim through its
endless depths, sculling
like a deep-sea fish,
where light is scarce,
but slits of beauty
glow along the fins.

It brings peace—
dilating the heart
like honey, slowly poured
into the vessels,
sweetness thickening
the body—richer than doubt,
denser than love.

God’s gift—passed to me,
without a question.

Empty my organs.
Excavate what's left—
fine flecks of gold,
forged by patience
and empathy.
Melt them slowly.
Hang what’s holy
around your neck,
for your living.

—donation.

Before your birth,
the world went still—
and my belly rose
like a strawberry moon,
brimming with the pull
of constellations.
Your gaze, unmoving,
swarmed with wonder—
as if the world began
where my body ended.
Your lips sought the breast,
not out of need alone—
but as if they’d always known
where love first speaks.
You were the tiny harvest,
formed from stardust sleep—
quiet as root,
and loud as becoming.

You were never apart from
me—only waiting to be named.
—strawberry moon. ♡

You're perfect at every moment—
remember, even stars don’t shine with perfect edges.

And still—they light the sky.

The curse wasn’t the mirror—
but how many Grimhildes
were given one.
—equity.

It wasn’t calm the world gave me—
just noise, softened by the
peace I grew.
I became my own sanctuary.
Some days, life was quiet—
clear, blue, and serene,
multiplying my happier
reflections in water.
But I exist where shadows bend—
on both sides of the moon.
And I breathe in the hollow
vacuum of feeling.