“When rules don’t make sense, ask questions, break barriers, rise above it all.”

Lavender lullabies whispered into night skies, remnants of galaxies cradled closely, as you sleep sweetly, time slips away and so do I.

When winter withers – my bones begin to thaw, my lungs crackle as they expand, and the blood in my veins start to flow and I awaken from hibernation – hungry for happiness and eager to let go.

My mind is not my own. I don’t recognize her when I am alone.

I know I haven’t told you, but I also know, that you’ve felt my love.

I lace barbed wire around my heart, constrict it – pull tight, maybe the pain will make it feel alive, and I can pretend it didn’t already die.

Expanding like the universe, I discovered galaxies within. To break glass ceilings: Breath in trust, exhale doubt-beckon bravery.

Those closest to me. Didn’t know the true state of my mentality.

Time aches- my words break as if they’re the wings of a captured butterfly as if they’re the seconds that keep ticking by as if they’re embers that refuse to ignite.

Misty morning welcomes me as I wander through the trees – calm amidst the chaos of distant memories.

Lost journals are steps back home, like the mending of broken bones, like scars that act as patches to my soul, like the measurement marks on my mother’s wall that show just how much I’ve grown.

Fireside and free, tangled up in curiosity, dripping in holy honesty, drawing in pure ecstasy, exploring possibilities – a cabin in the woods.

I simply cannot hold onto hope, it aches like possibilities never reached, I’m bubbling over with grief – this chaos has caused so much loss and fatigue.

And the world seems just a little bit warmer, and the sun shines slightly brighter than it used to, and the days pass differently than before, and time is no longer stuck in a loop.

I learned all about love from people that didn’t know how to love me.

What do you do, when all the loves you’ve ever known have only been paper moons?

I’m half agony, half hope – like I’m a freshly cut bone, like the last stone that was held – then not thrown, like a garden where inspiration roots but never grows.

We should no longer seek to have Budget surplus by end of Parliament. We should avoid tax rises.

Such caution seems especially warranted with regard to the sharp rise in equity prices during the past two years. These gains have obviously raised questions of sustainability.

I am more powerful than I am damaged and I will rise from any abyss you drown me in.

Look to the past and remember no empire rises that sooner or later won’t fall.

Women are rising. And I think that’s all the violence and war – it could be the last gasp of the patriarchy, actually.

Only cream and SOBs rise to the top.

A monarch should be ever intent on conquest, lest his neighbours rise in arms against him.

It is the power of memory that gives rise to the power of imagination.