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Some days, my mind will still be in prison, but I will live in spite of it. I unlearn how to swim; I trade my gills for lungs and wings.

Stephanie Briar

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When I was a child, I used to fear monsters under the bed. I have since learned that most monsters are found within. And they are always worth fighting.
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The glint of mischief in your eyes is the flint in my matchstick. Striking; always this close to igniting.
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In my dreams we got past the parking lot; you took me past the old, oak door, led me up onto the vacant altar, and offered me to every god whose name you invoked as you worshipped my body.
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When you focus on directing your energy away from harm and toward healing, you feed the soul and starve the ego.
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I am a phoenix living in a culture of vultures.
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Poetry? That’s easy. I just cut the vein, and let it bleed.
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It quietly stops my breath to realize that my greatest grand gesture, my last, best act of love was to let you go.
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I am strong. My heart still hopes. My mind still dreams. My soul still craves pouring energy into everything that I love.
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Stop accepting abstract noun love. Real love is always action verb.
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Our memories lurch to a reluctant halt in their funeral march, so I can pour salt over them one last time.
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