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.

He drew her clothes away
like waves touching the
shore, stealing sea-silk
and slipping back quietly.
Rain slid down the
windows, and moonlight
pulled the shadows of
heaven into her eyes.

The sun
draws in the dead we bury,
burn them into light.
The moon,
though mounted in darkness,
holds this holy truth in silence.
Stars—
souvenirs of empathy—
scatter across the night,
in search of one more smile.
The sky
decides what to reveal,
what to keep veiled.

What we lose
becomes —what we see.